Thursday, February 6, 2014


So, The Brother is painting his room, and that means things have to leave the room and go somewhere else so they aren't ruined.

His computer is in the dining room / TV room and his desk and bed are in the living room. His bed is parallel to the path we all take to walk across the house and the desk is at the end of the bed. I tried to make a picture:
It is an ugly picture, but I made it. Our floor is not really empty space, but I forgot to add the carpet. Also nothing is even close to scale, and I forgot some major things like the windows and doors. And I forgot to put in lamps. And I didn't draw The Brother because I couldn't remember how to make a circle using Microsoft Publisher. Basically I just filled text boxes with colors that weren't really all that close to the real colors of things, but you get the idea.

We have been navigating this room for several days with no problems.

But then Dad woke up this morning, got a glass of milk, and set off back to his bedroom so he could do his devotions, as he does every day. This happens very early. He retrieves his heart medicine, takes it with the milk, sits down in an armchair that creaks for no apparent reason, and reads, prays, and sometimes writes things down.

Here is what the living room looked like this morning when Dad got up:

This one was a lot easier to draw.

Dad walked through the room, caught his foot on the end of The Brother's bed, teetered around for a moment, and then went down. He fell forward, and luckily, he managed to hold out his face and stop his fall before he ended up totally on the ground.

Unfortunately, he caught his chin against The Brother's desk. His chin responded by bleeding a lot.

The Brother woke up to milk spraying everywhere. Milk and blood.

Dad was very concerned about cleaning up the milk. The Brother had to try to convince him that the milk was less important than all the bleeding Dad was doing on the carpet and kitchen floor.

The Brother said that if the police showed up, they would have been convinced there'd been a murder at our house, because of all the bleeding.

Dad dealt with this by going to work as normal, except the bleeding didn't really stop at all, so he gave in and went to the doctor, and that is how he ended up with three stitches. I told him stitches were plenty manly, and that all the other kids on the playground would think he was tough. I also told him it was lucky he hadn't broken his jaw, because that would have really stopped him preaching. He also would have had to stop eating food. Since preaching and eating are two of Dad's favorite things, it would have cramped his style.

I wonder if his face will swell up like a balloon.

If it does, I will take pictures.

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