A Series of Unfortunate Events, and an Aborted Afghan

Two items:

1. In the past several weeks, I have managed to hurt myself, or be hurt by members of my household, so many times that I now look like a field of bruises, scrapes, and general awfulness. It started two weeks ago, when I lopped the tip of my left thumb off with a 6 1/2" santoku knife while chopping onions. Entirely my fault: Max came to the kitchen door and asked me a question, and instead of doing what I know I should do, which is to put the damn knife down, I instead lost about half a pint of blood into my kitchen sink while I stammered to my husband, "Dan...Sweetie? I think I...I think I might need some...something." Since then, I have broken a toe, bruised my right hand knuckles so badly it looks like I punched someone, fallen down the stairs from our loft, been scratched deeply across the right ankle by our cat jumping over the ottoman, and developed bruises all over my shins from our son being a 2-year-old roughneck. I've also hit my head, twice, on the towel bar in our bathroom. Don't ask. I look like a domestic abuse survivor.

2. Remember this afghan?

I'm making one just like it, only in kind of a wheat color instead of the sickening green. Yeah, well, what a pain in the ass that thing turned into. The directions call for it to be knit in panels, five of them. Interestingly enough, I knit three and none of them were the same length, me with my elite knitting skills and all. So I unraveled all three panels and did what I should have done to begin with, which is to knit them as one piece. It's probably going to take a long time, and be incredibly heavy to lug around. I should really learn how to knit for real.

And a bonus Thing: I like the chicken sandwiches from Chik-Fil-A, and I like that they give Max a kid's book as a prize instead of a piece of plastic crap from a Disney film, but I am a little weirded out by a chicken restaurant run by Jesus freaks.