Broken

Well. The first broken bone for any of the kids anyways! If you know me, you know I’ve had more than my fair share. Let’s recount, shall we?

• Age 5 – nineteen stitches in my chin (fall down stairs)
• Age 7 – broken arm (skateboarding)
• Age 13 – broken leg (skiing)
• Age 14 – concussion (skiing)
• Age 16 – two broken wrists (track – hurdling)
• Age 17 – concussion (hockey)
• Age 18 – concussion (hockey)
• Age 20 – concussion (enthusiastic sex next to a bookshelf)

So basically, we’ve been lucky thus far to suffer only minor injures with the kids. If they’ve got even an ounce of my klutz gene in their bodies? We’ll we’re just out of luck then. Our first broken bone was bestowed upon Hesja – a broken finger, thanks to Georgia. The girls were playing footie and of course, a squabble broke out (those two just do not get along) and Georgia threw the football at Hesja, who tried to catch it, bless her and *crack*. Just her pinky finger though, no harm done. Went down to the doctor and got it all sorted and she’s good as new. She was quite upset that she only got ‘buddy taped’ instead of a full on cast. She’s been a bit melodramatic ever since. Woe is her and all that. I actually think I caught Emerson rolling his eyes at her, which, of course, made me crack up which OF COURSE, made her even MORE mad and pouty.

She’s in her room right now, probably contemplating all the different ways that a broken finger is going to affect her life. She’ll tell us all about them at dinner when daddy comes home.

It’s been POURING for days in Boston and I have to say – it’s been a real pain not being able to take the kids to the park. It’d been getting nice and now I just feel teased. It’s supposed to be lovely later this week though and as soon as the weather begins to turn the other way, we’re out the door. We did enjoy a puddle walk, though I was a bit nervous we’d all catch the death of cold after getting so soaked.

I’m also thinking about finally going back to work. It’s still a year or two off, I want the boys to be older. It’s not fair to give the girls time at home when they’re young and then just say SEE YA to the twins. Of course, if I did do that – and later they tried to guilt me? My comeback – TWINS. OUT OF MY VAGINA. TWO OF YOU. Really what else can I say? I love those little boys to bits, but I will never forget the moment of sheer terror I experienced the instant my doctor uttered what was simultaneously the most joyful and horrifying word: twins.