At three I fell off my tricycle (part of the path to my house was raised, and the wheels slipped off one side) and cut my eyebrow open on a metal garbage can. I still have a very faint scar.
I haven’t accused my parents of negligence lately. I should phone them and remind them about the trauma. 
Actually, I do still remember it, although I don’t remember the subsequent hospital visit.
Oh yes, and children also do damage to each other. Even after lo these many years, my sister still reminds me that she’s gone through most of her life with that scar through her eyebrow because of the rock I threw at her.
I figure I did my brother a favor. 
He has a manly scar on his neck now. You can bet that he doesn’t tell the chicks he got when his older sister stabbed him with a pencil.
When I was three, my sister put me on a chair we had that spun around. She spun me so fast I flew off.
And through a window.
To the ground, 5 feet below.
Yeah, I guess that does explain a lot about me.
Beautiful OP.
Work beckons.
Okay, I’m feeling a bit better after reading that most of you got dropped/fell onto your heads at least once in your childhood. At worst, it just means HRH will end up like me (not altogether a bad thing!).
Speaking of childhood “accidents”, I do recall stabbing my brother in the back of the hand with a fork once - I was laying the table for lunch and bro’, doing his homework at the table, wouldn’t move his hand from where I needed to put the fork, so I put the fork in his hand! He then grabbed a sharp knife from the kitchen and chased me 'round the table, all the while screaming at me to pull the damn fork out! He still has a scar on the back of his hand. The first time he told his wife how he got that scar, she looked at me like I was slightly mental (I plead the 5th!).
:eek:
You win.
Wonderful OP, Plynck. That and this
made me feel a little choked up this morning.
I think kids do the falling/getting bumps thing to try to equalize the guilt equation. See, moms have the 9 months, morning sickness, x hours in labor things to guilt the kids with. The kids need ammunition to fight back. So the “you dropped me on my head when I was a baby” thing is what they use.
I think we found a house (well, townhouse) this weekend that we want to buy. It’s a rental conversion so when you buy it, you can pick the cabinets and counter tops and appliances and flooring and so on. 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath, 2-car garage. And although there are a bunch that we could buy, the one we really want faces out onto the pool. Our apartment right now faces the pool, and I love that. You can always look out and see if it’s in use or not before going down to use it. Plus, it means you’re not looking into another person’s windows. And no one’s looking into yours. So we’re really excited. And looking for mortgage deals. And finding out details on breaking our lease if we do decide to go with this. (And yes, we do know that there can be pitfalls with conversions so we’ll look out for those.) So yay!
I made a French apple pie (the kind with a crumb topping) yesterday afternoon. And KeithT experimented with some leftover chicken and made a delicious non-traditional chicken pot pie. It was flavored with tarragon and thyme and had broccolini in it instead of the regular veggies. Very YUM!
I remember a fun time that has to deal with bleeding and head trauma.
A couple burrira and I were sitting on my lawn eating pretzel rods and goofing off. One thing led to another and we were throwing pretzels at each other. That thing led to another and the pretzels got mixed up with sticks. I threw a stick at a friend and it stick into his shin. I got hit with a chunk of wood that opened up a gash on the back of my head behind my ear. After we realized we were both bleeding (badly), we went in to get a band-aid. We first saw dad, who saw it all happen. “Go tell your mother” was the directive.
She was in the bathroom. I announced that I needed a bandage. I looked over at my buddy, stick still in shin who motioned for two bandages. “How big?” was the response, as she rounded the corner to see us, “Here you goOHMYGODwhyareyoubleeding?” was her response. Dad knew what the response would be, so he sat in the wings, waiting for shit to hit the fan.
Good times. Not as funny as the bee story, though.
I was about 3 when I chased a cat off my grandmother’s porch. Her rail-less porch that was 6 - 7 feet off the ground. I woke up in the bathroom sink, with the entire family trying to crowd in to make sure I was all right.
Lovely OP, Plynck.
I cackled like a loon this morning when I pulled into the parking lot. The Power Exchange (you can Google it, but definitely NSFW) has painted up a car to look like a police car, with America’s Naughtiest on the door and 69 as the car number. It would only be mildly amusing, but I park in the city lot, where a lot of the city cars park, which often includes police cars. Oddly, there are no police cars parked there this morning. :snerk:
I had to go back and look for this, because in my feeble mind, I remembered this as being Attacks Husband. Oops.
Mad ninja skillz is something the Mennonites excommunicate you for…
still just skimming but had to add:
I was always injuring myself in one fashion or another. One night at dinner, we had more diners than chairs (I think the Cincinnati aunts were visiting) So I sat on a bench. I forgot I was on a bench, leaned back, hit my head on the cabinet and landed on the floor.
Then there are they numerous bicycle related bumps and bruises.
I once almost killed Cousin. We were roughhousing (yes, a couple of little girls were roughhousing) and I almost choked her to death. I didn’t know my own strength. I have long since made amends, but I think she still harbors that deep inside, she often gets annoyed at me for no apparent reason.
eta:
wOOt first on 2 without even trying!
I forgot to add - I found out what I was doing wrong with my knitting. Too big a needle for too fine yarn. Super easy to fix. Yay! So now I’m working on a scarf for Mom for xmas. Acrylic/alpaca blend I picked up at Michael’s. $3.99 for 3.5 oz doesn’t seem bad for their alpaca blend, cashmere blend, or a really soft bamboo. Scarves are fun because the go so fast. The lap blanket that I’ve been working on for Grandma is taking forever. It’s pretty and the pattern is simple, but it’s just a slow go. So the scarves seem like a nice change of pace.
When I was about two, my one-year-old brother was crying in his crib. Me, being the loving big sister, went to go get him. I pulled him out, and promptly dropped him on the hardwood floor. Mom was not pleased, so I’m told. He’s mostly ok, now.
Lunchtime! Ginger salmon with barley risotto. Mmm.
Ah, childhood. When we’re fun and fancy-free and have all the coordination of a drunkard on a shaky funhouse floor.
Let’s see.
4 or 5 years old. Playing outside my mother’s, pushing a foot-high toy U-Haul truck along the sidewalk – almost running, actually. Not watching where I was going, I didn’t see the kid on the tricycle coming at me. In particular, I didn’t see that his tricycle’s pedals had no rubber protectors, just deep metal serrations for grip. And, apparently, to ensure maximum damage when they come in contact with my head. I got several stitches over my left eyebrow for that.
5 or 6 years old. In school, out at lunch, playing on the playground. There were a few cool trees we kids liked to climb, and were climbing one in particular. I was in the lead with my friends following. I paused near the top of the tree and looked down at my friends to make sure they weren’t slacking. That’s when I saw drops of blood dripping down to the branches below. “Hey,” I exclaimed to my friends. “The tree is bleeding! Look! The tree is bleeding!” They looked at me funny. I wondered why? Any fool could see that the tree was bleeding, yet I’m the one they regarded as crazy. And why was my head wet?? I reached a hand up and felt my head. It came away soaked in blood. My head stung a bit. I then realized what was going on here. I muttered a disappointed, “Oh.” (Hey, a bleeding tree would have been the weirdest and coolest find ever! You can’t fault my sense of disappointment at the discovery that it was just my head the whole time.) That earned a trip to the nurse and a really cold ice pack that just made my head hurt worse.
Public school, grade 4, the playground had one of those small, two-level log forts. We were monkeying around on it, as we were wont to do, and were up on the second level, which was little more than a shelf, really, about three feet wide and no railing. A friend said something funny. I laughed and laughed and stepped backwards, only to realize that there was nothing back there to step on. Down I went, cracking my head on the wooden log that made the bottom of the door frame to the fort. I spent the next five minutes clutching my head and running around the playground yelling “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
Grade 8. Running track. 10th lap. Body flagging. Teacher calls my name. I look over and respond, and in so doing fail to realize that my current trajectory put me directly in the path of a goalpost. When I regained consciousness, I had a huge knot on my forehead and had lost half a tooth. Well, I didn’t lose it precisely. I knew where it was. It remained with me until my digestive system passed it on to its appropriate departure point. I got a dental cap for that one.
Amazingly, I have never in my life broken a bone[sup]*[/sup]. I’m still not sure how I managed that.
[sub]* This is not an invitation.[/sub]
Attacks Husband is agnostic, Driving Husband is Goth Mennonite. Driving Husband does Russian Special Forces fighting, Attacks Husband has done a whole bunch of different martial arts, and generally just tackles Mr. Lissar from behind whenever he sees him.
Including at his own wedding reception. It was pretty funny.
Two pages already?
Dotty – we all have our stories of how we nearly killed ourselves as babies, or how we nearly killed our own [del]hellspawn[/del] children. As everyone else said, it’s just kids’ ammunition against their mothers in the Guilting Game…
Li-Li, welcome to the scar-above-eyebrow club! I got mine in an even funnier way – see, we had this nice smooth tile floor, and this nice big (for a 3 YO) table. I could slide on the floor, and scamper under the table, all in one smooth motion.
Well, one day I discovered the hard way that I had grown a bit… and my perfectly-timed slide [del]into home plate[/del] under the table was… well, not quite under the table. Didn’t **quite **require stitches (although my very first memory is staring up at the ER doctor (:eek: ) who was deliberating aloud with my parents whether I did in fact need a few…)
But always remember – I joined the club first. And geroff my lawn!
Haze… you, OTOH, can join me on the lawn And you said I was too old for you the other day… for shame!
Ah, playground accidents. My cousins grew up in a very small town in Indiana, and the school (K-12) was a block away from their house with the most lethal playground. (In fact, this cousin was visiting our area recently, and we were reminiscing over it, and wondering how many lawsuits that playground would bring today!) It had a slide that was about 20 feet tall, the old metal kind that was about a foot wide, very steep, no side rails – you know, perfect for falling off of, not to mention burning your butt whenever the sun was out. At least one child a year broke something falling off that slide. Then there was the spin-fast-till-everyone-is-throwing-up merry-go-round, the 12-foot-high monkey bars, and all those other delights of childhood. It’s a wonder I never broke anything there. Although my younger cousin did; his arm, as I recall. I think the slide was the culprit, but really, it could have been anything.
Plus the school had the best fire escape. It was just a metal tube from the second floor to the ground, slanted like a slide. And they were foolish enough to leave the bottom open. So needless to say, one of our favorite activities was to try to climb up the fire escape so we could slide back down. It actually was less dangerous than the slide, but certainly no less enjoyable.
I had such a fun misspent youth!
what club? the geroffmylawn club? Darlin’, there are at least a half dozen of us who got there before you! (m’self incuded)
Yeah. I hear that the first thing that goes is Reading for Comprehension…
Goth Mennonite conjures up a nice little mental image there.
My BF is going to be leaving town later this week to visit a friend in Minneapolis. I am looking forward to some time alone while he’s gone. I plan on doing a lot of reading and watching of Movies He Wouldn’t Care For.