Eric walked in the door after work limping and groaning. He bent to rub his aching shins while taking off his dusty work boots.
Apparently he'd had a run in with a tree. And the tree fought back. All over his shin.
We all changed into our pjs and piled on the bed to hear about this day-long battle between Eric, the tree and its brittle limbs. After Eric recounted the details of climbing a giant tree and cutting limbs and feeling sweet relief when finally able to climb back into the boom truck, I asked Jackson how his day had gone.
"Very well," he said.
"Good," I said. "What did you do today?"
"A tree scratched me!" he exclaimed, staring me in the face while rubbing his leg.
"Oh really?" my eyebrow rises.
"Yeah!" he says, getting into his tale. "It scratched me right here and I couldn't turn around to get into the bucket so daddy was in the bucket and I was in the bucket."
"I see," I said. "Do you need me to kiss your scratch?"
"No," he says, bending over to inspect his invisible wound. "It's mine."