Triage.

I got a new cell phone last week, which is actual news because that hasn't happened in almost four years. So I no longer have an old-school flip phone, and I feel really strange holding a rectangle to the side of my head. But I did want a QWERTY keyboard because when I have occasion to text, I do so most often in complete sentences. Today I used a semi-colon in a quick note to my brother-in-law. (Did you know that the grammar class I took in grad school was one of my favorites? And that in college I wrote a five-page essay on Laurence Sterne and his use of the dash? You know it now, people. The GD dash!)

And, before I activated my new-fangled Intensity (yup, Intensity), I forwarded all my precious cell phone pictures to my email account, including these two of Marley, almost two years old and about to get FIVE stitches in her tiny chin because of a climbing accident at a local playground.

I remember moments of that day very clearly. First of all, it was a Saturday, and Todd was on the riding mower at home in the middle of the ridiculously huge lawn we had then. Bean and I were hanging out by a ladder that led to a bouncy bridge, and she shrieked every time I tried to help her up the first rung. So I let her try it herself*, poised to spot her, and - WHUMP! she missed the rung, smacked her chin on the bar on her way down, and ended up the bark mulch about three feet below. And then there was hysterical crying and blood.

Thank GOD there was another mom there who was so kind and helped me get a hold of my sister (Todd could not hear his phone over the satisfying roar of his machinery) and my pediatrician's office, which was conveniently open and ready to treat my Bean. I remember that that mom gave me her daughter's extra shirt to staunch the blood and asked if I wanted to call 911. I also remember that before she arrived at the playground, the only other adult there was a tubby, grubby guy in one of those stupid Fakey-Calvin-peeing-on-the-Yankees emblem t-shirts berating his kids on the swings. (He was gone when Bean tumbled.)

Look at that brave little kid snuggling her Curious George. You know what? She's not that much older than Rudy is now, and back then she had no idea who Cinderella or Belle were. Her favorite color was yellow.

And here's the photo that made us feel like she might really play hockey for my brother-in-law Michael one day. That Beanie-Bean would check you without hesitation.

*I am mostly sure that I stand by this decision. I should've hovered that much closer in my spotting, but I think I should let my girls try things on their own and be who they are (see blog title and description, above) as much as it's possible and safe. But this didn't turn out to be so safe, and that's why I'm not totally sure. Is that one of the futile parts?