Michael loves elevators. He loves to push buttons and hold the door for people getting on and off.
Well, apparently the elevator does not return the love. On Wednesday we had just come home from running errands and I stopped in the lobby to chat with the security guard. Someone had just come off the elevator, and Michael ran to get on. Right before the door closed he stuck his little hand in to catch it and the door closed on his hand. Thank goodness the security guard thought fast and hit the up button again so the door opened. (I was too busy panicking to think of that myself). Michael was so distraught. He kept sobbing "Manny! Manny!" and I couldn't figure out what he wanted until he said, "Manny, fix!" (Handy Manny is a cartoon character on the Disney Channel who fixes things, and I guess Michael thought Manny could fix his hand). Poor little guy. His hand is fine, but it was a little scary.
Then right before dinner he fell asleep on the couch, and woke up with a fever and chills.
One mostly-spit-all-over-mom dose of Tylenol and a Jamba Juice later, he was back to being his perky self. He remained perky until 10:00 at night and woke up happy as can be the next day, no worse for the wear except for the copious amounts of snot running down his face. Little kids are so resilient. If only a mother's heart could bounce back from trauma so easily.