The drama that was yesterday

Well.

Yesterday, Small Boy was perfect. Or as perfect as a seven-year-old boy can be pulling a full business day at Mommy's office.

But true to form, he was so caught up in his legos that he refused to eat.

Legos take a lot of brain power, man. They use up lots of glucose. And Small Boy always gets cranky when he doesn't have regular snacks and full lunches.

So late in the day, Small Boy had a major construction difficulty and called in the reinforcements. Though why he ever calls me to help with construction I'll never know. I'm good for finding pieces and taking apart things that have gotten hopelessly stuck together. And occassionally for figuring out the instructions. But I do nothing but break his toys once he puts them in my hands.

Anyway, we got into a dispute about how best to resolve the construction problem.

Small Boy got more and more worked up. Finally, he leaps over me and the legos to get around to see a better angle.

And slams into The Boss' desk.

Dear God, the thud it made. My stomach dropped out, and I whirl around to find his whole little face crumpled up in pain. He'd already started screaming crying and I couldn't get him to tell me where he'd hit himself. I could see it wasn't an eye or any place visible on his forehead. For a split second I was relieved. I figured he'd caught the hard top of his head.

( Cut for the graphic details )

And I swear he was absolutely fine 10 minutes later. We got the blood to stop. He had a drink of water. (Still refused a snack, but I figured, hey, lots of pain and blood. Can't expect him to have a big appetite.) And he trooped back there and fixed the problem.

I was mothering dork_elf yesterday morning, and she reminded me I had my own kid to worry about.

Seriously.

But he's a tough little bugger. And the Sandcrawler is looking great, BTW, though he is *still* struggling with this design flaw. I think we could give the Lego people some tips. We're goign to make modifications tonight, I think.

Flowers

[SMALL BOY is in his jammies, in bed. Extends FEET towards MOMMY.]

Small Boy: Smell my feet!

Mommy [shoves FEET away]: No!

Small Boy: Yes! Smell my feet!

[Several iterations]

Mommy: Fine, I'll smell your feet.

[Smells FEET. Shoves FEET under covers.]

Small Boy: What do they smell like?

Mommy: Toxic waste.

Small Boy [laughing]: What does toxic waste smell like?

Mommy [thoughful]: I dunno. Flowers?

Small Boy [shocked]: Flowers?!

Later, Small Boy was heard to mutter in disbelief: "Toxic waste smells like flowers?!"

Argh!

I'm having the terrible feeling that I'm forgetting something. I've been having that feeling for a couple of hours now, and sometimes it comes on much stronger, like I'm now forgetting ANOTHER thing.

Do not like this feeling. It's making me twitchy.

In addition, am now officially worried that it is 7:19 Her Time and we have yet to hear from uisgich. Despite the fact that the C-Series Friend Units began spamming her quite a while ago.

*worries*

*twitches*

*resists sending more bad Stargate drabble to cocoajava*

Sports babble

It's stupid to let yourself get all worked up over sports babble.

But the NBA draft was running in the background today, and it was bothering me.

If these people, these NBA draft-eligible college players, don't have "athleticism," then who the hell does?!

Husband made many hilarious jokes about how players play without athleticism, but I think they were location jokes, and I will not relate.

And Husband notes that the word of the day was "long." I assumed this meant, the player had good range, but Husband thinks not. Something to do with another word they were using - "wingspan."

Dude. If people kept going on and on about my "wingspan," I think I'd be pissed.

In other draft news, 3, 5, and 6 were all UNC players. I felt due school pride. Husband quipped, "I think UNC's gonna suck next year."

*ponders "athleticism"*