My idea of a dream house has never included stairs. My earliest memories of them are plagued with creepy crawlies lurking in the dark and chilly basement. Ascending stairs requires way too much energy, descending is bad for my knees (oh no, Ma-- I'm complaining of knee pain already!), and vacuuming them is just a nuisance. Plus, I have this nagging fear of kids falling off ledges and through railings and down stairs. No, I'd much prefer a safe and sound one-story house. In China, where free land is scarce, yards cease to exist and a "dream house" is only large because it's layered into five or six stories. Such is the case of the home where Chris and Emily had been living.
Wednesday night we had our last sleepover at their house before their return to the homeland (we miss you already!) and I suffered quite a poignant reminder of my aversion to stairs. Basically, long, velour pants + hardwood stairs + holding Didi so no arms to catch my fall =
In true Goodwin-style, I giggled my way through the pain of the crash so none of us thought much of it until we noticed that the entire left side of my bottom had swelled and hardened to an African booty proportion. Actually, this isn't a picture of my bruise-- you can probably tell it's an arm. Even from a strictly clinical standpoint, Kyle refused to let me photograph my injured rump. I think my award-winning shiner is even more impressive than this one, though. Mine is still colored solid black, though it's starting to purple around the edges, and measures the size of a small planet (8" x 5.5" oval). I'm happy to report that last night I was finally able to sleep on my back and the limp has been replaced by a nice, comfortable waddle. I've been chugging lots of oj, but it looks like this shiner is here to stay...
In better news, spring is here! And Ellie finally let me put her hair in pigtails.