Dental

John and I came home this afternoon and ate our dinner, like always. Then he sat down to watch a little TV while I changed clothes and got his bath ready.

I was barely down the hall to my bedroom when he started crying, the good, loud nearly-screaming crying that tells a parent that a kid is truly hurt and not just snivelling about something.

Back in the living room, I found a broken lightsaber, a toothprint on the wooden edge of the coffee table, and John with a loose upper tooth and blood pouring out of his mouth.

I could never get an accurate account of exactly what happened. He's fine now, even though his tooth is wiggly.