As I watch my two children fumble and tumble their way through the day = slipping as they run around corners, wacking their teeth on the banister, scraping knees as they run down the driveway - I'm reminded of how awkward childhood is. My son is a gangly four year old who always seems be running in too many directions (which normally doesn't work out well), while my daughter is a solid 1-year old who is trying to find her land legs.

I am actually pretty good at treating the bumps, bruising and bleeding of childhood. While in college I was a counselor at an overnight summer camp in Rhode Island. If you think childhood is painful, you should see what happens when you let several hundred children loose in the woods. Poison ivy anyone?

I'm prepared for most of the injuries my kids have come home with. We have Spider-Man band-aids, triple antibiotic ointment, "sting free" spray and Mr. Happy soother chilling in the freezer. Mr. Happy, one of the members of the Mr. Men series by Roger Hargreaves, has been applied to our son's elbow, knee, cheek and penis. Yes, one day Anders told me his penis hurt. Don't know why, didn't ask.

My brother was a huge clutz when he was a kid. I believe he had 4 concussions before he was 10 and actually dislocated his shoulder by falling on the ground... while running. Again, don't ask.

So I was prepared for the kids injuries. What I wasn't prepared for were our injuries. Specifically, our noses.

Two weeks ago, my son crawled into our bed for a snuggle. At 4:15 am he threw back his head and slammed it right into my nose. Blood spurting from between my fingers, I swore it was broken! It throbbed for two weeks. Just as it was beginning to heal... whack! My daughter got me in a fit of enthusiastic love.

My nose is feeling better - I'm breathing clearly and it isn't tender to the touch.

But I didn't say "my" injuries, I said "our." That's because tonight, during their evening sword fight, my son landed a well aimed light saber on, you guessed it, his dad's nose.