I hear it every couple of weeks. Sometimes a reader leaves a comment on my blog or a church member will mention one of my columns to me and then say, "What are you going to write about when your kids grow up?"

People who know me well are not worried about this. Ask anyone who saw me topple an entire pyramid of Campbell's soup at the grocery store. Or about the time I filled a produce bag with grapes only to discovery that the bottom of the bag wasn't sealed - essentially I threw two pounds of seedless green grapes through the bottomless bag and onto the floor where they scattered and rolled like marbles. I've lost count of the number of times I've either pushed my grocery cart into a support beam in the middle of the aisle at Wal-Mart or walked directly into one of the bright orange painted poles while perusing the coffee selections.

Last week I took Emma, my 5-year-old, to the nurse practitioner for an ear infection. My mother was with us and sat in the waiting room while Emma and I went back to be seen. When I realized that it was going to take a bit longer than I had anticipated, I walked up the hall to the reception area to get my mother. I opened the door just enough to peak my head in and said, "You want to come back here with us? It's going to be a few more minutes."

My mother grabbed her purse and stood up.

I leaned back against the wall to hold the door open and to clear the hallway as people were trying to pass. I leaned back, bottom first, aiming for a wall that was not there. Had I given my blind spot a quick glance before throwing my whole body weight at the wall, I would have realized that there was no wall behind me.

There was a doorway. So instead I leaned and leaned and leaned and leaned - for what felt like 30 minutes as I fell through a doorway directly onto my back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" I yelled, right before I hit the ground. I lay sprawled in the triage office shaking and crying with laughter.

My mother opened the door to the waiting room to find an empty hallway.

"Robin?" She called, wondering where in the world I had gone. My wheezing from the next room gave away my location. She spun to her left to find me still on the ground. The first thing out of her mouth was not, "Are you okay?" or, "Let me help you up." No, the first thing my mother said was, "Stay right there!" She dug through her purse and grabbed her cellphone to take a picture. Before we even made it back to Emma's exam room, she had texted the photo and full story to my sister.

In an unrelated incident, that evening while everyone in my house was getting ready for bed, one of my daughters hung a wreath of bells from her doorknob and made a sign which read, "Ring bell to enter.

Warning: If 'crimnal' comes in, I will tell my mom (Robin)."

Even my kids know I'm dangerous - never fear, dear readers, as long as I'm alive and kicking, I'll never run out of material.

(Robin O'Bryant is the author of "Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves," coming November 2011. Read her blog at www.robinschicks.com or find her on Facebook as Robin Wiley O'Bryant.ail.com)