A Skinned Knee and a Lost Shoe.

Okay. It's a slightly skinned knee, but it's his first. Yesterday I was talking to a neighbor when Michael charged down the sidewalk , tripped on his Crocs, and fell to his little knees. My neighbor was a little disturbed by the fall, she couldn't believe how hard he fell. He turned his head after falling, looked back at me, and slapped on a brave face. My response was a scrunched up face and a simple question. I asked him if he was okay, he said yes and began "running" again. (Josh thinks he speed walks and that he's not technically "running".) On our way home, I asked him if his knee hurt. He said, "nope." Seriously. He knows slang already. Guess I need to pay better attention to my grammar.

The Crocs are a hit at daycare. So much of a hit that we've lost one at the sitter's house. It turns out Michael's future wife (she's one of many I have picked out...) took his shoe and placed it somewhere after trying it on. She can't stand to wear her own shoes, but she was interested in the blue ones. The embarrassed sitter apologized and apologized for the lost shoe. "It'll turn up," I told her. It's probably sitting in a toilet, in a toy box, under a bed, on a chair, in a potted plant, in another child's bag, in the trash can...who knows with toddlers!?!