Hadda Be a Hero...

I totally forgot to post this when it happened, but life is having a lull while the kids are napping and I actually have two glorious hours to myself, in which I intend to blog, eat a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs, and fall asleep while watching My Fair Wedding, in that order. So this entry is all that is standing between me, chocolate and crappy reality shows.

I have a tendency of being very clumsy. While I was pregnant with Addison, I managed to launch myself down my in law's stairs of death, landing at the bottom on a pile of cardboard boxes, natch. At the cabin, I managed to faint while going up concrete stairs and banged myself up. As a 14 year old, I was kicking a cardboard box along the road (?) and somehow got both feet caught in it, falling and bashing my head off of the curb. There was a corner in the house I grew up in outside of my bedroom door that I would walk into every morning, without fail. And, in a Porter legend, I once used my mom's expensive Ginsu knife to make my little brother a pretend t.v. set using a box and some poster board, and managed to put the knife directly through my hand. I was so scared my mom was going to be mad at me I ran up to my room and hid there, bleeding to death until my oldest brother followed the trail I left and hollered for her.

What can I say? I'm a klutz. And I have all of the scars to prove it. You should see my ironing scar. It's pretty gnarly. EXTREME IRONING FTW!

I attribute it to a) the fact that I don't pay attention to anything, and b) the fact that I'm ALWAYS busy.

Coupled with the fact that I'm clumsy is the fact that I bruise astonishingly easily. Like, if someone looks at me the wrong way at the grocery store, you can guarantee that I'll get a bruise. I sneeze, I bruise. I chalk up to my whitest of white skin. So when I'm clumsy, and hurt myself, it then looks like Justin has thoroughly beaten me.

The Thursday before last, I was hauling the kids out of the car to go to my friend's house for our weekly pow-wow/junk food eating. I set Addison down on the sidewalk and went around the side to get Andrew. Removing him from his seat, I then proceeded to slam the door. With my leg still in the car.

First, I cursed. But only pretend cursed because I am the best at switch words. I yelled the ever appropriate "MOTHERFLETCHER!" and extracted myself. Aaaaaand here's what I was rewarded with:


This is week healed over. That is the side of my gleaming white knee. PS I am fairly sure it is impossible to take a picture of your knee without it looking grossly similar to whale blubber.

It has been so bad that Justin, Justin my don't-ever-spend-money-unless-it's-a-good-investment husband, ordered me to the mall to buy a long skirt, for fear that our friends at church would label him for spousal abuse. I, of course, took advantage of the orders and bought more.

I also have been telling people that my leg was bruised because I heroically stuck my leg in the door because Andrew's head was going to be squashed. This is a blatant lie, but it makes me look like a really, really good parent.

And isn't that what we're all working toward? Making other people think we're good parents?

So... basically I'm a selfless hero, Andrew is in tact and Justin has a guilty conscience.