This afternoon, Silas dressed up as Lightning McQueen and Eden as a puffy ladybug, and we headed to a Fall Carnival.
I was expecting a bean bag toss and mob of people, but instead the crowd was thin, and we were greeted by a Ferris wheel, moon bounces, candy apples, climbing walls, little carnival rides (and as you may know, I am particularly partial to fair-like events), and a petting zoo! Silas jumped and climbed; we ate ribs for dinner -- well, Eden and I ate ribs and Silas ate two bites of fried chicken, a pickle slice, cheetos, 3 jolly ranchers, and a tootsie roll -- and visited the animals.
The petting zoo was a tiny pen with friendly goats, an impossibly tiny black pig (I WISH I had a picture of him, actually, I wish I had him), bunnies, a couple of ducks, and chickens -- perfectly manageable. Eden was thrilled.
As we stood next to the fluffiest goat with our hands buried in his coat, I marveled at these animals who moved around the pen so calmly as tiny hands plunged toward them.
The bunnies, being bunnies, darted by here and there, but surprisingly paused to let us pat them. One even let Eden stroke its ears. I was taking this picture of Eden with the sweet bunny when Eden started SCREAMING.
Have you ever seen a bunny eating a carrot, the way it bites in a series of fast definitive chomps? (all the while wiggling its nose so it looks cute?) Well, this carrot was Eden's finger. She couldn't get it out of the rabbits mouth, and I couldn't move fast enough. When I finally (finally -- it was probably all of 2 seconds) pulled her finger out, there were 4 clean bites down her pointer finger and one between her pointer finger and thumb. She, of course, was hysterical. And I didn't know what to do. So I stood there, in the middle of the petting pen, holding my screaming ladybug, vaguely nodding at people who asked if an animal bit her, wanting to tell them to evacuate the pen and to put the rabbit down immediately.
Her hand was red and puffy. Ben was out of town. Silas was still in line for a balloon-filled moon bounce he'd been so patiently waiting for. Staff people were talking into walkie-talkies looking for first aid. And my new friend Alison was looking firmly into my face telling me it was OK.
I'm often amazed by what we can do -- what we do do -- when we have to. I am operating on a major sleep-deficit, which means that I feel like I could drool at any moment or burst into tears. All I wanted to do was to collapse in a heap with Eden -- who, every time she rediscovered her cuts, held up her hand, crying "BUNNY! BUNNY!" -- and sob my eyes out.
But instead, I went with first aid, I scrubbed little E's hand, I smiled at her and sang, I called my pediatrician, I decided to go to urgent care, I extracted Silas from the carnival (though he became hysterical because I wouldn't let him have a candy apple -- see tantrums), I walked all the way down the hill and through the crowds carrying heavy Eden to our car, I somehow LOST my phone on the way, I retraced my steps praying, I somehow FOUND my phone by a curb!, I buckled everyone in, I came home, I re-scrubbed Eden's hand, I decided not to go to urgent care, I put Eden to bed, I read Silas books, I brushed his teeth and tucked him into bed. I made it.
I often feel like a small miracle of life is that I make it through a day. Despite myself. Despite so many things. Despite fumbling. Despite being impatient. Despite Eden's feeding her finger to a rabbit. We make it. And then we sleep. And then we wake to a new morning.