Gushing Blood

Last week, I sliced my finger open on a serrated steak knife.  Watching the blood gush sent my oldest daughter off yelping (hm, I should've been the one yelping since I was the one gushing blood).  She had previously talked at one point about becoming a nurse.  I'm not sure if this is a sign she won't be needing to buy any Cherokee scrubs to wear as a nurse or if it is just her age (she is only 14).  Perhaps I shouldn't have squeezed it to make it gush harder to make her squeal.  Bad mom.

Oh yeah - my finger has healed and my daughter forgot about it.  She has had homecoming on the mind and a certain boy at the forefront since she spent an hour dancing with him at homecoming this past weekend.