Just now Olof called me into the living room from the office to “help Tage.”  Turns out Petra had kicked him in the side of the head while they were roughhousing, and he was lying on the floor, crying (Olof was holding the baby, so couldn’t help Tage up himself).  I picked him up and asked if he was okay, to which he gave an inarticulate response.

Petra was noticeably chastened by Tage’s tears, and, looking worried, said to me a couple of times, “Sorry, Mom.”

After the third or fourth time, I told her, “You should say, ‘Sorry, Tage.'”

A beat passed, then I heard a little voice just beside my ear, where the injured party’s head was resting on my shoulder.  “Sorry,” he said, then couldn’t help breaking into giggles. I guess he was all that badly hurt after all.