The Unfashionable Boot is Off!

One fateful day this Spring, my little brother jinxed me through cyberspace. I had just walked into a wall. It’s nothing new for me. I do it all the time. I mean seriously, like at least once a day. I hit walls with my shoulder, bump them with my hip, or most commonly knock them with my dainty size ten feet. So, I shared my not very exhilarating news on Facebook. I simply wrote, “I bet no one walks into more walls than I do.” A lot of people begged to differ, saying that they, too, walk into large amounts of walls. My smart aleck little brother just antagonized me. Do you know what he said to me when I told over 300 of my closest friends that I walked into a wall?

Not, “Oh, Sis, are you okay?” 

Not, “Wow, that stinks.  Take it easy.” 

He said this, “or falls down more stairs.” 

Ha!  Yes, he is right about that one statement. I do fall down stairs, a lot. Not as often as I walk into walls, but more than an average person.

I was unaware what my future would hold, but I do blame said little brother for its occurrence. 

Exactly two months later, I did fall down the stairs. It wasn’t my run-of-the-mill fall this time. It was a real doozy. I broke my foot and sprained my ankle. I would have to go on to explain what happened at least once a day to friends and strangers for the next six weeks. That is how long I have been wearing my fancy walking boot. It has been the greatest summer fashion statement. 


Are you jealous?   

That is until today. Today is the day I am finally rid of that stinkin’ boot. 

Wanna know exactly how it happened? You can laugh at me; I won’t be upset. We were enjoying a very lovely barbeque party at one of my best friend’s homes. Her basement had been trashed (no surprise there) by our collective seven kids. I told my dear children to help clean up the mess. 

Did they listen?

What do you think?

The youngest one, the runner, did not want to clean anything. I am quite sure he made most of the mess, which is why he tried to escape, yelling "I hate cleaning!" As he was running up the stairs, I scooped him up in my arms. While I was coming back down to enforce the dreaded cleaning assignment, he kicked and screamed and tried to wiggle away from me. At that very moment, the oldest kid, who probably did not make any mess at all, attempted to squeeze past me to walk upstairs. I tried my best to keep squirmy kid from kicking his big brother. We were in a narrow stairwell after all. 

What happened next is all a blur. 

I went down, and the rest is history. 

Wanna know what’s funny? I walked around on that broken foot and sprained ankle for six days before realizing something was really wrong. My dad called me a “Tough Old Bird.” Thanks, Dad, that’s encouraging. I’m a clumsy, tough old bird who can’t control her four year old. 

I should state that none of my children were injured in the fall. That’s a good mom, right?  Sustaining an injury to protect her young. I won’t tell you about the time I broke my pinky toe. It wasn’t heroic at all. 

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https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo