Oh my god, Cashmere, his eyes are so freakin' expressive. Poor adorable Owen!

But really? Cursing your choice of coffee table is useless. You might as well curse the floor and the side of the fridge door and other doors in the house and the hard corners where the walls meet and...you probably see where I'm going with this.

And with that, I'm off for a 3-day weekend and teaching my DH how to get to the hospital. Cheers!

you probably see where I'm going with this

Yup. Hee.

Can't raise 'em in a bubble.

I feel like an idiot.

Cash, even if you had padded your entire house in bubble wrap, Big O. *would* have found the one thing that could give him a boo-boo. It's the way of kids.

I gashed my forehead just like that -- on a coffee table corner -- at age 5. Apparently it seemed really bad (though it turned out to not be; it's just that head wounds bleed so damned much), and we lived in a pretty rural area and were snowed in big time (blizzard of '76). Fortunately, a neighbor was a retired nurse, and she came over, cleaned off my forehead, put a butterfly bandage on it, and that was that. I still have a tiny scar up by my hairline.

My *brother* managed to do a head-first DIVE toward the fireplace hearth -- which was stone, and not covered with a rug or anything. I think he was 6 or 7. And THAT required a trip to the hospital.

Kids attract trauma the way ita attracts kicks to the head.

Have a good weekend, Raquel!

Cashmere -- there's a chance he'll get a cool scar and talk about it years from now.

I have one of these, in my right eyebrow! It is *very* faint now.

(I also managed to almost amputate my thumb on the sharp edge of an open can at about that age, to no lasting effect at all.)

And if you Google me and use both spellings of my first name and know what you're looking for, I'm in there. But I don't think I could find me if I wasn't me, if that makes sense.

Kids attract trauma the way ita attracts kicks to the head.

You can just say "the way ita attracts trauma." I did the face first dive into the hearth thing too at about age three -- six stitches under the chin. I don't understand people without scars.

I've got two scars on my face. Highchair accident and swing accident.

My favorite scar is on my chin. Huge chickenpox scab, not quite ready to come off, and while my mom is zipping my coat (I was five) her ring snags it. Nice little divot right on the bottom of my chin. Good for guilting her occasionally.

I have a huge scar from gall bladder surgery that never healed quite right because I got pregnant six months later, and my belly stretched it out. Lots of doctors have asked if I want it corrected cosmetically, but why? One, not wearing a bikini EVER AGAIN, and two, it's part of my body's history. I kind of like it.

Googling my name either comes up with a very active Buddhist in Australia or a woman who writes about Harry Potter in Christian publications. A couple of times I come up as myself on a couple of genealogical pages when I was doing more active online genealogy. I've got to get that up and running again.

My oldest sister does stuff with mortgate financing in San Francisco, so she pops up occasionally as part of coporate pages. My next older sister popped up in a bulletin about local PTA meetings back in Pennsylvania.

I suspect Mother is still hoping those darned computers just go away. I don't think she ever accepted ATMs.