She was "helped" along by her brother's misplaced foot during a friendly game of sibling leg wrestling on Mama's bed. Yesterday morning passed in a great drama of blood, tears, and frantic calls to Daddy, a former army medic. (Why does the bloody stuff always have to happen on my watch?)
One of Hannah's front teeth came out immediately after the leg wrestling match. The other tooth hung on stubbornly by one thick thread for the next 32 hours. Hannah said her tooth was too sore to pull or wiggle. My poor girl couldn't eat well or talk normally.
It was a great opportunity for penance. Hannah happily offered up her sore tooth for the first hour. Then the injury lost it's novelty and a stream of constant complaints began. It was a long day for me.
When Jon came home from work, he dealt with Hannah's refusal to pray (or to help loosen the sore tooth on her own by wiggling it) in about 10 seconds.
"Hannah," Jon said firmly. "God doesn't answer to complaints. He only answers petitions!
I've got to keep that quote around for the painful days after my c-section next week!