TB was telling me about an amazing rock he found.  It was smooth and had crystals and colors in it, he said.  So I asked him to show it to me.  He didn’t have it.  “Maybe it fell through the hole in my pocket,” he said.

Really?  He knew he had a hole in his pocket and he put the rock in it anyway?  It didn’t cross his mind to perhaps put the rock in a different pocket, say, one without a hole?  He didn’t think that he could ask someone, mayhaps one of his parents, to hold it for him?  No?

TB has long had a love affair with pockets.  I’m constantly pulling things out of his pockets before I wash his clothes (and just as often out of the washing machine after I have laundered his clothes).  Now I wonder if he has a favorite pocket.  I’ve not noticed that before, but I will be on the lookout.  Maybe next time we’ll be able to avoid the falling rocks.