On July 2 my only granddaughter broke her leg. No one had been around to see it happen, but when Phil, fiddling with the water sprinklers on the other side of the house, heard her crying. He found her on her hands and knees under the jungle gym.
She's a tough cookie, though. Knows no fear. After being cheered up and set on her feet and then treated to corn dogs and ketchup for supper, all seemed to be well. Except that afterward she refused to get off the bench. Seeing that this normally tough child refused to put weight on her leg, Phil and Katie decided to take her to the doctor. How does a two-and-a-half-year-old break a leg?
She will be casted on Monday after the swelling goes down. For now she's wearing a splint. When she arrived at my house yesterday, the 3rd, her father's 31st birthday, asleep in her car seat and curls spilling down over her face, I got teary. Life is so fragile and we break so easily.
When it was decided we'd all go down to the C Shop for Phil's free jelly beans (the shop gives out free beans in the amount of your years), Evelyn, now awake, said, "Granny Bee, will you carry me to the buggy?"
The candy shop was crowded, the day warm, the holiday weekend already begun. We left Evelyn Rose outside with her mum, and I bought her a Daisy Mint. She was pleased.
They're gone now, off to celebrate the weekend with other family. And I'm left alone thinking about my only granddaughter's broken bone. And how she's such a trooper. I wonder how much pain she, like the rest of us, will suffer in the school of hard knocks. Will she be able to land on her feet and sally forth every time? I suspect so. I'd like to be like her.
She loves watermelon. She is sighing over just how much she loves it. In this small way, we are like each other.