how the mighty oak doth fall

Last night Stevie Wonder and I were sitting in the living room.  He was telling me about John's visit to the house.  The cute things he can do.  That he only walks when he doesn't realize he's doing it (e.g., he is after something on the end table and turns loose to walk to the object, so focused on said object that he forgets to hang onto the edges of the furniture to get there).  He couldn't say enough about how cute John is.

John is 11 months old and FAST.  He can tear a room apart in less than five minutes.  I promise this is the truth, because I have seen him do it.

John is the apple of his Gramps' eye. 

Stevie W got up to go to the bathroom.  Or the kitchen.  I can't remember which now.  Because when he stood up, he took three steps and just as he got past the couch, he SCREAMED and doubled over, staggering.  I was debating whether this was a heart attack or a stroke and about to jump off the couch to possibly resuscitate him, when Steve suddenly straightened back up with a pained expression on his face.

That was when I knew.  Because I had experienced that same agonizing pain. 

Steve looked at me.  Grinned.  Bent over and picked up a toy soldier out of the floor.   There are about 300 or so of those soldiers using our house as a barracks, with the occasional policeman thrown in the mix.  Sometimes one of them escapes the barracks and bivouacs in odd spots.  Stepping on them takes your breath and sanity for a moment.  Sometimes you curse.  OK, you curse every time.

But John was forgiven of course.  He is only 11 months old.  I never thought I would see the day Steve was felled by a two inch soldier wielded by a two foot baby. 

But I have now.  And I didn't have my camera.  :)