I don't think I'm qualified for this job.

Grace spends her days trying to snap her neck, I believe. She throws her body around with total abandon, and when I'm certain she's finally done it and I'm trying to decide whether to take her to the ER at Legacy Emanuel, which is closer, or Legacy Good Samaritan, which is usually less crowded, or just call an ambulance, she jumps to her feet giggling and says something like, "That was CRAZY!" This afternoon our neighbor came over with her one-year-old, who is just starting to walk, and we winced repeatedly at Grace, who is just starting to fly, apparently. After one horrifying maneuver made us both gasp, Grace stood tall and announced, "I'm not weird, I'm just crazy!"

I can't complain on the potty training front, however. She has taken to it with such glee and pride; she sits on the potty and screams, "I'm peeing!" and it's all I can do to not piss myself.

Sorry about the underwear. Really.

This might be the most spectacular collection of bruises I have ever had. It looks as if someone took a length of rebar to me, but they are actually the result of switching file drawers from one cabinet to another and resting the drawers on my thigh in between. Clever girl. And this picture doesn't do them justice. They're so bad, they actually itch. Really, there's nothing quite as sexy as deep purple and green bruises on winter white thighs, right?

Feeling the pain

A few days ago my mom was freaking out expressing her concern about our decision not to reinstall the safety gate at the top of the stairs after Grace's repeated yanking on it pulled the giant plastic anchors out of the drywall. I told her Grace was navigating the stairs like a pro, and I was more likely to fall. Then I said a handful of words I immediately wanted to take back: "Huh, I haven't fallen in a while." I knocked on wood, but last night, sure enough, I fell down the stairs into our living room. Nothing was bleeding, no one saw me (except Brady, who was all, "You are such a clutz.") and this morning I couldn't find a single bruise on my body. But now? EVERY PART OF MY BODY HURTS, including my toes. I'm old.

I've tried to be a good sport about falling over the years, mostly because it usually happens in public, and no one likes a crybaby. I once fell down the stairs into the shoe department at Nordstrom (downtown, of course), a sort of sacred place for me. Within minutes I was surrounded by men in dark suits talking into their wrists. I muttered something about the steps being wet to save face, so you know somebody watched THAT video over and over to make sure there would be no litigation. Then I slunk off and bought a pair of fabulous, expensive and totally impractical shoes to soothe my nerves. When I got home, and I swear I am not making this up, there were TWO RIGHT SHOES in the box. I went back the same day.



I had a spectacular fall down a looooooong flight of stairs at a train station in Italy. When I finally hit bottom I was like a beetle stuck upside down, legs waving in the air, because I was wearing a big backpack. My friends helped me up and I limped to the hotel with blood soaking through the knee of my jeans. Sigh. Good times.

I could go on, but I think I'll just start a category called "injuries" and share a good one from time to time. Feel free to join in. Now I'm gonna go have a nip of tequila and try to get into bed without incident.