Called the Preschool

Mid-morning I called Winton's preschool to check on him.  I was worried.

This morning he was arguing with me when I was trying to take him out of the car.  He wanted to unlock the door himself before I opened it from the outside.  I had already opened the door, so he was trying to shut it to lock it so he could start over.  He, however, was holding the door hinge side of the window as he tried to shut the door, and he squeezed his fingers in there fairly hard.  They were pink.  He cried.

But they were all attached, and they were not purple, and he could bend them all, and he stopped crying quickly.  So, I took him into preschool.

And then I called, mid-morning, to check:

Teacher: "His hand? Oh.  I didn't even know he'd hurt his hand.  No, its fine.  He's playing now, using both hands.  We were going to call you anyway though because his friend hit him with a fire truck and it looks like he's going to have a black eye.  You don't need to come get him.  No no.  He's fine.  Just bruised."