On Saturday, Griffin was stopping his scooter so he wouldn't hit his Grandpa Asplund. In the process, he almost fell off the sidewalk, so John used his foot to stop him. Griffin put his foot down and bent his toe in such a way that, well, he broke it. I didn't know anything about this, but when I was helping him get ready for church on Sunday, he kept talking about how much his new Sunday shoes hurt his toe. Being such a good mom, I told him that new shoes were always a little stiff and that he was fine. We walked to church.
The next day, I had to take Mags to the doctor since she had had a horrible cough since girls camp and hadn't gotten any better. I took Griffin along so he could get a weight check and also so the doctor could "check out his toe." As he and I were talking in the waiting room, he made it VERY clear that if it involved needles, he didn't want it to be looked at.
After Maggie was seen and diagnosed with bronchitis, it was Griffin's turn. He got up on the table and she looked at his toe. Yep, it was broken. She taped it to the next toe and then we wrapped it with an ace bandage to give it a little protection. I reflected on his Sunday shoes and felt terrible. It really must have been painful. At our house, Sunday morning typically comes with lots of excuses: cough, cough; wheeze, wheeze; spleen, spleen. It's the usual joke of the day. Another boy who cried wolf situation. In my defense, though, I didn't know about any of the events on Saturday.
He was happy to have a reason to keep his feet up for the rest of the day and had his mom wrapped around his finger the whole time.