This is a post in which I reveal a little bit about myself that my readers may not know.
I am a monumental klutz. Terminally clumsy, my nickname for years among those who know me well, is Grace. Because... I'm so not graceful, at all.
Today is a good example of this. I informed the kids it was time to get dressed for church, and we all headed down the game room stairs. I stopped and picked up my bowls from chips and dip last night, and as I headed down the stairs with at least 400 billion thoughts in my head... down I went. I have no idea how it happened, because I wasn't actually paying attention to walking down the stairs. Nope, I had all kinds of things on my mind, and before I knew it was going down. I reached out to grab hold of something (there is nothing, no handrail on those stairs) and smashed the glass bowl into the wall, which in turn sliced the palm of my hand open. Not a really big slice, but a slice nevertheless. Somehow my left leg decided it was time to quick working and it crumpled, twisted and folded under me as I went down the stairs.
The bad news was, we missed church again today and I'm in a lot of pain. The good news is, nothing is broken, just jolted, twisted and bruised.
I got to thinking about my clumsiness, and have concluded that it's because I have too many thoughts running around in my head all at once. I've always been this way, and for as long as I can remember when I have accidents it's because I was thinking about something else, rather than paying attention to what I was doing. Now you'd think by nearly 45 years old I would have conquered this wee beastie, but no. In fact, if there were a special camera lense that could capture the thought bubbles above everyone's heads (pfft, of course they're real!) mine would quite likely be bigger than most and contain thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do with what I'm currently doing. Always thinking, always planning, always running over ideas. I don't know if it's because I'm artistic-minded, and all of us artistic minded folks are the same way (I know at least one of my brilliantly artistic minded daughters is clumsy like me), or if there is some other explanation for it. I just know, its the way it is.
After my nasty spill down the stairs, Kev and all the kids came running and before I knew it I was at the kitchen table with an ice pack on my ankle and an advil and glass of water in front of me. Rachel brought me what I needed to clean up my hand, as I sat there and tried to figure out what in the world just happened. One of the first new thoughts to enter my already-too-large-thought bubble: "you don't bounce very well at 44 years old". No, at this age it's more of a splat & crunch kind of thing. I do not recommend it.
So today gave me LOTS to be thankful for. I know it could have been much worse, but it wasn't. I know I could have been here alone, but I wasn't. The advil kicked in quite well and I was at least able to make it upstairs and go back to bed for 3 hours.
Yes, even a thought bubble head like me has lots to be thankful for today.