Sticks and stones and scooters

I didn't break a bone until I had moved out of the house.

Once I was on my own, however, I sprained both my ankles, broke a wrist, fractured an ankle, chipped my front tooth, and damaged both my knees so badly I was on crutches for weeks. Not all at once, but over a few short years.

This could be why I give my kids a little more leeway than my own mother did. I'm not sure if there is any proof in this, but I'm hoping if they learn their boundaries and capabilities young, they won't go through their twenties like I did.

Let's hope I'm doing the right thing: Because on Labor Day, when Jilly fell off her scooter in our driveway and fractured her wrist, I was contemplating wrapping my kids up in bubble wrap and refusing to let them out of the house. It wasn't that long ago that D broke his humerus, his elbow and pulled a bookshelf onto himself. And Belly has also fractured her arm when she was a wee thing; I think my kids are starting to push the envelope on injuries.

And now Jilly: See her pretty pink cast? Thankfully she's taking it in stride and will heal in a few short weeks, whereas my broken wrist took about 3 months when I was 29 years old.

I'm either getting all these mishaps out of the way while they are young or I'm just raising a bunch of hellions who know what the inside of the ER looks like really well.