Entry FeedEarlier this evening, Husband was going to take the boys up to a nearby field to practice baseball.
We have two bats - one is wood, one is foam. Son One held the wooden bat, while Son Two held the foam bat. We should have made them trade. You see, if anyone were to "accidentally" hit someone with a bat, my money would be on Son One.
"Be careful with those bats, boys," Husband said. "Make sure you don't hit each other." Come on! Even to me that almost sounded like a dare!
2 minutes later, Son Two screams and clutches his face while Son One runs inside the house yelling, "I am going to my room! I'm going! I'm going!" (Isn't it great when they learn to discipline themselves? Sort of hope that it leads to self-discipline in the future.)
I brought Son Two inside and peeled away his hands. He had a slight red mark on his forehead. I pulled out the sports ice pack, and had him sit and hold it to his head. After 5 minutes I checked, and there was a definite goose egg forming - sort of a 2-inch oval above his left eye. We switched to some new ice, and he held it on for another 10 minutes. It actually was looking a lot better.
I went upstairs to talk to Son One, who was crying is his room.
"I know that you are crying because now you don't get to go to the park to play baseball with Daddy," I said. "But you really should be crying because you could have killed your brother!"
Son One gave me some story about how it was accidentally because he went to look you to see a helicopter that he heard flying overhead and when he moved his arm he forgot that he was holding a bat. Completely accidental. And I would have believed him, too. If I had been born yesterday.