So I was sitting at work today, habitually resting my forehead in my hand as I sorted out a plan of attack for the day. Owwww. My fingers touched a very tender area, otherwise known as the right half of my forehead. This made me notice that my skull felt tight. Like my head got stuck in the throbbing motion of a headache. Obviously I had to touch it again and harder. You know, to make sure it really hurt as much as I thought it did. Daaaamn. Did I fight a ninja? Did I walk into a door? Did I slam my head on the fridge/washer/dryer door? Again?
I sat. I pondered. I forgot for awhile until I touched my forehead again. Owwww. What the heck did I do?!
Then I remembered.
Now, given the above choices of a) ninja fight b) head-to-door collision, or c) angry appliance retaliation, most people who know me would say b or c are most likely. Actually, I think for anyone, b or c would be most likely. Unless you’re Jackie Chan. Or Jack Bauer. Or Chuck Norris.
Nope, it’s closer to a. Except she’s not a ninja, per say. She’s about 3 feet tall, sports a beanie and/or pigtails at all times, and loves the color of sunshine almost as much as she loves being in it. She’s also now learned that a wooden clothing rod makes a pretty effective weapon.
Allow me to elaborate: Our former guest room is being transformed into Little’s big girl room. This past weekend, we finished clearing it out almost entirely. (Also pertinent to the story is that one of her latest toddler “things” is to grab my finger, say “Mine!” and lead me somewhere or to something.) She pulled me into the walk-in closet (future coolest playhouse-in-a-closet-ever.) to hide in the rolls of lauhala. (Just nod and pretend you know what I’m talking about here. It’s a Hawaii thing–it’s like basketweaved rolls to use as wall covering, smaller pieces are used for baskets, bags, etc. They’re leftover from our wedding and they’re going in her room in some way, shape or form.) One of the shorter clothing rods kept getting in the way so I removed it and set it on the floor. Well, she decided she wanted to try putting it back up herself. So she grabbed it and proceeded to swing it around and wallop me on the forehead. Now, this is a closet bar circa 1986. It’s not some hollow piece of wood or plastic they probably use now. This thing is heavy and solid and now that I have a personal anecdote for support, should Little ever have a fear of the boogie man hiding in her closet, I can reassure her that she has the ultimate weapon for beating him to a pulp.
Had this all been on video and had my forehead been a man’s crotch, it would be excellent, if not cliched, footage for America’s Funniest Home Videos. But it wasn’t on video and sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln, that really hurt.
Alas, I do not have a goose egg to show you, but since a blog post without a photo is a lonely thing (and visually boring at that), here is an ultra-blurry action shot of the ninja herself.
This is the frame that follows one of the photos used on her 2nd birthday party invites, which obviously I cannot reveal yet. Not only would that spoil the surprise prior to postal service distribution, but I’m too busy irrationally worried that the cardstock will be cheap, the corners won’t be rounded, as ordered, and I’ll never be able to pull together the really kick butt toddler party that floats through my head before I go to sleep. Posting the digital file might jinx the real-life 15pt, matte finish product, yes?
I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect.
Okay, so maybe it’s not that much of an exaggeration.
Then again, it’s looking like she’s likely to have about 50 people at her birthday party.
We had about 75 or so people at our wedding (and that included out-of-towners).
Damn, I hope it doesn’t rain.