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.