No running in the house!

Daniel's at that age (which, I think, lasts until about 17) where he's part athlete, part klutz. He's tall and lean and has energy to burn. So he runs everywhere. And I've been pulling out the momisms - "Don't run with that in your hand, you'll put an eye out!" "Don't run in the house, you'll break something!" "Don't run down the driveway, you'll fall and hurt yourself!"
So earlier this week, he tripped over God-knows-what in the yard, fell on his face, and lost his glasses.
Ever try to translate three-year-old into clear directions? "Were are your glasses?" "Outside." "Outside where?" "Where I fell" "Where did you fall?" "Outside."
So the three adults in the house spent about half an hour scouring the yard to find the boy's last pair of unbroken glasses.
But did we learn anything? Apparently not. Last night Daniel goes racing down the hall to bed and runs smack into a doorknob. And he's at the height now that the doorknob catches him right in the cheekbone. Oh, the howls. Even I know that one hurt.
Fortunately, mom has prescribed to the icepack theory of first aid: If it hurts, slap an icepack on it until it's numb. Also, the bruising and swelling will be not so bad the next day. So Daniel went to bed cuddling his teddy bears and an icepack, convinced that everything would be better in the morning.
--Misty