I got my own Rocky Balboa. I sang the "Rocky" theme song to him, but my attempt at humor was completely lost on the 11-year-old who has no idea who Rocky Balboa is.
Tuesday night, Tanner came home from baseball practice looking like this:
Amazingly, his glasses survived the hit. If you look closely, you can see the outline of a baseball around his eye.
Wednesday morning, his eye was there...somewhere.
Oooh, pretty. We were icing it three times a day and his face hurt clear down do his jaw.
Wednesday night his eye was open, but some black and blue was starting to set in.
Thursday morning, I accused him of playing in my make-up. He didn't think it was funny at first.
Tanner was born with a happy disposition. It's a good thing, too, because he's the one who winds up with broken teeth, scraped up knees, and black eyes.
3 comments:
Oh no. Sounds like you need to sit that kid down and have a Rocky marathon. :)
Now, with a literary genius for a mother, he should come up with a wild and fantastic story to go along with how he got the black eye... :)
I still say he should have stayed here a little longer. I hurt just looking at him. What a guy!
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