Daddy, can you get my ball back?

That sounds like such a simple request, doesn't it?

Mattea had asked me if I would play catch with her in the back yard. I agreed, but before I could, I needed to attend to something with the boys. I forget now what it was, but I'm sure that it was of the highest priority and needed tending to at that very instant.

As it happened, Mattea was practicing throwing and catching the ball on her own while waiting for me to join her. And just as I was starting to head outside, she came in with that request. While tossing the small inflatable beach ball in the air, (ball held by Grayson here. His idea to hold it in front of his face.)



it went over the wall behind the house.



I had been over the wall before on many occasions to retrieve similar items, so I didn't really think much of it when I went over to retrieve the beach ball. Oh, the arrogance of experience.

I misjudged the distance from the base of the plexiglass to the ground



and was unbalanced when I landed. (Truth in advertising - some have just said that I am generally unbalanced.) And the ground happened to be sloped away from the wall. And on the other side of the wall there happened to be tree-like shrubs.



Which I fell into. (No pictures. Sorry.)

Result: Gouge on the edge of the palm on my left hand just under my little finger, with several small flaps of skin providing visual interest. And about a four inch by four inch area scraped up by the rough bark of a particularly evil tree-like shrub, midway between my knee and ankle on the outside of my left shin. Grayson took particular interest in the blood dripping down my leg onto my foot as I cleaned my wounds. (Here I thought it might be best not to provide pictures...) Noah would rather watch "The Clone Wars".

Having dug out the larger bits of bark embedded in my extremities, I spread some Neosporin ointment over the mess in hopes of preventing something worse from befalling me. I put a Band Aid brand flexible bandage on my palm (think they'll send me a product placement check?), and let my shin air dry. However, when it was time for bed, I noticed that my shin had been oozing some bodily fluid or other and had the mis-fortune to mention this whilst Theresa was nearby. (Although... I suppose that is better than uttering something with Theresa not nearby, which would have meant that I was talking to myself.) Showing the utmost concern for my health and well-being, Theresa immediately said "Don't you be getting that stuff on my sheets!"

Casting about for something to dress my wound, I really came up with nothing specifically designed for the task. So a bit of improvisation was in order. Gauze is just loosely knit cotton, right? So I opened a drawer and grabbed a 1992 vintage Dallas Cowboys t-shirt (which I never wore unless I wore something over it) and proceeded to cut several inches off of the bottom of it. (If you're wondering why I had a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt in the first place, that's a topic for another blog post, which may follow this one. And yes... it is another story of injury and pain.) Needing to fix this make-do dressing in place I knew that we had no bandage adhesive tape around, so I did what anyone else would do. I went out into the garage and got the duct tape. With her sheets thusly protected, Theresa felt better about allowing me into bed.

So I guess the moral of the story is this: When your daughter asks you if you will get her ball back, perhaps you should ask where it is first.