A couple of days ago when Jen took the boys to the bookstore and while they were going in Alex was walking like a lizard when he tripped and fell to the floor. He landed smack on the right side of his face and ended up giving himself quite an injury. He didn’t cry but when he got up he said “Ah, my face hurts,” and it looked pretty nasty. He had scraped his face and it was pretty bruised and the next day when he woke up he had a minor shiner.

Of course like the worry wort parents we are we took him to the doctor to have him checked out since I was all worried that he might have done something serious like crack a bone. After a quick checkup and a an anatomy lesson on the skull and its protective mechanisms, complete with model skull model demonstration, it turns out he’s fine.

Everyplace we’ve been for the last couple of days people always stop and “Oh, my, what happened to you?”, “Oh you poor thing what happened to your face?” For someone who doesn’t speak to strange people this new found attention is just a little overwhelming. So the other day Alex and I were out running errands and I stopped in to get my hair cut. He was sitting in the waiting area while I was getting my hair cut and the hairdresser was trying to get Alex to tell him what happened.

He wasn’t giving up any details so I stepped in and said “Well, he was walking in the bookstore the other day and tripped and landed on his face.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” the hairdresser blurted out.

Ummm, yes, it was kind of bad, holy cow, did she really just say that? She dropped the J.C. bomb right in the middle of my haircut.