Playing with the boys this weekend, when it just happened. One minute we were playing superheros, the next stuffed animals were whizzing through the air like scud missiles. They took the high ground, perched upon Logan's bunch, with a ready supply of ammunition. I was left to defend the floor, grabbing whatever animal was in reach and zipping it back. Sometimes two or three at a time. Laughter and giggling intermixed with requests to hurry with the next barrage.
In the midst a healthy back and forth battle, Cole turned his back, just trying to stem off the incoming animals. After a few minutes, we realised he had become a walking wounded. One strike had caught him in the eye. He did not cry out, just tried to go on the defensive to protect what was left.
We can easily get wrapped up playing the game (life) and miss those that have fallen. When we are the fallen, we go on the defensive, not letting anyone know, just trying to get by.
Cole was okay, just a "flesh wound", quickly forgotten as we moved on greater adventures. The bump may have been harder than we thought, as a bit later Logan asked Cole for his middle initial and he started down the stairs to get it out of his closet. Through our laughter we beckoned him back to the loft. I wonder what he would have brought back?