We had another glorious day here in the ATL. After nap time, I took the Yoys outside to play with our neighbor. Big E was chalking up their driveway. He was running all over the place with a stick of chalk in each hand. He was a little Yoy on a mission.
He was stepping down the one step and tripped and fell. He managed to hold on to both pieces of chalk, but his knees did not fare so well. He didn't cry, which was good, but he had this stunned look on his face. I rolled up his shorts (which are kind of like pants because he is on the short side) and he had bloodied one of his knees pretty badly.
This was a first for both of us. Hmmm, what to do now? I had flashbacks to the Neosporin ads that have the mom with the little carry everywhere Neosporin spray. I, of course being Mother of the Year, did not have this or anything remotely useful. My neighbor suggested baby wipes. Sure, these are the cure-all in my world.
I wiped down his knee. He grimaced briefly, but then was back to being a mini-terrorist.
I'm sure this is the first to come in a long list of bloody knee incidents.
Little boys rock!