Falling is such sweet horror
Published 12:00 am Wednesday, January 11, 2012
This one time, someone spilled a bowl of peaches on the kitchen floor and forgot to clean the juice up all the way.
I still remember the smell connecting the thought in my brain that, as soon as my body hit the floor, I was about to be seriously hurt. Unfortunately for me, my head hit first. I think I blacked out for a moment.
We’ve all had those moments where you’re lying on the ground staring up – in my particular case, blinking rapidly to make the light fixture come into focus – trying to realize how you just busted it smooth and nearly cracked your skull open.
Your brain has to reach out to your arms, hands then fingers; then, your leg, ankle, foot in an attempt to see what’s in working order.
And when Santa left those electric scooters for the two younger girls, I knew someone was in for one of those moments. Little did I know, that it would once again be me.
And before anyone asks, no, I did not try to ride the thing. Although, as I watched Mia’s hair grow wings as she zipped from end of the house to the other, it did look pretty fun. However, when I discovered the doughnut circles in the carpet of my bedroom, I had to tell her to stop before she caught the floor on fire. And when I caught her jumping the step down from the kitchen to my bedroom like it was a ramp, I decided it was time to retire the playthings outside. Unfortunately for me, yet again, it was one day too late.
We’d had a small birthday party for the youngest girl – a few friends from school and family with a Justin Bieber birthday cake and games outside.
By that evening, everyone was dog-tired. The oldest two girls had taken over the living room for some Edward/Bella/Jacob drama, and to escape the teenaged angst, I made my way to my room with a good book. The birthday girl brought a book in for me to read to her, but by page five, she was out like a light.
Shortly after Bella made her Team Edward choice, I’d heard enough of Dianna’s snoring and thought to take her to her bed. I gathered her close, which is no easy feat because she’s a solid 7-year-old with lots of hair – which makes it difficult to see that scooter when it’s on the kitchen floor in front of you.
And you guessed it – I busted it smooth, her in my arms. I still don’t know how I didn’t kill us both. The only indication Dianna felt the impact was an eye flutter when I stood her on her feet, and she sleepwalked to the couch. It took no time for Ora to slide around the corner, arms outstretched, asking if she needed to call 911.
I actually thought about it for half a minute, but there wasn’t enough blood to require stitches, and my inventory found only a broken toe.
It was then Mia rounded the corner, surveyed the situation and summed it up. “That ain’t my scooter,” and turned around and left.