You've got to admire the fortitude of little kids. They have this insane ability to take whatever abuse life throws at them and keep on going without ever thinking of quitting. They rarely complain or ask "why me and not the other guy?" They simply deal and move on. This ability seems to be inversely related to ones age and decreases steadily as you get older.
Case in point, Keirnan, who although he possesses a definite knack for written prose and an uncanny ability to remember even the most obscure details about things such as the mating rituals of the komodo dragon, will never ever have a future in ballet, ninja-ing or anything requiring stealth or grace. It might have something to do with the fact that he is quickly approaching that gawky and awkward phase of preadolescence where his body is growing faster than his brain has realized or maybe he just has big feet with really heavy bones. I don't know. In either case, his stomping throughout the house once in a while results in stubbed toes and bruised knee caps. When this happens, the resulting tirade is one of "Why does this always happen to me!" and "I hate this house!!" "The house is out to get me!!" etc. etc. Although humorous, it's kind of tiring as I have to continually reinforce the message that because the house will probably not be changing any time soon, perhaps Keirnan, himself, should be the one to do some modifications to the way he navigates the dangerous terrain.
Tatyanna on the other hand will sometimes fall more times in an afternoon than I can count. Her shins are perpetually bruised and if she is going through a bad spell, kind of looks like we beat her with a stick. To be truthful, I don't know how she does it. She gets back up every time and just keeps on going. She was carrying and armful of her stuffed ponies across the living room earlier today (all of whom were named white, only one of whom was even partially white) I could see the seizure coming but given my location could only watch as she went down, dropping the ponies everywhere. Within a couple of seconds it was over, she was back on her feet, looking around with a frustrated expression. When asked if she was OK, her reply was simply to sigh and say "My horse, he falled down...again..." and then she was off to gather up the wayward ponies and continue with her game.
I've got to admit that if I were to hit the floor 50 times in a day or drop my food every time I got the the loaded fork anywhere near my mouth I'd probably stay in bed.