I’m pretty sure that’s a rule of childhood, right? My poor little Wonderboy. He took a tumble at the playground this afternoon—just running, that’s all—on sand, no less—and knocked out a front tooth. Sand! Not concrete!
He’s fine now, didn’t even cry that much once we cleaned up all the blood. Nosebleed too! Blood blood blood! And that gaping hole in front, the very same sort of hole that looks adorable on a six-year-old. Why does it look so tragic on a three-year-old?
Notes on June 2010 (First Half)
Everyone Knows Potatoes Have Eyes, Not Ears
five Friday things
Eight years ago this week