I was brushing my teeth this morning when I heard Daniel wimpering in the kids' room. I called for him to come into the bathroom, and he replyed that he had boogers. So when he finally came down the hallway, his face, hands and jammy top were covered in droplets of blood. I know it always looks worse than what it is, but because his eye was glued shut with dried blood, I was a little nervous. After a nice warm washcloth and plenty of hugs and kisses, I was able to fully inspect his eye. The very unreliable witnesses/roommates tell me that he was playing with the bookshelves. I think a book fell and hit him in the eye. Not to worry, the shelves are anchored to the wall. By the time he went to bed tonight, he had a pretty good shiner.
Grandma, the kids and I took Grandpa to the Cracker Barrel for Father's Day breakfast. The kids loved their pancakes and fruit. Keith would have been so proud of me, I managed to choke down a spoon or two of grits. Just for the record, I still think grits are gross. I was born and raised near Boston, and Keith was born and spent his early childhood near Atlanta. This becomes an issue in our marriage sometimes. Most often times in relation to the baseball teams on the kids hats. We've reached a compromise that the boys have Braves hats, and the girls have Red Sox hats. However, grits are where I draw the line in our Northern vs. Southern battle. I shudder just thinking about the grainy-sandy texture.
After breakfast, we went back home to Grandma and Grandpa's house to put together Grandpa's gift. It is a huge shed for the backyard. The kids played with the boxes while the adults worked on putting the shed together.
I gave them markers to decorate the boxes with. They also decorated themselves, creating quite a mess.