On Sunday morning I had the kids dress in their reserved Sunday clothes. We'd packed everything else in their closets, except their chosen outfit for their last Sunday in this ward.
Benjamin had been playing in his room—with DUPLO, the one set of toys that we had yet to pack away—and he came out to ask me a question. I looked up at him and gasped in horror.
He had blood smeared all over his arms and shirt sleeves (and dribbling out of his nose)!
"Benjamin!" I shrieked. "You have a bloody nose!"
"I do?" he said.
"It's all over your shirt..." I nearly cried.
"It's fine," he sniffed, wiping his nose on his arm again. "It's not that much blood!"
"Oh, Benjamin, please stop!" I said.