There’s a running joke in our family about Jamin being a bit… well, accident prone.
And by running joke in our family, I mean I practically berate Jamin about it. Partly because I’m a real joy to be married to, but mostly because he always kind of teetered on the line between dashingly athletic and total magnet for catastrophe. We repeatedly argued about it when I used the words “accident prone” every time he hurt himself. He was always denying it. {See: two ankle surgeries from two random incidents in the first few years of our marriage as our catalyst}… and then there was this encounter with satan’s garden stool that really sealed the deal.
He knew he could never argue with me again.
But sometimes, I’m a bit accident prone myself. Read: I’m not exactly the picture of grace, nor do I conjure the image of a gazelle when I move. So if this is a whole flow-down from the genes department deal, our kids are officially screwed.
For instance, there was that time I walked right into our minivan. The back door was closing on that auto close new fangled option that we all have on our fancy keyrings, and I legit ran right into it. I had to stop the bleeding with a diaper. And it barely missed my eye. It was so epic, I was in the flea market parking lot and I’m pretty sure the security guards have it on replay in some YouTube remix on the www. So for the next few weeks, every time I left the house with a split forehead and a bulging black eye, people looked at me a little funny. Mostly due to my story that was met with a bit of side eye from the recipient. I didn’t get said black eye from rescuing someone from a moving train, or defending myself from a coyote when I’d taken out the trash… it was just that I’d pushed the automatic door closer thingy, whirled around, and walked right into it.
With my face.
Because I’m smooth like that.
The resulting scar on my forehead means I get to tell that gem of a story over and over again when anyone asks. Thank goodness it’s really not that noticeable. #thescarofshame
I’ve gotten my own taste of reality throughout the years, so I know that accidents happen in a second. Anything in your house can kill you. And when I took a tumble last Friday night, it took me a moment. To: A. Make sure I wasn’t dead. And after that, B. That I could move all my fingers and toes.
But let’s back up a moment, because that makes me sound calm. And if you read the satan’s garden stool story, you know calm is not how I roll.
So we’ll begin with a photo to set the stage. If you remember when we took possession of the house, the garage was cleaned out {mostly – sans a lot of the previous owner’s stuff} and ready to go. And by cleaned out, I mean sufficient. We wanted to finish out this part of the house, as a full bonus room area for the kids… and a laundry room for us.
And then the septicpocalypse happened, so we were resigned to rehabbing the entire top half of the house, and waiting on the basement. There were supplies everywhere. And then we moved in, so on top of the remaining supplies, we threw in boxes as we unpacked. And needed somewhere to store the dog food. And the doll house. And toys and a few probably still-hidden Christmas presents. Reality, y’all. Survival mode. We know it’s a hot mess with five people and two dogs and 1700 square feet of functioning space.
This basement is a catch-all. The catch-all of shame.
If you’re looking at the first photo, you can see how awkward it is right now to do laundry. The current situation is a major downgrade from our last house.
For now.
We get to descend those stairs, turn to the right, and pull an acrobatic feat to swing the doors open past the rickety hand rail in order to reach the washer. That’s if the one existing basement light hasn’t shorted out for the day and we can see where we’re going. In short, the basement is a death trap – some from our own makings, but mostly because #septic.
We’re so ready to get our hands on this one.
Once upon a time, I was afraid of the clown in the crawlspace, but now I know there’s no way he could ever reach us to do evil clown things. He’ll die in an avalanche of assorted christmas ornament and tile boxes on his way up to the main level.
Yes, we should drop everything and get this basement predicament purged and set up. It’s next on the get-this-done-last-week list.
There’s also something else I should mention: We’re not really accustomed to stairs. We’ve never had them before {at least not in the past nineteen years of college days and then marriage} so they’re kind of a challenge for our special snowflake family. We’ve all taken tiny tumbles of sorts, to the point where I’ve made a rule that we won’t be wearing anything but gripper socks in the house. I’ve now even fallen up the stairs. Who knew stairs are so hard?
The basement stairs, however, are a predicament of their own. They aren’t up to code yet, because we haven’t been allowed to touch it for the past six {seven??? nine???} months per Williamson County Septic. We need a permit, and they won’t give it to us. Because, remember, septic is looking out for our safety and stuff. And stairs are directly related to all things plumbing and rehab. It makes perfect sense, right? Oh, you’re not following that logic yet? No worries, we haven’t either. Never mind that we aren’t adding any additional plumbing downstairs. But safety first.
The irony.
That means the stairs are super old and super narrow and super steep for no rational reason.
Can you see where I’m going with this?
I was in a hurry last Friday night. On our way to our friends’ house, I’d baked cookies and Jamin was meeting us there. I’d rounded up the kiddos, who were rounding up the dogs so we could leave. But I decided to run down into the basement ever so quickly to check on the laundry status, right before we left. Aintnobodygottimeforstinkylaundry and that happens more often than naught.
On the first step, my socked foot slipped.
I know, right? Ew gross. I stepped on those stairs in just my socks. I guess you could say I’m officially in denial. But beyond that,
I took a tumble.
All the way down.
And took each step on my spinal cord.
It felt like slow motion. And I sounded like the {poor} grape lady falls woman when I landed. It was definitely a combination of a wounded raptor and some sort of wailing banshee mutant combo.
All the way down, arms and legs flailing. Reaching for something. Grasping nothing. Because I tumbled all the way to the bottom and writhed around for a second, to the point where the kids immediately came running, and kind of stood there, quite puzzled at the top of the stairs.
After I made sure I could move my arms and legs, I realized that under the four layers I was wearing, my spine was on fire. And for a moment, it was kind of scary.
I pulled myself back up the stairs and onto the main level, in uncontrollable heaves because I’d officially knocked the wind out of me. And in weird movements like that girl from The Ring because I couldn’t stand up straight, so I’m pretty sure my hair was in my face, and my elbows were at awkward angles and I just kind of crawled back up. All the while, my kids repeatedly asked if I was okay while waiting on me to reach the top.
I couldn’t answer, but I kept breathing really loudly trying to catch my breath… and each time, I could hear the panic rising in their voices. “Mommy, are you okay?”
I mustered that I needed them to look at my injuries in between panicked breaths, and ripped off my coat and shirts so they could see the damage done.
That was when Emerson screamed, “There’s blood everywhere!”
I believe at that moment I wondered if I was in extreme shock and my spinal cord was flying around the room in a gross compound fracture from my body like something from Alien.
This is it, I thought. This is how I go.
Or maybe I was already dead and I was having an out-of-body experience but didn’t realize it yet. Because it hurt, but it didn’t hurt to the degree directly related to her reaction.
Then there was option C. She’s definitely my daughter. Because we’re not exactly stellar at staying calm in moments of crisis. {I have no idea where she gets it.}
We’ll go with the latter while I waited on a sensible reaction from the boys.
And it was then that I heard Aiden’s voice from over me say “No it’s not, Emerson. It’s a bad carpet burn, Mommy.”
Cue my heaving sigh of relief. The voice of reason. One child that isn’t completely dramatic. If I’m being fair, 1.5 children. {I mean, if Jamin and I combined our klutzo powers, at least my range of emotions combined with his usual absolute calm gave us an even split down three offspring in the drama department.} My left rib was achey, and somehow on top of my winter coat and three other layers, I’d procured the worlds biggest carpet burn without breaking anything, or landing on my tailbone. It was a FLIPPING Christmas Miracle. I’m pretty sure I could be on Ripley’s Believe It Or Not for the extent of this one: I’m aiming for the worlds biggest scab. Or maybe just the dumbest way in which to procure one. It started at the bottom of my back and went halfway up, ending in a pretty little bruise at the top.
I’m just relieved I didn’t land on a death trap at the bottom of the stairs… I’m still kind of surprised there wasn’t some ill-placed metal rake {from the clown, also probably planted there by septic} waiting to impale me to top it all off. Because that would so happen to me a-la Final Destination part 5554.
But in reality, I’m pretty sure my obituary will read something like death by choking on peanut butter whilst stepping on a lego and then tripping over her dog. If I’m going to go… it may as well be in a blaze of true-to-me-dorkdom-glory.
But back to the present moment in our story, because Emerson proceeded to dial up Jamin and tell him that mommy fell all the way down the stairs. That I was hurt really badly, and that we needed him home NOW. Bless it. I think I really scared them. I have no ability to stay super calm when I’m writhing in pain, trying to catch my breath, and wondering if my spinal cord is randomly swinging around free from my back like a mutant lizard tail.
I heard Jamin calmly ask if I was conscious. Someone has to stay grounded in this family.
Later, my mom asked the kiddos what they would do if mommy was unconscious and no one was home. I braced myself, sure they would give the proper answers having been trained repeatedly by us. My middle child proclaimed: “Call Mrs. Elise!” {a friend of ours, which gives Emerson a 70/100 on the grandmother-approved safety preparedness scale}. And the the youngest, who I thought would surely be our saving grace having learned from his father’s incident, proclaimed, “Freak out and call 991!”
I’m so proud. So assured.
I’d been complaining about the nasty carpet on the stairs, and after I fell, a friend told me she was glad we hadn’t removed it yet. And that there weren’t more of them. I surrendered with a “too soon!” Because I can’t imagine what a real tumble would have felt like. I need one of those I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up necklaces. The struggle {and fear as I now grip all the railings and take one stair at a time like a legit 110 year old woman} is totally real. I’m still waiting on Jamin to add a chalk outline of me at the bottom just for fun.
I’d officially taken a tumble, and I kind of deserve it for all the labeling I’ve handed him over the past few years.
You know what they say Karma is.
I’m just lucky to walk away with a bruised back, and ego. And glad I got back up to tell the {self-depreciating-in-a-public-forum} tale.
{Ps… stay tuned. We showed you these ghastly photos to A. Illustrate the horribleness which were my injuries resulting in a gigantic scab and sore back B. To continue to list things in this semi obnoxious form, and also to say, C. we hope to begin the basement overhaul soon… we can not wait to transform this space!}
Stephanie says
If it makes you feel any better,I’m a klutz too and likely would have fallen down those steps repeatedly. I mean I fall when I’m just trying to stand up.
Glad you’re okay, though!
http://aneducationindomestication.com
Jennifer says
This is hysterical! I’m the same way so it could have easily been me, too! That sounds not fun but glad you’re okay and that you can find the humor in it all. Can’t wait to see what you do with the basement renovation!
Courtney says
One time we were staying at a friend’s lake house for a bachelorette party – 15 girls in a 100-year-old cabin. The stairs were super worn (read: slippery) wood, normal second-story height. I foolishly wore socks and fell the entire. way. down. sliding on my butt. I felt every. single. stair. I was mostly embarrassed (everyone saw it) more than hurt. But…I did learn that day that you can in fact bruise your buttcheek. I had a solid blue/purple buttcheek for a month!
Hope you recover quickly and glad it wasn’t worse!!
Sarah says
I am crying laughing out of sympathy at my desk at work! I have to keep turning to the window to get my composure back. I am also someone that does not remain calm when the emergency involves…myself. I have been hit in the eye by falling Fiesta ware from the cupboard, fell down our previous home’s 1920s stairway to smack my eye on the beautiful mahogany doorframe at the bottom (did you know they do nothing for a hairline fracture in your cheekbone) and received all of the questions and looks that one gets with a black eye. I then stepped through the handle of an anchor hocking casserole carrier while 8.5 months pregnant, fell down the outdoor steps of our house, cut my face up and went into labor (no harm came to my now five year old!) I get it and loved the imagery of the spine swinging around!
Bonnie says
Ashley, I’m so sorry that you got hurt. I hope you are feeling much, much better. My 3 daughters and I joke that they all inherited my “clumsy” gene as each one of us is always running into something or banging something and we always have some sort of bruise. I tell them it’s not my fault. I inherited my clumsiness from my mother and my grandmother!! I’m actually less clumsy than I was when I was younger so I guess there is HOPE.
Tiffany says
I, like commenter Sarah, read this at work and had tears streaming down my face trying to suppress my laughter. Your lines, making noises like a wounded raptar and alien spine flying around the room, OMG, so funny! I am truly sorry you were hurt though and I’ve been there – I feel your pain. I’m a member of the klutz club too. Hang in there and don’t forget to hold on to the rails!!
Jessica E Atkinson says
Can I just say I think of you guys every time I see one of those ceramic garden stools and every time I close my minivan trunk..I am scared for life by both of those incidents. So now I will add carpeted stairs to that list…
ashley @ the handmade home says
HAHA! So sorry to traumatize you ;} Really, I do feel bad. But hey… maybe it will prevent an accident? ;}