So I am getting dressed this morning when I hear a scream and a cry from upstairs. Youngest comes down with blood dripping down one leg.
“What is going on?”
“I fell getting into my jeans.” He dabs at the blood running down his shin.
I think for a moment and then ask, “How in the world did you gash open your leg putting on your jeans?”
“I fell on the button.”
I kid you not. He has a round, skinless, hole in his knee, which perfectly matches the size of a metal jeans button. I patch it up and he goes back to get his shoes on.
In a few I hear a squawk. I take a deep breath and holler up the stairs, “You OK?”
“No, I cut my hand on my underwear.”
Seriously? On his underwear? I don’t even ask. Instead I say, “Is it bleeding?”
A whimpery “no” comes floating down the stairs.
“Good. C’mon we are going to be late.”
“I have to poop first.”
NEVER in eight kids have I had one injured just by getting dressed. Gotta love em!