I was going to post something serious today entitled Remembering Colic. Let’s just save that for another day and I’ll tell you about a childhood injury instead. Kristen over at We are THAT Family is spreading the hilarity around the blogosphere as people share stories from their past.
(I discovered this through Our Little Tonnginator and wrote (read copy) the same kind of post as TonnguMomma’s hilarious one regarding childhood injuries)
So here’s mine. Short and sweet. Or maybe not sweet.
My sister and I were about, I don’t know, maybe 8 and 10? Me being the 8 year old, trying to keep up with her cooler, more adept older sister. We were in our downstairs living room, our parents minding their own business upstairs. We were supposed to be trusted for short periods of time on our own. But we were having sleeping bag races. If you don’t know what that means, it’s just what you might assume. You race. While jumping in your sleeping bag. Hop hop hop hop from one end of the living room to the next. Okay, you got it. Well, we were taking turns and timing each other by counting (I’m sure it was very accurate and fair). Then my sister said that I should try running rather than hopping, as it would save me much time and I would probably win. I think she was stifling laughs as she said this, just waiting to see if I would be dumb enough to try it. And try it I did. (Of course! I’ve always been stubborn and competitive!) I took off running and as you can imagine, my feet did the job of bunching the sleeping bag up at the bottom.
So I basically tripped myself.
My hands were kind of busy holding on to the sleeping bag, so I fell face first into the corner of the television. I will shorten the story now.
1. There was a whole lot of blood.
2. I’ve never seen my parents move that fast. Never before and never after.
3. My sister felt so guilty she went out on the deck and wouldn’t come in.
4. I got stitches. And a goose egg. On my forehead
5. I didn’t jump in sleeping bags anymore.
6. I stopped listening to my sister if she had a giggle in her voice.
For more stories, head over to We are THAT Family and visit Mr. Linky.
{ 14 comments }
When I was a sophomore in high school, I broke my wrist by mowing the lawn. It was my first and last time I have mowed the lawn.
That is hilarious. My, you were a clever little girl!
My friends were a lot older than their youngest sister so whenever they had to watch her while their parents were out of town, they’d whip of a Betty Crocker mix cake, tell her she was adopted and that it was her real birthday, and then sing her the “Happy Birthday” song until she cried. She quickly learned to discount that little giggle in their voices, too.
The only childhood injury I had that should have involved stitches was also caused by a sibling. Only, in my case, it was my younger brother who has a bad temper. At the tender age of 3, he threw a toy camera at my head and broke open my scalp. (No stitches since my hair covers the scar.) And I doubt he felt sorry. So in that sense, your sister is a saint.
Ouch.
Older siblings are so fun.
We are. My sibs have the scars to prove it.
Oh, no!!!! Heather – you poor thing! My suggestion for next time is to simply sit in the sleeping bag and slide down the stairs. Not that I would know anything about that.
This would have been really hilarious, honest, except I’m the type of person who gets sympathetic pain and all I am capable of doing right now is hold my face and wince in agony because of some phantom pain splitting my face into 2. Thanks Heather! :-) Well, I’m sure my phantom pain is nothing compared to what you felt then.
Ouchie!
OMGosh that’s HORRIBLE!
Reminder to never let my children jump in sleeping bags.
Oh no! It does kind of sound like a good time though…
I always had stitches in one knee or the other.
Head wounds are way bloodier, though. Lucky!
Oooh ouch! I know I’m a nurse and all, but that made my stomach turn picturing your fall. (I can’t handle when my friends or family get hurt, or even stories about them getting hurt)
I’ll just move on to picturing you at Ikea, rapping.
There, that’s better :)
oh my gosh those stories! When i was little, we had a babysitter who was not paying attention at all! We were playing with the croquet mallets and pretending they were crutches. And then BAM! I fell flat on my face on the cement and my tooth bent backward to the top of my mouth. We had to wait till it came back down on it’s own, and then it turned yellow and fell out. thinking about it gives me the creeps
i took a storytelling workshop and they had us each tell a story of a remembered childhood injury…made great story fodder all around! What a fun idea…
(We used to have sleeping bag races down the stairs…Always got a little dicey when we had to make a 90-degree turn on the landing!) Haha!
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