Yesterday, Daughter and I went to pick Son up from his Monday after-school club, and as usual, Daughter ran ahead while I went to park the car in a more convenient spot than right in front of the school with oncoming and ongoing traffic blaring beside me.
After I had parked the car in one of the side streets, I followed Daughter. She was nowhere to be seen, had ran off to find Son who was playing football with a friend.
The woman who runs the club, handed me a Biro and a black book for me to sign.
The Accident Book.
Apparently, Son had been playing a game of football (in goal attack - silly boy) when he was running to save the ball that was careering towards the goal-post at maximum speed, when he, not looking where he was going, embraced the wall head-on, busting his top lip and causing it to bleed ferociously. Luckily, he had a cold paper-towel to soothe the pain, but he still cried "a tidge".
The only bad thing about it was whenever he wanted to eat, he'd put something in his mouth and five seconds later would be on the floor, banging his fists on the carpet, his legs imitating, and bawling his eyes out.
This goes without saying - I had to assist him in the eating department. Boy, does that bring back memories...
Now, one day later, he is sitting beside me on the sofa (and by me I mean his dad, as always), his eyes closed and his lip a shade of indigo.