I’ve got my first-ever black eye.
No, this is not a blog about domestic violence or my violent bar-hopping habits on weekends. This black eye is courtesy of my cute little boy.
Noah was holding the remote control to our Christmas train — which the kids have been way more excited about than the Christmas tree — the other day, and we were taking turns pretending it was a phone.
“Huwhoa?” Noah’d say. “Hi Nana! Hi Pop!”
Then he’d hand it to me, putting it up against my head in case I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with it.
“Hello?” I’d say. “Hi Daddy! What time are you coming home today? OK, well Noah misses you. Bye-bye.”
Well, one time Noah got a little overzealous, and I got the corner of the remote slammed into the corner of my left eye. I actually had tears coming out — thank goodness it didn’t land in the center of my eyeball — and Noah hates it when he sees me cry.
“Sowwy, Mommy. Sowwy,” he said. Then he leaned over and kissed the spot.
That was nice (and not something he’s apt to do when he hurts his sister). But I gotta say, this thing really hurts sometimes!
Kids are crazy strong! Hope your black eye heals.