“That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet.” ~Willliam Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
Yesterday Mikki, Mary,* and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful autumn day and walk around the neighborhood. All was well and Mary was happy pulling her own wagon, when she lost her footing and executed a perfect faceplant in the pavement, scratching what I consider to be one of the cutest features of her precious face, her little nose. Approximately 1/3 of her nose is now covered by a large scab which easily peels off at the slightest wipe.
For a split second as she plunged headfirst into the concrete, my heart burned and the rope frayed**, both of which were quickly extinguished as quickly entered “solution mode”, finding the origin of the blood and determining the best course of action for treating the wound. Only a few minutes passed before Mary was back to her old self singing, dancing, and exploring again.
* I will not abandon the Oxford Comma
**The “fraying rope” is how I describe the feeling of helplessness when Mary is inconsolable. It feels like a rope is fraying within me.