It was a late summer night and Id just returned home from trampoline cardio class, armed with doughnut holes for my little four-year-old bean, Cameron. My husband had left a bag of garbage outside (an unspoken please take this to the bin), so I scooped it up and stepped down from the front lawn to the sloped driveway. I lost my footing, rolled my ankle, and collapsed into a bellowing heap on the pavement.

My son saw the whole thing.

Thankfully, it was just a sprain. But that night, my son presented me with a little green journal. I opened it to the first page to find a drawing of a familiar scene: me, on the ground, eyes looking upwards, with a big X through me.

This is you looking up, when you should be looking down, so you dont fall, he explained.

I looked at the simple drawing (that held so much meaning) and laughed it off. I dated it, because it was too cute not to keep.