Skinned knees

It's been a busy month (as Shannon so kindly pointed out in the last post) and I am beginning to breathe again. And I know you just came here to see pictures of (the world's most) cute kids, but I am still not yet back to adding pictures. I'll get there.

Tonight, you get a story. We were out for our evening stroll after dinner tonight. It's been such wonderful weather here recently that we've spent almost every evening after dinner out walking the neighborhood. Micah changes his walk activity each time--sometimes he helps push the stroller, sometimes he wants to be on Dad's shoulders, and most recently he just wants to run. He's pretty good at listening when we tell him to slow down or stop so we've let him run when it's safe to do so. And so far he's done well, gathering speed and keeping his balance. Of course, my heart and Shannon's heart are in our throats every night just waiting for that big boom but it hasn't happened. Until tonight.

It was a relatively flat stretch of the walk so it must have been that random tripping of the legs that we all experience, even the most balanced adult (in the physical sense--mental abilities don't apply here). But no matter how flat it was, Micah went down. There was the inevitable silence and then the ear-piercing scream that indicates real pain. He hopped up and grabbed for his palms and knees and cried a little more as some blood came to the surface. He kicked and pushed away from any sort of hugs and comfort that Shannon tried to offer. And then as quick as it came, it was gone. The tears left and he said, "Micah run?"

"Uhhh, yeah, sure, buddy. Are you feeling okay?"

"I good."

"Do your knees and hands hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Can we kiss it to make it feel better?"

"Mmmm. No."

"Do you want to go home or keep walking?"

"More walk."

Alright, well, that wasn't too bad. Not that our hearts don't go into our throats still as he runs or walks down the sidewalk. But at least the first one is out of the way. Many more to come.