Saturday, February 22, 2014

boy and a stick

On Tuesday, our four-year-old Trevor said to me, "Guys go to the moon at night!  On a very special
night when there's thunder and lightning."  So I smiled.

Later he inadvertently jabbed himself in the balls with a plastic doohickey that mysteriously appeared in our house one day.  It looks like a broken off piece of tent pole.

I heard high pitched wheezy noises so looked down from atop the stairwell to discover he had made it to about the fifth step, hands covering his precious nuts, tears shining with pain and desperation.

Now.
I don't know what it's like to have this male injury but I imagine it's right up there next to childbirth.

My entire being flooded with sympathy and I rushed down the steps.

He recuperated, of course, but the mystery stick remained in our house.  Trevor picked it up again and when I told him to quit, he shoved it behind a small shelving unit.

It's still hidden there.


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