Plumbing turned my kitchen into a little creek. I used to think the sound of trickling water was soothing.
Kids.
One broke a glass, "cleaned it up". The multitude of shards I found when I got home? I'm pretty sure they parachuted out of the garbage can and landed back on the floor. Damn sneaky glass paratroopers.
Another decided to spin, and lost his balance, whacking his head on my faux brick fireplace. The bricks aren't faux. He *really* doesn't do blood well.
Tim came over, helped fix the plumbing, and brought antibiotic cream & butterfly bandaids. And hugs.
Love his hugs. :)
Turns out, butterflies don't work on heads, unless you're Mr. Clean.
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I don't like the composition of this.
I wasn't *really* hiding. Or maybe I was. At 10 pm, I didn't wanna deal with anymore stuff.
I'm glad I at least forced myself to pick up the camera.
But I'm not happy I didn't have time, or energy, to actually produce a shot worth the effort.
That's becoming the norm.
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