Last Thursday, when I went to pick P up from school, I found Ms. Tammy completing an "Ouch Report." That's right. P's injury was serious enough to require documentation. P greeted me and our conversation went something like this:
P: Mommy, I tripped over the corner and I have a boo boo 'cause I hit my eye on the corner. I tripped. I fell down.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry that happened. Are you okay now?
P: Yes and I fell and Ms. Tammy's writin' it down. What that paper say?
Me: It says, "P tripped over the corner of the sandbox and fell. He hit his eye on the plastic dump truck." Is that what happened?
P: Yup. I tripped, an' it made me fall down. On the corner. And I have a boo boo. 'Cause I tripped. Outside. Oh, outside. I want to go outside and play.
Ms. Tammy felt bad for P. She said he fell hard, and he let her clean off his cut but did not want Neosporin. She reiterated that he wasn't doing anything wrong - he just tripped. She was so compassionate and sweet! (Have I mentioned that we love Ms. Tammy? We really, really do.)
P had definitely recovered when I came to pick him up. We had several repetitions of the above conversation throughout Thursday afternoon. At one point, he asked to go to the bathroom by himself. After he had been in there for about ten minutes, I knocked on the door and asked him if I could come in and see how he was doing and if he needed help. He replied in the affirmative, and I walked in to see him examining his cheek in the mirror. When I asked what he was doing, he responded, "Oh, I don't need to go potty, I just wanted to go in the potty so I could see my boo boo." I think he's kind of proud of his playground battle scar, if you want to know the truth. He even asked me to take a picture of his boo boo.
After I took a few pictures, he amused himself by flipping through the files and examining his cheek and eye. The swelling is completely gone now, and there's just a small scrape on his right cheek. I'd say he's well on the road to recovery.
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