Boy will be Boy

He did a face plant at school yesterday. He was running up a ramp that leads to the playground equipment and he lost it.

I found out when I picked him up from Granny after work. My mom met me at the door and said, "he fell at school today." And even though I know such things will happen, and if it were bad, the nurse (or the hospital) would have called me, my heart still stuttered. I wanted to push my mother out of the way and scoop him up, but I maintained with that eerie Mom Calm that rises when you need to be strong for your child.

"How bad is it?"

"He scraped up both knees and his face, but he's fine."

"Did he go to the nurse?"

"No, he tried to clean it up himself and we put peroxide and band-aids on his knees when I picked him up."

He tried to clean it up himself. I had the saddest little image pop into my head - of my little boy, pained and trying to be brave, wiping at his scrapes with those lousy washroom paper towels. You know those towels. Those towels were good for one thing: soaking, wadding and tossing to get them stuck on the ceiling.

That's when he peeked down the hallway, saw me, and ran into my arms. I crooned sympathy into his hair and inspected the large bandages on both bony knees. I fussed over the scratches on his upper lip and cringed at the scuff on the tip of his nose. The wounds weren't that bad, but I still think he was brave.

There was much to-do over Boy when I got him home: spaghetti for dinner, seven chapters of Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People, three games of Yahtzee! (Pokemon Edition), and careful re-bandaging of his knees after he took his shower. I think he really enjoyed all the extra attention. I know he did. Because he couldn't stop hugging me.

He wasn't badly wounded. This stuff happens all the time. Which is probably why I won't be suing.