You've Gotta Have A Good Story

When I was a child, I loved to hear my Grandma Kenison tell stories. She told us stories about herself and her pioneer ancestors; Grandma was a great storyteller. One of my favorite stories was about a scar on her forehead. As I remember the story, as a young girl, Grandma had fallen off the roof of a shed, a place her mother had instructed her to stay off of, and cut her head open when she hit the ground. Her mother put sugar on it and told her not to look at it in the mirror. Grandma reports that she did, and promptly fainted. I loved to hear that story over and over again, imagining my ancient grandma as a young, slightly rebellious young girl, forever scarred by her disobedience. 

It was a great story. Each time a received a cut as a child, I secretly hoped it would scar so I'd have a great story to tell my posterity.

Finally, my wish has come true:I'm working on a bona fide head wound scar. Sadly, I just don't have a great story to go along with my healing forehead. It just isn't as exciting to say "I slipped on the ice" as it was to say "I disobeyed my mother and fell off a building".  Hailey and Makayla have examined my wound with horror, asking again and again why I didn't cry, and offering to hold my hand as I cross the ice from now on. That makes me feel like I'm 90.

My stitches have been removed, my bruised face is fading to a sickly yellow, mostly disguised with make-up, the swelling in my eye is almost gone, and other than some dizziness when I look down for too long, I'm healing. But I'm healing without a good story. 

Did I mention I was running from a grizzly bear when I slipped on the ice, which I then fought off with my bare fists? I do have that teensy scrape and bruise on my wrist from that desperate fight for my life. 

Yup. That's my new and improved story, and I'm sticking to it!