Broken?
Most of you have probably noticed the little girl icon on the top right hand corner of my blog that shows what mood I'm in from day to day. Well, at the time of this post it has been on "broken" for two days. A couple people have asked me what this means and I thank you for your concern.
I think the consensus is that I must be feeling broken. That some horrible thing is affecting my mood or I am in some deep thought process and full of angst. Oh... if it were that complex and interesting. No, the reality is.....
I fell down the stairs.
That's right race fans. I am a klutz.
I am constantly reminding my 3 year old to hold my hand going down the stairs. I don't know what it is with houses up North, but the stairs are extremely steep. And the stairs in our new house are really shallow, too. Your entire foot barely fits on the step. I think the builders get together and drink beer and laugh about all the people that are going to fall down these stairs. I can hear them now:
So I'm ready for work on Wednesday morning. I take my 3 year old by the hand.
"Okay honey. Hold Mommy's hand so you don't fffaaaaaalllllllll."
At precisely the time the word fall is coming out of my mouth, my foot slips off the top step. My feet start to flail in the air. I am reminded of the Fred Flintstone bowling wind up. My left foot then hits the second step with all of my body weight behind it, twisting my ankle. At the same time my right hand smacks into the banister, scraping the skin off in such a way that will later leave a nice bruise. Both my knees then hit the fourth step which propels me somehow further into the air as my body unnaturally twists to the right and I land on the floor hitting my left hip and then my head.
Now all of this takes precisely 2.4 seconds but it seems like 10 minutes. Here is a replay of what is going on in my head:
So I take a minute to assess the damage. Nothing's broken but I'm stunned. I don't really feel like getting up yet. I look up and Charlie is staring at me from the top of the stairs.
"Mommy are you all right?" he asks.
"See what happens when you don't hold on." Ever the Mom I reply. "Go tell Daddy I need him."
Now my son can yell. I mean he has a big mouth. He is constantly waking up his little brother. He turns to the bedroom where my husband is and goes:
"Daddy. Mommy fall down. She need you." he whispers.
"Charlie! Tell Daddy I need him. Please, go knock on the door. Yell if you have to."
I hear:
knock. knock. knock. "Daddy. Mommy fall down. Come out."
Crap. This isn't working.
I climb up the stairs on my hands and knees and get my husband myself.
"I fell down the stairs." I tell him.
"What? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks.
"Just my pride and my ego. The rest will heal." I answer humbly.
So, that is the story behind broken.
*taking a bow*
I think the consensus is that I must be feeling broken. That some horrible thing is affecting my mood or I am in some deep thought process and full of angst. Oh... if it were that complex and interesting. No, the reality is.....
I fell down the stairs.
That's right race fans. I am a klutz.
I am constantly reminding my 3 year old to hold my hand going down the stairs. I don't know what it is with houses up North, but the stairs are extremely steep. And the stairs in our new house are really shallow, too. Your entire foot barely fits on the step. I think the builders get together and drink beer and laugh about all the people that are going to fall down these stairs. I can hear them now:
"Joe, you made those stairs in 1149 extra shallow, right?"
"Sure did Bob. I can't wait until that new lady falls down those stairs!"
" I know its gonna be great. Wish I could be there to see it."
So I'm ready for work on Wednesday morning. I take my 3 year old by the hand.
"Okay honey. Hold Mommy's hand so you don't fffaaaaaalllllllll."
At precisely the time the word fall is coming out of my mouth, my foot slips off the top step. My feet start to flail in the air. I am reminded of the Fred Flintstone bowling wind up. My left foot then hits the second step with all of my body weight behind it, twisting my ankle. At the same time my right hand smacks into the banister, scraping the skin off in such a way that will later leave a nice bruise. Both my knees then hit the fourth step which propels me somehow further into the air as my body unnaturally twists to the right and I land on the floor hitting my left hip and then my head.
Now all of this takes precisely 2.4 seconds but it seems like 10 minutes. Here is a replay of what is going on in my head:
Gosh we really need to get going. Oh there's Charlie. Let me get his hand so he doesn't fa.......Ahhhhhh!!! What is this? Why aren't my feet touching the ground? Oh crap, I'm falling. Okay let me grab the railing. Oh no! What was that cracking? Oh! My ankle! Okay reach for the railing again. Ow! Crap! I missed. That's gonna leave a mark. Oh! My knees! Grab the railing Sherri. Oh crap....my feet are now higher than my head. Oh! My hip! Oh! My head! Okay. Have I stopped? I'm on the ground. Where's Charlie?
So I take a minute to assess the damage. Nothing's broken but I'm stunned. I don't really feel like getting up yet. I look up and Charlie is staring at me from the top of the stairs.
"Mommy are you all right?" he asks.
"See what happens when you don't hold on." Ever the Mom I reply. "Go tell Daddy I need him."
Now my son can yell. I mean he has a big mouth. He is constantly waking up his little brother. He turns to the bedroom where my husband is and goes:
"Daddy. Mommy fall down. She need you." he whispers.
"Charlie! Tell Daddy I need him. Please, go knock on the door. Yell if you have to."
I hear:
knock. knock. knock. "Daddy. Mommy fall down. Come out."
Crap. This isn't working.
I climb up the stairs on my hands and knees and get my husband myself.
"I fell down the stairs." I tell him.
"What? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks.
"Just my pride and my ego. The rest will heal." I answer humbly.
So, that is the story behind broken.
*taking a bow*
posted by Sherri at 6:36 PM
1 Comments:
Hi -
I just read this post and laughed - NOT at your fall, but at the way your son chose to use his quietest "inside voice" at the WRONG time. It always works that way. And then, of course, if you can drag your sorry self up the stairs to TELL your husband that you fell, then he doesn't really get the full effect of the fall. As usual, Mom is just handling whatever comes her way and he doesn't really have to worry about it. (How could he not hear you fall, anyway??)
I know, I don't know you or your husband and I'm not implying he didn't care. It was just so similar to any given day in my house (husband, two young kids) where I seem to be the only person aware of emergencies taking place, and often they're taking place with me in the starring role. Hope your pride is better!
-Erica
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