On occasion, I’ll post some of my not-so-graceful moments on Facebook. Grace is not my middle name. About 95% of my mishaps are comical. They’re good for a laugh or two. People expect that from me. Heck, I expect that from me. There’s a lot of standing jokes stemming from that including suggestions for wrapping myself in bubble wrap to being confined to my office chair when Lisa is at work.
Over the years, I’ve learned to laugh at myself. How can I not? I’ve bruised my hip slipping on a puddle of kid pee in the kitchen. I’ve slipped in the shower and fallen in a straddle-like position on the edge of the tub because one of the kids decided to curl up on the bathroom rug. I’ve underestimated how not-so-high my leg can lift in some type of warped ballerina move to get over a gate. I’ve tripped over chew bones. I’ve had shelves crash on top of me. Today, however, wasn’t such a laughing matter.
I had just gotten caught up on work stuff and blog columns. I felt a little “ahead of the game…” A step or two forward versus behind. That’ not a feeling I experience often. I sent Lisa an email explaining my elated sense of accomplishment. I did a happy dance on my way to the kitchen to conquer meal prep for the kids, housework, finishing up some DIY Dog Mom projects, and making a spectacular dinner for Lisa.
I gathered a few ingredients for dinner and put them on the counter. My next task was washing dishes. However, before I could wash the dishes, I had to put the clean dishes on the dish rack away.
That's when it happened.
About 30 seconds prior, Coco got up from his afternoon nap. When he gets up from a nap, Willa gets the zoomies. It’s her way of saying, “Let’s play, Coco!”
Right around the same time, I was putting the dishes away. I grabbed the top portion of the new food processor Lisa bought me a couple of months ago and a few plastic containers. Willa ran under my feet. I made a split second decision. Step on Willa or…go down.
I went down.
I remember hearing the food processor shattering on the floor. My forehead hit our wooden kitchen table and chair. I heard my phone sounding off letting me know Lisa was calling. She called twice. I remember the ringtone going off the second time.
I’m guessing I was disorientated for a couple of minutes. I got up. Slowly. Grabbed the broom and dustpan. Swept up the hard plastic pieces from the food processor so the kids wouldn’t step on them and hurt themselves. Then, I sent Lisa a text. She called about a minute later. She ordered me to grab an ice pack and lay in bed.
The kids knew I was hurt. Coco, Lobo, and Willa stood guard at the end of the bed. They barked occasionally when they heard noises.
Sophie sat on guard inches away from my face. I laid there. Ice on my forehead. A bit dizzy. My vision blurred in my right eye.
Lisa arrived home about 20 minutes later. She dropped everything and rushed to where I was laying in the bed. She helped me up. Asked if I needed medical attention. I said no. There had already been an improvement in my vision. I wasn’t as dizzy as I was immediately after the fall.
I sat at the table for a few minutes and attempted to finish up the DIY Dog Mom Projects. Wasn’t happening. Lisa helped me to the sofa. She brought me iced water and some ibuprofen.
“The new food processor that you bought me is shattered. I’m so sorry. I know how proud you were the day you brought it home for me. And, I was in the process of making you a spectacular dinner.”
Lisa heard me out.
“I don’t care about the food processor. That can be replaced. You can’t. I don’t care about the dinner you were going to make. I’ll take care of dinner tonight. I want you on the sofa. No more work today.”
That was it.
Lisa doesn’t put her foot down often, but when she does, I don’t argue or challenge her. I don’t ask questions.
While I sat on the sofa, she took care of the dishes, ordered dinner, fed the kids, and took care of everything between. I felt guilty, but I knew she'd protest if I attempted to help out with anything.
By the end of the evening, shortly before she and the kids went to bed, I was feeling a lot better. The swelling had gone down. I had full vision in my right eye. I wasn’t dizzy. The headache was gone. I was just sore. A bruise was forming on my forehead where it had kissed the wood table and chair.
I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow and probably the next, but I'm okay with that. Things could have been a lot worse. I've always feared having a not-so-graceful moment that resulted in hitting my head.
Maybe I should consider bubble wrap. Or, at the very least, a helmet.
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