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?
Good Call, Santa
This one’s for the curriculum-junkie homeschooling mothers of 2002
A Bean by Any Other Name Would Be as Sweet
Ann’s River Stones