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Yesterday afternoon we were invited to my sister’s for a family barbecue. As I was getting dressed I noticed a bruise on my leg, but I was already wearing shorts and didn’t want to change. Once we arrived the day included a chorus of ‘what did you do to your knee?’s. And of course I have no idea; walked into something most probably.

Later another sister, mother of four, commented that she used to worry when people couldn’t remember how they acquired large, unexplained bruises, but since having her children is no longer concerned.

I think the reason I normally can’t explain the worst ones is because they were likely made while I was rushing to do something for a child. And once I’ve knocked myself on something, I’m still hurrying to meet the pressing need that had me rushing in the first place, while trying not to alarm the little one by crying out in pain. And so I forget and go on.

And that is why I find myself so often black, blue and yellow, and have no explanation.

I do need to slow down though. What’s that old adage? – Less haste, more speed.

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