Still headbanging after all these years

Self-inflicted dipshit wound

There are so many things wrong with this photo (not the least of which is the fact that I was standing in the bathroom at midnight taking a picture of myself in the mirror), or at least why this photo came to be, that I hardly know where to begin.

Every night before I go to bed, I hoof it upstairs and carry the kids to the bathroom in their sleep so that we can avoid any bed-wetting mishaps (and, boy oh boy, have there been some spectacular bed-wetting mishaps over the years … but a friend who is the father of an only child once told me that, in the interest of his child’s dignity, bed-wetting incidents were off-limits in his blogging, which seems reasonable—so, rather than tell you, for example, about the time one of the children wet the bed only a little, but after being carried to the bathroom for post-bed-wetting cleanup let loose a tsunami-sized tidal wave all over the bathroom floor with his/her pajama bottoms still on, I’m just going to leave it at that). On some of those nights, I bring upstairs with me the children’s recently laundered clothing, which Wonder Woman often leaves folded on the stairs. Carrying it up is the least I can do, since she is usually the one who humps it all down to the river, bangs it against the rocks, wrings it out, hangs it to dry, gathers it all up and folds it. (Love you, honey!)

Normally, I place Zan’s folded laundry on the floor to the side of his dresser, from where Wonder Woman can then, on the following morning, put it in the proper drawers. (I leave this for her because I, after all, was the one who had to carry it all the way up the 10-or-so miniature steps that lead to our Lilliputian-sized second floor.)

Last night, however, the area where I usually place Zan’s clothes was occupied by the front end of a fully assembled tent thing that looks like a rocket ship and basically takes up as much room as the actual Space Shuttle. Thus, there was a limited amount of space right in front of the dresser, which is where I chose to instead place the clothes. Atop the light-colored birch (*cough* veneer *cough*) dresser, I later discovered, was a piece of relatively darker-colored construction paper that just happened to be positioned directly in front of my location, and which, in the dark, managed to obscure the front edge of said dresser. (Yes, I’m making excuses for what is about to happen.) So imagine my surprise, then, when I quickly bent forward to place the clothing in its unfamiliar location (more excuses) and suddenly felt my head slam into the construction-paper-obscured (rehashed excuse) front edge of the dresser.

Because I often, at moments like this, turn into a drama queen, I hit the deck with both hands clamped over the site of the injury and lay there waiting for the angels to claim me. After a moment or two, however, the pain subsided, so I removed my hands and rubbed the spot with my fingers, at which point I felt what seemed to be not a mere bump, but an actual gash in my forehead. Yes, I had slammed my head into the dresser with enough force to cause my skin to separate upon impact.

To the bathroom I went to wash the blood off my fingers and examine the damage.

Twice during my childhood, I split the skin on my forehead, and if you’ve never had a head wound before, let me tell you from experience that they bleed like a sonovabitch; I had to get a number of stitches on both occasions. Last night’s injury was, thankfully, less catastrophic, but to get the bleeding to stop, I had to press a wad of tissues against the cut with a great deal of force for a fairly lengthy time.

And it was during my wait for the clotting to kick in that I realized this whole blogging thing is a form of mental illness, because instead of just thinking “Jesus Christ, what a fucking spectacularly moronic way to split my head open” (which, admittedly, was still the predominant train of thought) and “Holy shit, I’m glad that wasn’t an inch lower, or I’d have an eyeful of broken glass,” I quickly found myself also thinking (perhaps even with a small bit of joy?), “Well, at least I can write a blog entry about this!”

My wife woke up in bed this morning next to a 38-year-old man wearing a “Hello Kitty” Band-Aid on his forehead.

Hello Kitty Band-Aid

[Memo to self: Buy some grown-up Band-Aids.]

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8 Comments

  1. Posted January 8, 2009 at 12:03 am | Permalink

    It takes a real man to wear hello kitty. Wear it proudly.

  2. TheOtherJennifer
    Posted January 8, 2009 at 3:51 pm | Permalink

    I also take sleeping 2nd grader to bathroom before we go to bed, not that she wets the bed anymore but because I don’t want to get up at 2am and take her! And she friggin sneaks up on me in the dark and I have more than once clocked her in the side of the head.

    Would a nightlight help in Zan’s room? Seriously, between falling off the ladder and falling into the “bureau”, you are about one ice patch away from the ER.

  3. kim hill
    Posted January 8, 2009 at 9:50 pm | Permalink

    Not to get off the subject here, but WTH…Smoltz has left us for the Red Sox! We hate to see him leave us here in ATL but couldn’t dream of a better place for him to go than Beantown! Congrats…

  4. Posted January 9, 2009 at 12:09 am | Permalink

    TRL: Oh, I did. In fact, I had to tackle some early morning snow-shoveling shortly after I took the “Hello Kitty” picture, and at one point realized I was greeting a dog-walking neighbor with that thing still on my head.

    TheOtherJennifer: Actually, he has a nightlight, but I was entering from a brightly lit area and moved a bit too hastily, particularly considering I was dizzy from lack of sleep (but what else is new?).

    But, yeah, I’ve definitely been clutzing it the fuck up lately.

    kim hill: Thanks. I appreciate the love for the Sox, but I’m holding any further comments until I see how well or poorly he pitches for us! πŸ˜‰

  5. Julie
    Posted January 9, 2009 at 3:30 pm | Permalink

    Saw your ad on Dooce. You are too funny!
    I have gone to work with a Little Mermaid band-aid more than once…

    • Posted January 9, 2009 at 9:28 pm | Permalink

      Thanks, Julie. I really appreciate the compliment. Glad you like the site.
      And maybe I’ll have to try using a Little Mermaid Band-Aid next time, just to mix things up a bit.

  6. Kimmee
    Posted April 1, 2009 at 1:39 am | Permalink

    i have those exact bandaids. they’re amazing
    πŸ™‚

  7. Posted June 24, 2009 at 8:59 pm | Permalink

    Found you through Dooce, and was poking around a bit. This is HILARIOUS. “Well at least I can write a blog entry about this”…many times have I uttered those words after a particularly stupid/painful/frustrating thing has happened to me. Really enjoyed reading here. I’ll be back (and so did not mean to sound like Arnold there). πŸ™‚

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