My Very First Black Eye

When I was a kid I used to wish that I had a broken arm or leg so I could wear a cool cast and have my friends sign it. I used to scream as loud as I could to make my voice hoarse on purpose. My knees were eternally scabbed from bike/skating crashes. I always wondered what it would be like to have a black eye. Well, the fourth scenario has come to play. At 33 years of age, I have earned my very first shiner. So, how did I manage this, you might ask yourself? I can't say that I got in a fist fight with another mom over the last navy blue uniform jumper in Afton's size. I can't lie and say that I collapsed from heat exhaustion and somehow managed to whack my eye on the way down. Nope. My black eye came in the most non-threatening way imaginable-while playing hopscotch with the boys. I was drawing our squares on the pavement, and Ayden was hunched over drawing the numbers and jumped up fast whacking the back of his head into my eye bone. I curled up on the lawn and cried like a baby. I'm no Chuck Norris, people.