…here’s a snippet of a lunchtime conversation from yesterday.
Scene: the boys are all still in pajamas (we’re still on break…a break that’s about to be extended by the big snowstorm we’re getting as I type this. Try to sense my enthusiasm.). I’m recently home from an early-morning kickboxing class and some errand-running, followed by working on putting our closet back together. So the boys have been entertaining themselves for a long time in the basement, playing some sort of game that involves a lot of yelling, a ball, and a fair amount of physical contact.
The boys are now sitting at the bar, eating lunch.
Matt: Bennett, is that blood on your shirt? (referring to a small spot on his sleeve)
Me: That looks like blood. Where did it come from?
Bennett: I have no idea.
Me: You literally have no idea how blood got on your shirt. Is it from one of your brothers?
Bennett: I really don’t know!
So I know I’m a girly girl (but I grew up a bit of a tomboy, and with brothers, so I’m not a total baby), but how on earth do you get blood on your shirt and not even know if it’s yours or someone else’s?
It reminded me of the first time I can recall that wrestling lead to bleeding. Here’s an excerpt from a really old post:
When Luke (4 at the time) and Bennett (2) were new at sharing a room together, bedtime was difficult. Really, really difficult. For about the first two months or so. One night I went back there for the umpteenth time to calm the horseplay, and noticed that there was something dark on the wall. “Is that blood?” I asked the boys. Luke was like, “Um, no, I don’t think so. No one’s bleeding.”
So I turned on the light, and sure enough, it was blood on the wall. And on Bennett’s lip. Truth was they’d been wrestling, and though Bennett didn’t feel it, he’d busted his lip a little bit (and then somehow smeared blood on the wall? Really?). A minute later I saw it: blood on the new comforters.
It’s funny now. I can remember not being all that amused back then.