Saturday, October 18, 2014

You should see the other guy

It was a day much like any other day, though a little heavy on the alliteration.

Upon completing the primary presentation practice, we had a party with pizza, punch, and pumpkin pastries in the gym. After pigging out on pumpkin pastries, the primary was a pretty peppy pack, pelting and prancing pell-mell around the place as they played. Our adult parley was (partially) unexpectedly punctuated by the piercing, plangent puling of a preschooler in the pangs of pain.

"He's probably not crippled; just panicking," his mother proclaimed.

A purplish splotch appeared on his perspiring brow. He and a playmate had walloped pates.

The other person spoiled by this mishap was a perplexity until I spotted my own offspring sporting a proportionate purplish protuberance.

Seriously, though.

Rachel collided with a four-year-old and left him screaming on the floor while she continued running around playing tag with everybody else. He's a pretty big guy for his age—rather tough—and was soon comforted. All he got was a little bruise. Rachel, on the other hand, developed quite the goose egg.

We'll have to compare their battle scars tomorrow at church. 

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