The problem with writing about your life is that, well, then people know stuff. The problem with writing about it in a small town is that, well, people recognize you and they know stuff.
After my last post about DivaWorld and my dear sweet daughter's crazy public two-block tantrum, she got a fat lip. She was climbing up on an interior window ledge because she likes to sit there. It isn't overly high, but it isn't overly allowed, either, and this is something she had been warned about eleventy thousand times.
Of course she fell off. We told her she would. Naturally we weren't in the room at the time ("I only looked away for a second!") She landed on her face and got a fat lip that bled. Not a lasting or dire injury, but not a pretty one, either.
The good thing is I got to do what my mother used to do. I got to use the "told-you-so" voice. "Seeee? This is what happens when you don't listen to Mommy and Daddy." (To do it effectively you have to drawl the "seeee" out a bit and lower your voice a little - to make it more authoritative.)
The bad thing is that this happened around the time my column about DivaWorld hit the local newspaper. Would people assume I had hauled off and clobbered her in the mouth during the Very Public Tantrum? (Because her falling off a window ledge is sooooo much better. Yes, I can see the Mother of the Year Prize Patrol pulling up to my front door right now.)
Fortunately, it healed quickly and Girlchild hasn't shown any interest at all in climbing these days.