You're kidding, right?

Please tell me that bad things don’t really happen in threes… or I’ve got another one left to drop.

Thursday, May 10. A good day leading up to “the incident”. My friend’s birthday, so we got to have a grown up lunch together while our other friend organized a surprise for her at the elementary school for when she picked up her daughters. Seriously, a very fun day. Husband picks up the kids from their schools for me, we find out that next week is DD2’s turn as star-student so we get to do a poster, that should be fun. Get DD1 ready for soccer practice, and what’s this? DD2 wants to wear her cleats so she can practice with the team. Husband is the coach and sees no problem with this as it’s our last practice of the season and it’s going to be just games. Looking good so far. It’s a beautiful day – the moms and I are having a great time, the kids are having fun – UNTIL. The big UNTIL, right? DD2 is moving her ball downfield (she’s just sort of walking with it, but doesn’t “moving it downfield” sound so much more impressive?), when she tumbles over the soccer ball and lands on the ground. She falls on to the grass, starts crying, so I go on over to her and pull her on to my lap. I’m not worried – telling her she’ll be fine, giving her kisses on her head – and then I really look at her arm. It is CLEARLY broken. Not that there are bones sticking out or anything, but the angle is not at all natural. Husband shouts “Practice is cancelled,” and we run her to the emergency room. Yes, it’s broken, both bones in her forearm, have to put her out to set it, mom and dad really quite sick about the whole thing. They’ll cast it in a week.

Saturday, May 12. Things starting to return to normal with DD2… pain seem to be easily controlled with Motrin, and it looks like a good day. Sunny and warm, DD1’s last soccer game is this day, and we have a party scheduled for end of season with the team afterwards. Trophies, shirts, good times. We get through the party fine. As we drive up to our house afterwards, literally we are crossing the threshold of the garage, DD1 pipes up, “Tell me the truth! Are you the ones that leave presents out from Santa and the Easter Bunny?” WHAT? The question I have dreaded more than any other since I gave birth to my first child – way more dreaded than the facts of life discussion… and it just pops out in casual conversation in front of her sister while we’re trapped in the car, and I have to stall until I can figure out what to do. I wasn’t ready for this question. At all. At ALL. She is seven years old… what is she doing asking that before she’s 9 or 10? I haven’t decided how I’m going to handle this – but I manage to get her to stop talking about it until I can get her alone. Then, should I deflect it? “Don’t be ridiculous, Christmas is months away.” Do I lie? “Santa is as real. As real as Christmas Magic itself.” Do I THROTTLE her for asking this question in front of her four-year-old sister? “How DARE you ruin the magic of Santa and the Easter Bunny for your sister! You can expect coal in your stocking for sure next year.” Or do I pony up, do the adult thing, and include her in the knowledge that yes, it’s us. “OK, you are very smart and figured it out… Santa hasn’t actually lived for hundreds of years, but it’s really fun to keep the magic of Christmas and Santa alive for the little ones we love so much – so don’t you dare tell your little sister or there’ll not be one thing for you under the tree next year.”

I went with the latter. And I feel very old somehow. I have a child that no longer believes in Santa – and who was totally OK with finding out the truth. Happy, in fact, that she had figured out the mystery.

So, to make a long entry short:

May 10th: Broken Arm
May 12th: Broken Dreams

Cross your fingers that nothing else gets broken. Or, if a third thing must break - - let it be that really ugly vase that I don't really like anyway!