This past week, I had the quirkiest accident happen to me, and of course, at random points throughout my wait at the hospital, I wondered how I could possibly turn this into a blog post. (I blame it on the head injury.) Last week, my sister-in-law and I took the toddler brigade (my now-4 year old and her 3 year old twins and 5 year old daughter) to the park.  We got in some wonderful girl time talking, catching up, and the kids got to jump, run around, play, and get dirty like all little toddlers should.  And then Mama got swiped in the side of the head by a softball.  (Mama me, not Mama SIL.)

Now, mind you… this is beyond ironic because I’ve never played a single sport in my life.  In fact, if sports were being played in my vicinity, I probably ran faster than the participants just to go the opposite direction.  And yet I still got hit in the head by a softball.  (Which, by the way, are so not soft. Whoever made up that term probably also came up with “morning sickness.”)

A trip to the hospital, a CT Scan and a raging headache later, the brain is pronounced undamaged, and this MamaWriter was kicked off her computer for a few days to let her head heal.   And as I was doing this, I started imagining.  Imagining what might have happened had I not been standing exactly where I was standing.  Had I not been there, that flyaway ball would have hit someone else.

It would have hit one of the children.

They were standing a few feet away from us, happily playing, not aware of any potential danger ready to fall from the sky.  For that fact, neither were we… there was no call of “Look out” or anything to indicate something to worry about.  The area where folks were practicing looked exactly like that — it was a big, open field (not a ball field) of grass and we had noticed the people practicing.   We went to the small park area without concern.

Five minutes after it happened, ten minutes after it happened and probably a few dozen times each day since, I’ve restated my thanks:  Thank Heaven it didn’t hit one of the children.  And it dawned on me, prior to having children, was there ever a time you could imagine getting hit in the head and left with a massive headache and being grateful for it?

My husband, the practical sort he is, of course said, It would have been much better if no one had gotten hit.  (Well, of course.)   I don’t know if its the writer or the mom in me (or both), but my imagination can do cartwheels around something like this… the scenarios that I can conjour within seconds, the relief that none of those things happened, and the ultimate thanks (again) that our children were safe at the end of the day.

Because I find, as a mom, nothing matters more to me.  There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do, anything I wouldn’t give up, to keep my child (and his cousins) safe.  Even taking a lump on the head.

So share…what’s the quirkiest injury you’ve had?

I have an admission to make, as a mother and a writer with a passion for grammar.

I don’t always correct my son when he mispronounces words.  In fact, a lot of the time, I don’t do it at all.  Partially because I imagine he’ll learn in time, and I do plan to correct any glaring misconceptions before he hits, say high school. (Okay, yes, kindergarten. Hmpf.)  However, the real reason?  Because it’s just so darn cute.

I’m a writer…words are my passion, my love, and yet there is nothing quite so sweet as the way your children pronounce words as they are learning.  The latest one:  My son and I made corn muffins the other night, and for some reason, he took them to be “nuthins.”   So every time he would tell his dad what we were making, it came out like “We’re making nuthins!”

Now, how do you correct that?

Over his almost-four short years, he’s had a number of adorable turns of phrases, and yes, in time, they begin to correct themselves as his motor skills develop and he hears the proper way to say things more often.   And when they do correct themselves and I start hearing him pronounce things correctly,  it’s like a little squeeze in my heart.  He’s growing up so fast.  He’s not a baby, he’s a little boy.

Just last week, I was putting on a cartoon for him to watch..and he choose to watch Little Einsteins.  However, from the time he started talking about this show, he called them the “Nigh Nights.”  (Again, it’s a wonder how their brains process…)  Last week, he looked at me and said, “Mommy, the Litt-le EINsteins.”  Very carefully, very correctly.  And my heart tugged.

And it also made me pause…would I remember this adorable phrases in later years?  Probably not…which means, I need to write them down.  For being a writer, it’s amazing how little of his day to day life I think about writing down for memories.  We have pictures, LOTS of pictures… some videos (like this one below.

But the little things that make me smile, I need to write them down, too. These are milestones as much as walking and talking are.   And if my memory today is any indication, it’s not likely I’ll hang on to much.    So today, I guess I’m giving myself (and you should you chose to take it) a little assignment.  For however old your child is, take ten minutes and one piece of paper… ask yourself what his/her favorite toy is, favorite things to do, favorite tv show, favorite words, cute sayings.  Take a snapshot of your child in words.   Because, as writers, we definitely know that words matter… and years from now, that one page snapshot will hold many of your favorite memories.