My not-so-graceful-moments have become a standing joke. Over the years, I've learned to laugh at myself. My personal Facebook wall is plastered with a lot of these moments. Tripping over NylaBones or the throw rugs in the kitchen. Face planting the floor when I've attempted to climb the doggy gate. Cuts. Bruises. Dings. Falling backwards into the ironing board and having the iron fall on my head. People get a good laugh. Often times, they'll throw in comments that I need to bubble wrap myself. They're right. I am one of those people who can easily trip over air.
Today was no exception. My day ended with a punctured and possibly fractured thumb.
With each and every incident, I get up slowly. Move various areas of my body to make sure I don't have any broken bones. Walk around. Exhale. If I can do that, I'm okay. There's no need to run to the walk-in or ER. I know I'll be stiff for a few days, and I may have a few bruises, but I'll survive.
Lately, I've been giving a little thought to that one time where I might not be so lucky. Sure, I'm always laughing and cracking jokes at my not-so-graceful-moments, but in the back of my brain, I know there's going to be that one time when I don't get up or I would need to be rushed to the ER.
That scares me a bit.
All luck runs out eventually, right? Look at the people who win consecutive games at a casino. They're on a winning streak. A roll. They get overconfident and play that one last game. And lose. Everything.
I've been to 3 casinos in my lifetime. Each time, I've walked out with cash in my purse. That included what we spent and some extra. My secret? Stop while you're ahead.
The last time we went was a few years ago for Lisa's birthday. Foxwoods. We enjoyed a scrumptious lunch and, after walking around a bit, played the penny slots. We each get $50 to play. That's it. No exceptions.
I love the older penny slot machines. There's just something about them. I've never played anything else at a casino.
That day, I was on a winning streak. I won over $300 on one machine. I grabbed my cash ticket and put it in my purse. I took out my last $20 to play on a few other older penny slot machines. I won over $400. I grabbed my cash ticket and put it in my purse.
We played on Lisa's last $20 and won about $40. So, we played a little longer. We were having so much fun. It was her birthday.
Once that money ran out, that was it. Neither one of us was tempted to dig into the little over $700 in my purse. That was a nice little chunk of change and our plans were to deposit it into our savings account. We weren't going to risk losing it. Sure, I had been lucky enough to win it, but I didn't take advantage of that luck.
When we were ready to leave, we cashed out.
I need to apply that same way of thinking to my not-so-graceful-moments. Sure, I've been lucky up until this point, but there's no guarantee that I'll be able to get up, brush myself off, and laugh about it the next time.
I know this.
Earlier this evening, while eating dinner with Lisa, I told her that I needed to slow down a bit. Be more aware of my surroundings.
I need to make sure the throw and runner rugs in the kitchen are laying flat.
NylaBones need to be picked up from the floor when the kids aren't using them.
I need to start looking down when I walk around, especially in the kitchen. I can't tell you how many times I've face planted the floor because Lobo or Willa have been under my feet and I take a dive to avoid stepping on them.
I need to use my oven mitts instead of our flimsy pot holders when taking stuff out of the oven.
Lisa agreed. In fact, she was quite adamant about this and had a few things to add.
"If it's too heavy to lift, wait until I get home so I can help you."
"No power tools."
"No moving bookshelves."
"Don't even think about taking the wood palettes apart."
"Do not mow the lawn unless I'm home."
She listed a few other things, but I forgot what those were.
None of what she said is a control thing. I've sustained not-so-graceful-moment-injuries from each thing she added to my list.
Despite my best efforts, I know that my not-so-graceful-moments will still exist. But, I'm hoping to reduce them.
A lot.
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