The Hornet and the Butterfly

From the girl’s room, I heard a howl of pain. It was after bedtime, and we were down in the living room wrapping soaps for the Common Man Inn with Downton Abbey playing in the background. I raced upstairs to find Emma, our two-year-old, wailing. There are lots of different kinds of crying, and this was the sound of someone who had been intensely and unexpectedly stung. Using a mixture of words and hand motions, she said, “Kelsey bit me,” and pointed an accusing, reddened finger at her sister. I was shocked. Kelsey has never bit anyone before (we're lucky that none of our kids have gone through that struggle), and knowing both my little girls, this was the equivalent of a hornet saying it was picked on by a butterfly. I turned to Kelsey to hear her side of the story and laughed out loud. She was out cold, slumbering with the deep sleep that only our five-year-old can manage. “Emma, did you put your finger into Kelsey’s mouth while she was sleeping??”
*Tearful nods* 🥺
🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️

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