Thursday, May 20, 2010

Oh Crap, That's Going To Hurt (Part #2)

A Three Part Tale Of Epic Clumsiness

*If you have not yet read part #1 of my tale, I certainly recommend clicking the link for your reading pleasure. Although part #2 should be entertaining in its own merit, reading part #1 will only enhance your neurotic experience.*

Picking myself up off the blanket of garbage I had landed on, I decided to take the most direct course of action: turn my back on the entertained face of the garbage man and run...err...scootch like the wind back into the safety of my warm house with the comforting scent of brewing coffee.

Now that I knew what a nightmare being outside was, I knew that at some point in my day, I was going to have to go purchase salt for the glacier that is my driveway/sidewalk/impromptu vaudeville act. Not only that, but 15 minutes after shipping Smoochie off on the bus, I happened to notice his lunch on the kitchen counter. OF COURSE! It would make perfect sense that this would be the one and only day of the year for my oldest loin chop to forget his lunch. I had no choice
but to venture back out onto the ice sheet.

Of course, it makes sense that I would desire to start my minivan ahead of time, to give the layer of ice clinging to it like a barnacle a chance to melt and slip away, so I grabbed my keys, took a now DESPERATE sip of coffee, and headed back out the door.

And that's ALMOST as far as I made it this time- out the door. I stepped down onto the first step and my foot did the whole banana peel trick it had practiced earlier. And since I was nice enough to include a mental dialogue in my first part, I'll continue the tradition. My mind, still desperate for coffee, rambled on in the following fashion:

Foot, step, foot step. Aw, CRAP, why isn't my foot on the step? Why, hello feet, haven't I already seen you once today? This landing is going to be a bit more painful than the garbage bag, isn't it? Close your eyes, perhaps you won't feel it....

And I landed rump down on the edge of the bottom step/sidewalk. This time I took a minute to assess things. Fortunately I didn't feel like anything was broken, but my wrist was a bit sore. Gingerly I stood up, muttering to myself something about what I'd pay to have an ounce of freeking grace, gave thanks that at least I didn't have my youngest son in my arms at the time, and gritted my teeth in order to try and make it to my car without another incident.

By the time I made it back inside to bundle Critter up and prepare for my journey to Smoochie's school, I was quite perturbed. At that moment in time I was feeling more like a drunk hippo on land than a gazelle. As I sipped at my now lukewarm cup of coffee, I comforted myself with the realization that, "Hey, Chas, you've already fallen twice today, odds are you'd probably get struck by lightning before you actually fall again."

Yeah, right. To be continued....

Timed Out

I've been in hiding. It's been a couple of months since I've posted anything here. My blog reader has seventy hundred blog posts that I haven't read. But it's not just here online that I've been in hiding. I'm realizing that I've been hiding from real life, too.

I don't leave the house unless there's a legitimate reason, like for the grocery shopping, or the actual job interview I had last week, or to avoid the indoor echo of Critter's temper tantrums. Most mornings, I'd like nothing more than to pile on about 10 comforters and not get out of bed for weeks. I know these things are probably fairly normal, and to combat them I try to exercise. I face each day with a grateful feeling that I get to enjoy my boys' smiles and giggles. And if I have to be with anyone, I plaster on a smile and a mask, and crack a good joke or two. Laughter is my lifeline, it always has been.

Part of my problem is that I refuse to have a pessimistic outlook to life. No matter how tough things are or how turbulent my insides are, I fully believe that half of the battle is in your attitude. The last thing on Earth I desire is to wake up and look at myself in the mirror and see Moaning Myrtle staring back at me. Holy Moley is that chick a major buzzkill. Call me stubborn, but yeah. That's not ever going to be me if I have any say in the matter.

Another part of my problem is that I find it very hard to write about the things that are going on in my personal life. For starters, I generally tend to follow the philosophy labeled: If you don't have anything positive (or nice) to say or contribute, then keep your yappy trap shut. I vowed I would do whatever it takes to make this as easy as possible on my boys, and that includes not talking about a lot of what is going on. Sadly enough, they (we) are learning that there are some wounds in life that you can't simply slap a band aid on or just kiss away. These moments are heartbreaking to endure, and even harder to write about.

So. We're getting to the crux of my post. I'm going to legitimately try and post more, in order to force myself out of hiding a bit. Why do I have such a strong feeling of deja vu??

And thinking of Keanu Reeves in black leather, does anyone have any good pointers to how to keep an 8year old boy from yelling in a very unquiet, turretty manner, "Look Mom!!! THERE'S YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!" every time he sees a picture of Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson in public?