Little boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.

Oh, my son is adorable. Loving, kind, sweet, funny, tough, obsessed with good guys and bad guys, cars, Lego, etc.

He recently complained that he hadn't gotten any mail recently. I pointed out that you have to write letters to get them. So, we decided that on Tuesdays, we'd write letters to someone we loved. Ruthie jumped right in and wrote a letter to Mimi and Bumpa. Gage did too but then his letter became a book and he was really going to town. I gave him my stapler and let him have at it.

After lunch, he was supposed to finish up the book. But, he said he wanted to take a break. Okay, I said. And then he said he wanted to play on the computer. I asked to see the book then. Okay, he said, "Come on." "Can you bring it to me?" I asked. "Uh, no." "Why not?" "Uh, I hurt myself."

"WHAT?"

Figured it out in one. Stapler injury.

He probably was playing with it after he got tired of stapling his book shut and he stapled his finger.

The thing is that he didn't want to tell me. (That's how I know it wasn't pure accident.) He pulled the staple out and band-aided it without telling me. He was scared he'd be in trouble, scared of the blood, and just scared.

Oh, my mother heart just melted.

I sent Ruthie to get the ointment and a fresh band-aid. I held him and cuddled him and asked him if he'd done it on purpose. "No," he said with a look of stunned surprise. "Then why would you be in trouble?" "I dunno."

So, we had a talk about why Moms and Dads need to know when someone hurts himself. And, why it's better to tell Mom and/or Dad even if someone hurt himself doing something they shouldn't be doing.

I think he got it because when I took Ruthie to her music lesson, he told Dad what he'd done and showed him the now no longer bleeding injury.

And, I am left with the image of him pulling a staple out of his sweet little thumb.

Sigh.