Why I Was Covered in Blood on Father's Day

Newsletter 2018-06-18

My Sunday was full of blood and screaming, so it was a pretty typical Father's Day. It started off simply enough. I was in the bathroom helping Lucy brush her teeth while my wife took a shower. Then my oldest two daughters, Betsy and Mae, barged in yelling, “Waffle is bleeding!” Of course, they said her real name, not “Waffle.” If an actual waffle were bleeding, it would have leaked maple syrup, and that would have been delicious, not tragic. Maybe I’ll save that idea for next Father’s Day.

Back in the real world where my youngest kid isn’t a breakfast food, I knew there must be a lot of blood because it took two kids to tell me about it. Moments earlier, I had heard giggles of joy coming from Betsy and Mae’s room, and I knew that meant trouble. Did I intervene preemptively? No. Fun and injury go together like peanut butter and chocolate. If I checked on my kids every time I thought play time would lead to bodily harm, I would never have time for anything else. Instead, I left my kids …