"It would be easier from that way." I told her as she grunted. She was on the steepest part of the sledding hill. The place where she was too scared to go down this past winter.
Nope. Nearly vertical or nothing, ma.
Her target was a stump. She rolled the boulder onto it, and spent considerable time adjusting the position.
And it rolled over her pinky.
Much wailing and gnashing of teeth later, she became fascinated with the idea that her fingernail might fall off. I was constantly peppered with questions regarding timelines, color changes, and the benefits of band-aids.
You guys.
She made a journal recording her pinky nail at all stages of onychomadesis. I cannot even, right now, cause of all the awww.
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| Awwww! She's confronting unexpected bodily changes by sequential cataloging in minimalist line drawings! |
