Because Normal Doesn't Apply to Me

Want to hear a confession? I am a huge klutz. Catastrophic is a better way to describe it, yes, a catastrophic klutz is what I am. And you know, I am okay with that. In fact, you may even say due to my inappropriate reactions to accidents and falls, it is fitting for me. I can see the humor in these embarrassing moments. I will laugh to myself for days, replaying what the scenes look like from the outside, in my head.
Tonight, despite moments of me thinking I just killed, or at the very least severely injured my two youngest children, was a doozey even for my standards. I should start by telling you I forced my run tonight. It is oppressively hot and humid and the weather predicted storms, so despite outwardly saying I was bummed I couldn't run, inwardly I knew I was somewhat glad. But the skies heard my inward rejoicing and didn't show any signs of raining. And it became breezy. Touche weather, touche.
Out I went. I was making good time, and was very happy I sucked up the laziness to get out, because no matter how bitter I am before the run, I am always beyond happy when I am actually out. I was a mile in, going at full speed, when my stroller must have hit a rock or something because the next thing I knew the stroller, babies in tow, went flying in the air and I was leaping trying to catch it, or brace the fall, or turn into some sort of superhero and magically appear in front of the stroller instead of behind it. I failed. Miserably. To my horror, the stroller, kids strapped in landed face down, babies face down, and I, in all my valiant effort managed to flip head over heels over the entire stroller and land on the other side. For a split second I sucked in my breath, slightly, no overwhelmingly scared to lift the stroller and see the condition of my two babies. I mean they flew, strapped in and landed on their faces! I expected blood, lots of blood, gashes, broken somethings, ambulances, hospitals. But I lifted it, and found instead two terrified, shocked babies. Keira with a scraped up nose, upper lip and cheek, and a slightly skinned knee. Brody with a scraped chin and a tiny scrape on his eye.
It was then I noticed the young guy in the truck who was by my side, asking if we were okay, who he could call, what he could do, picking up water bottles and batman toys and sippy cups. I assured him we were okay, just a bit shaken up. Despite my words, he stayed, waited until we were all pulled back together, until the crying had stopped. His momma raised him right.
All in all, it was a close call. My shins are badly, badly bruised. A mountainous lump resides on each shin, black in color and one of which has a nasty gash. My hip bones are scraped up and bruised, I am pretty sure I pulled my lefts back muscles, and my right forearm is bruised a bit.
I walked for a bit after that, another half mile or so until I got up the courage to run the remaining two miles. I kept asking the kids if they were okay, to which Brody would respond, "We go boom, mommy?" To which I sighed and said "yes, we did, but I promise I will try to never let that happen again."
Just another day, right? Now for tylenol and some ice.