'cause I think it must be half way to Zimbabwe by now.

Sam scared the heck out of me last night. I was talking to Nate out on the porch when the door slammed and screaming ensued- that screaming with a serious edge that gets a mama's attention instantly-I zipped inside, assessing the scene(floor, door, screaming, pain, no visible blood) as I dove to Sam, his hands cradled fetal style, screaming bloody murder. I whisked him up unto my lap, on the couch. His screaming hadn't subsided one bit and the words I could make out were:

"IT CAME OFF!!! MY PINKIE!!! IT CAME OFF!!!"

My heart about hit the roof of my mouth in panic before colliding with my intellect-there was no gushing blood, no finger on the floor, the kid MUST just be freakin'.

I gently but firmly persuaded him to let me see and indeed, the damage was pretty minor, although there was a long flap of skin hanging off-probably what scared him so much. His crying didn't increase when I moved the digits so I was sure he wasn't broken... I plopped a pack of peas on it and held him and kissed on him a lot and chanted Medicine Buddha, a healing chant that he knows well 'til the sobbing gradually dribbled out and he was quiet, listening.

Poor kid, he really was convinced his finger ripped off and would not look at it, so I had to reassure him as best I could that his pinkie was intact until I got salve and a bandaid on it and could show him.

Bandaids, the miracle cure!