Tough Stuff

Margaret, meanwhile, was spending her afternoon in the backyard tearing around like a mad thing, moving buckets of dirt from one place to another.

This was a very important operation, and had to be carried out at great speed, which was fine right up until she sprawled full-length out on the driveway.

"I'm fine," she insisted through her tears.  "I want you to take a picture for Daddy, and then I will go get more dirt."

If you look closely, you can see the grazing on the elbow.  Her knee was actually bleeding, but she hadn't noticed it -- and so wasn't upset about it -- and I wasn't about to tell her.  I took the picture, and she went back to high-speed dirt transfers.

Though when she changed for bed, she was a bit traumatized by her knee.  "I have an ouchie on my knee," she said accusingly, "and you didn't tell me."

Apparently I'm supposed to pick up the slack from her nervous system, when it can't be bothered to do its job.