Not the evening I was expecting

Kate called me this afternoon around 4 from a practice running event that Piper was finishing. “Grab Syd and meet me at the hospital,” she said. “Piper got hit by a bicyclist.”

Seven hours and three layers of stitches later, Piper is home and asleep and will undoubtedly dine out on the story and the long scar (right at her hairline) for years.

Kate is surfing by the fire and I am drinking a glass of wine. Some days (say, for instance, ones in which you see the surface of your child’s skull) simply require it.