The Broken Nail
It was vacation time for the kids, and the house was a total mess, with toys and books strewn everywhere. The noise was at a different level, with children always watching television, listening to music, or buzzing like bees near my ears. Me time was a luxury I desperately craved and dreamed of. Today was my lucky day. I managed to finally steal a few minutes with my Kindle and dived into the world of mystery, romance and words. That blissful moment, however, was short-lived. My younger child interrupted me, proudly showing off her new cupcake creation with her favourite toy, the Magnetiles. As she hugged me, she accidentally pressed her hand on my pinky finger, and I winced with pain. Yesterday while peeling an apple and mediating a quarrel between the two siblings, I had inadvertently snapped a bit of my nail, and the pain was torturous. I explained to my three-year-old that my nail was hurting because it was broken, and her answer left me shocked and speechless. I mumbl...