I’m Clumsy

I backed my ass hard into Noah’s baby gate a few days ago while I was juggling plates into the kitchen. There’s a nasty bruise on my right butt cheek and it aches pretty deep. When I bared my ass to Davy to show him, he dug his index finger right into the middle of it asking, “Is it here?!”

It hurt. A lot. I literally jumped into the air and Davy felt bad but we both laughed.

I can’t believe how much it still hurts. It’s like a got stabbed in the ass without puncture. These things happen to me often because I’m clumsy and I always have been. I was the girl who tripped and slipped and slid and fell every day.

I’ve skied twice in my life. Both times I was taken to the hospital by ambulance after being pulled on the back of a snowmobile down the rest of the mountain. I could go on for an entire blog every day for days if I wanted to.

I won’t.


More than anyone in my life, my brother Danny has seen the most of all my falls. He’s seen some big ones. There was this one time when I was 13 and he was 6 and our family was mini golfing, because we mini golfed like it would an Olympic sport one day, and I fell hard. I tripped on some little mushroom gnome and ripped my pants open and started bleeding from my knee right away. Then there was the time at South Street Seaport I tripped in painfully slow motion down the icy ramp of the pier until I basically belly flopped and nearly crushed my tits in the process, but not before veering away from a little boy who’d been in my path. That’s actually what my brother still remember the most…how I threw my body away from that child and then jerked back just in time to face-plant anyway. I’d like to think I actually saved that child’s life but my brother just laughs hysterically, still, just like he did that day at the Seaport.

I’ve always been clumsy. I am clumsy. But it’s not like I like to be around other clumsy people or anything. That would just be a mess.

My husband Davy’s not clumsy at all. Davy can take apart half your car and put it back together before dinner is ever served. He’s adjusted pretty well to having a clumsy wife. There’s no running to the kitchen anymore when he hears glass breaking. He’ll just ask from whatever room he’s in, what I actually broke. I always answer nothing. Duh.

All that nothing has amounted to lots of trips to Ikea to replenish our numbers of coffee cups and bowls and drinking glasses.

It was worse when I was pregnant, my clumsiness.

It’s better now but clearly the bruise on my ass tells us not.

Always dishing,



  1. You have a great sense of humor. I would have turned around and punched Davy in the arm with all my might lol I suppose with your clumsiness you are used to pain. I tolerate it well but hate it!

    Have you considered tin or plastic, maybe even paper products for the kitchen? 😉

    Your mind goes into many directions at once. You need to concentrate on what you are doing.*

    *sign of a very ntelligent but absentminded person

    1. GaYToR

      Richard, the stairs at The Phoenix can’t be called a mountain. I’ve fallen up those stairs more times than I can remember. Seriously, I can’t remember many of those times.

  2. kcsmum

    I’m clumsy too. To the utter disdain of my mom, who is like a dainty ballerina floating through life. My funniest “family” fall came when I was about 15. We were on a family car trip and stopped at a roadside stand. Dad insisted everyone get out to stretch. We all walked over to the farm stand to pick out a peach. Me being as cool as could be in my ginormous bell bottom jeans, miles too long over huge platform shoes that would rival any pair in Pee Wee Herman’s closet, decided I was far to much of a big shot to paw through peaches. I announced I was going for a walk while they ate. And there I went. Tripped on my long jeans and giant shoes. Legs flailing in the farm field, me in a pile of horse doo-doo and 6 boys (brothers & friends) laughing so hard they couldn’t stand up. Worst part of all was all of them fighting about who had to sit by me. There’s only so much clean-up to be done on the roadside.

    1. Jun Song Author

      Hahahaha you and me both have dainty moms. OMG you and bell bottoms. I’d love to see that 🙂

      I feel you. You must have been mortified ugh poop makes everything worse than it already is after you’ve fallen! You poor thing…

  3. Sheri

    Oh Jun. You poor little bruiser. I’m still wondering if your bruise on your arm from the car door incident has healed yet? That one really flipped my tummy for some reason. But, I was able to share that story with my entire family at Christmas dinner. Someone asked me if I wanted the rest of their croissant and my mind instantly pictured your arm bruise. Crazy!

    1. Jun Song Author

      The bruise is still there on my arm ever so slightly but it’s there! It’s crazy! Last week it was still a bit sore but this week it seems 100% again. OMG that took forever! HA!

      That’s HILARIOUS. Seriously. That damn croissant! HA!


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