ouch

In one of my rare waves of neat freakishness, I was tidying up the family/play room and jammed my knee against the corner of the toy box. I yelped, grabbed my injured knee and writhed in pain on the carpet.

Little Dude was playing nearby and with real concern in his voice, he exclaimed, "Don't worry, mommy. I'll kiss it better." He did.

This brought a smile to my face but did not relieve the pain. I muffled the expletives screaming in my head as I tried, unsuccessfully, to get up. I must have sounded like a wounded puppy.

"Don't worry, mommy. You'll feel better soon," Little Dude encouraged and patted me on my head.

Good god! Is this the same boy who initiates the torture tag games that usually ends with his younger brother or both of them in tears? I couldn't help but feel proud.

Eager for more evidence that my first-born has, in fact, learned how to sympathize and give comfort, I faked a cry of pain.

Little Dude walked back to his toy. "You need to be more careful, mommy," he suggested.

Ouch!