I was reading my old journals today and this story from 2003 caught my attention...perhaps you may pull something out of the story as well.
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WELL 2' x 6' of laundry is now put away.
I was watching the kids while mom and dad were pretending they were newlyweds again.This afternoon my charming, attentive, sweet little brother and I were working on his AWANA project when his hammer slipped and slammed into my poor thumb.
I yelled, beating back the urge to kill my brother. BUT in his "sorry-ness" he kept zealously trying to "make it all better." With a few seconds to get over the really sharp pain and I would have said, "It's ok" and took up the nail and let him try again being more careful.

"Unfortunately, he pushed me and found out just how angry I was that the hammer hit my hand and that he was the one holding the hammer. Ug. Poor kid. He kinda stood there puffed up and bravely said he would finish it alone...and at first that sounded pretty good...but what fun would that be? I grabbed the box of nails, said I was sorry, and we finished the project together.
AHHHH Becca just spit up all over this page...now my journal is going to smell like mutilated peas!"