Never Mix Rocks and Spoons

When Bryce was born, Mark mentioned that he and his brother visited the orthopedic doctor almost as much as their pediatrician. As active boys, broken bones and stitches was apparently routine for their mom. Watching Bryce romp around the house and yard, I understand. He loves to dive head first off our bed, sofas and chairs, and when he runs at full speed, it is frequently with his eyes not pointed in the direction he is headed. As a result, his legs are full of many cuts and bruises because of being a human bull. There is so much to do, so he must run from one activity to the next. He has not been to a hospital for any stiches yet, but my crystal ball sees that in his future. It’s in his genes, from both his father’s family and his mother’s side. Uncle Mart also had the frequent flyer card at the local hospital.

But guess what, girls? I also paid a visit to the hospital which was not caused by an illness. My trip occurred in 1958—sometime between my second and third birthday. I was playing outside with my cousin, Alan. It started so innocently and involved rocks and a spoon.

Alan discovered that he could vault a rock through the air with aid of a flexible spoon. People say timing is everything, which was precisely the case on that particular playdate. Alan launched the rock at the exact moment that I executed a big, happy, wide-mouthed laugh. The outcome of this toddler physics experiment was my first trip to the hospital for an X-Ray. The doctor told Grandma that the rock did not enter my lungs so I would survive. The lessons learned here is to never underestimate the creativity of small children and to always keep plastic soups hidden from then. They can be quite dangerous!

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