Dark Glass Ponderings

I've discovered an injury is not always detrimental to one's writing hobby.  Notwithstanding the fact that a recommendation of taking it easy and a house full of toddlers are not compatible.  Even though they've been in bed for over an hour I'm surrounded by a multitude of toys as I sit on my husband's laptop typing away as he kills phosporic ooze.  Those who know my husband can imagine him reciting the kill count to me as I type.  For those who don't, suffice it to say he is a very avid gamer. 

Should you wonder I'm as graceful as an elephant in ballet slippers.  Over the weekend I fell down the stairs and sprained my ankle.  So yes, now I can give the age-old stereotypical excuse. 

There is nothing funny about spousal battery. 

However, I have never been able to live down the "questionning" incident.  I bruise easily.  Ask my mom.  Its an unfortunate trait she passed on along with the big teeth and tiny mouth I haven't been able to come to terms with even after thousands of dollars spent on dental appliances. 

A few years back I took my daughter to the pediatrician.  It was a sultry August day.  My daughter was visiting the doctor for a periodic weight check due to the fact that she was labelled "failure to thrive."  What kind of label is that to put on a child at 6 months of age, I ask you??  Or any age?? 

So anyway as they are checking out my daughter for "malnutrition" the nurse notices bruises on my legs.  She takes me aside and begins questionning me.  She tells me this is a safe place.  I'm caught between mortification and hysterical laughter.  Again I truly do not mean to make light of spousal abuse by this post.  And here I hear my husband's voice in my head telling me stop worrying about what people think of the entry...just write the post.

Though I must admit my husband does practice violence regularly against the aforementioned phosphoric ooze and receives regular spider extermination calls.  My husband is about one of the most mild-mannered men you could hope to meet. 

I'm not sure I'm ready to share with the pediatrican's office about that other male in my house...the one who dons a fireman hat and hoses on (yes, with his spit) the worms he finds in the driveway.  I've recently learned that anything and everything should be swung through the air and trampolines exist throughout my house. 

I'll definitely need some divine intervention to help me through the next sixteen years.