We are clumsy. I think it is genetic. We are of the clumsy people. We are of the lanky, fast moving, lacking in awareness of how big we really are, or the ability to foretell or recall consequence of said lack of awareness, clumsy people. It is foretold in the stories of our ancestors. I’m sure of it. But we survive, in our sensitive ways. Our frozen bags of peas, and well bandaided foreheads raised high.
Have you ever tried to affix a bandaid to the immediate region of the hair line of a an 8 year old boy who has never had a cut on his head before so is rather frightened but doing his best to stay still, and tried to get it to stick well enough to encourage a cut to heal? It takes a Lot of bandaid to cover a tiny cut when applied in this region shared by hair roots, let me tell you!
And we are of a breed prone to the dramatic. (no kidding, right?!)
Also, we manage to injure ourselves in ways that visibly would indicate great excitement had occured, but only make good story in the telling because of our flair for drama…!!!
For example, if One had just gone to brush his teeth like asked to, as per usual, instead of flinging himself prone onto the couch with great dramatic flair, One might not have a cut on his forehead from hitting the edge of said forehead on One’s tablet that One had hidden under a blanket on said couch, when previously asked to put it away for supper, previous to said incident of requested and required tooth brushing! Whew! If One had just gone to brush his teeth One might not be in bed tonight with a forehead covered in bandaid and a Mother hovering, wondering if she should have in fact taken you in for stitches! Oh the drama of it all!
And, if one hadn’t been biting goodness knows what at school, One taking a special trip to emergency dental clinic tomorrow morning, as One mightn’t have come home with stories of little slivers of tooth coming out into One’s hand at school.
So, no no no, we don’t have good stories to go along with our injuries. We don’t crack our teeth playing hockey, we bite things we won’t own up to biting. And we don’t gash our heads doing brave and daring feats of bravado and daring, we fling ourselves in dramatic fits onto couches, which would other wise be soft and safe for landing, if we weren’t hiding our trouble making tablets upon such otherwise cozy landing zones. And remember the broken ankle from nearly a year ago? That wasn’t from kicking field goals or even jumping off extraordinarily high things, that was from tripping over a friend who was sitting on the ground. And don’t mistake me, One of us does all of the reckless and exciting things, and more, to the constant worry of One’s Mother. But these things don’t result in injury. Perhaps because jumping off of nearly unreachable places on a play ground the second your Mother turns to say hello to a neighbour is premeditated. Perhaps what we suffer from is Physical Spontaneity and Awkwardness Consequence Syndrome!
Other’s might, upon hearing these stories, think that we aren’t well looked after. Thing is, we are, at time, probably too looked after. And so when we have moments of apparent freedom, we do astounding silly things, instead of highly exciting and adventurous things. Because we are genetically silly and clumsy.
Please don’t think I have made it my mission to expose our penchant for foolishness to the #2 perpetrator of said consequences. While we may laugh, I am far too sensitive myself to give him a hard time about his apparent bad luck. Or innate clumsiness. Although I do hope at some point before we are fully grown, a lesson or two might be learned. I do own up. I have begun telling him stories about my various scars, injuries and unforgettable moments. Like the little scars on my hand that came from slipping down a rock face when I was trying to get into a canoe and not only falling into the water, but less than gracefully somehow sliding completely under the canoe I was supposed to be getting InTo, and coming out the other side, with scrapes all down one side of my hand gained from grappling with any surface I could scrape myself on. I am saving up the one’s I can’t admit to without having to explain the whole “I was in my 20s and whiskey was my frienemy” stories for the decades to come.
What lessons are to be learned from our Physical Spontaneity and Awkwardness Consequence Syndrome? Slow down, watch what one is biting and where one is flinging oneself, and always, Always have a various assortment of bandaids and frozen peas on site. And know the value of making a very very big deal out of everything, so that when the really big things happen, they will just seem like the usual child’s play, AMIRIGHT?!
This anxiety ridden mother is now going to check on her sleeping prince of the wounded again, and then lay on the nearest piece of floor and practice some calm breathing exercises. Don’t worry, I will do it slowly and with a good deal of mindful awareness. And I will make sure there aren’t any hazards in the way first.