Owies and weirdness

One of the l'il thugs from work fell out of their wagon while on a walk with their Mom last night. She has four stitches in her right eyewow and is on antibiotics, poor poppet. The girls told me all about it. "Annie. Hurt. Red. Face. Cream. Medicine. Sad." Their sentences are still a little on the abbreviated side. She was running around and playing today and didn't complain about it hurting once, though.

In the middle of their lunch, a caught part of an interview with the Dali Lama's brother on the radio. He speaks very respectfully of his brother and says that when it's just the two of them, he feels his brother is first the leader of their people, and second his brother, though they do tell each other dirty jokes. That threw me for a loop.

The really, truly rotten thing about love is the part where you give your lover a detailed map to all the ways he can hurt you and then trust that it will never get used. That's the really lousy part. Stupid, too, 'cuz it's going to get used over and over again, even if it's not consciously.