When you are young, you will do and try just about anything. Young people don’t waste a lot of time or energy mulling things over. They usually just go for it and suffer the repercussions later. Taking chances and careless risks go with the territory. I blame it on brain development. A sensible brain takes time.
At age 40, I have lived long enough that I think I am capable of making a good decision. I am not going to put myself or my children in danger. I am cautious and careful. I think things through. This ability comes with age. For most of us anyway.
There are a few exceptions to this rule though. There are times when I may not be completely clear in my thinking. One example being when I am hungry. Never let yourself get too hungry. A hungry mommy is a grumpy mommy and that mommy is capable of eating her weight in cheese curls. Trust me, this is a bad idea.
Another example of a time when I may not make stellar decisions is when I am sleepy. Once you have children you live your life sleep deprived. You learn to live on little or no sleep. Even with that, mommies can go past the point of a normal functioning adult into….well the place I found myself in just last night.
I had been catching up on my DVR shows. You never know when you are going to get that opportunity as the mother of young children. Television becomes the forbidden fruit. You never want to admit to other mothers that you actually sit still and watch tv. When you should be sewing? Or preparing and freezing meals for next week? Or ironing bed sheets? For shame!
(Okay in the name of honesty I am not sure that I have ever made a meal a day before it was to be eaten. Much less a week. Some of you stay at home mothers out there really should consider a part-time job. Or a hobby. May I suggest watching television?)
Anyway. I digress. I was watching tv and it had gotten pretty late. I decided to go to bed. I had been sharing my recliner with my little doggie, Princess Leni Kravitz. I was pretty sure that she would appreciate a trip to tinkle before we turned in for the night. The last thing I wanted to do was go outside and wait for a dog to water the grass BUT…..I sure love that little dog. So off we went.
We walked past the kitchen table where my husband was burning the midnight oil catching up on some work stuff. He didn’t even look up as Leni and I made our way to the front door. Had he looked up he may have questioned some things like why were we headed out the door so late or maybe why I didn’t have any shoes on my feet. Nah, he probably wouldn’t have asked about the shoes. I have a habit of going out barefooted. Maybe it is the Alabama girl in me. When I was a little girl I would beg my mother to let me go barefoot outside. The standard rule was no bare feet before May 1. But come May 1? It was on!
BUT I digress.
So Princess Leni and I walked out the front door and down the steps. I had not even had time to adjust my eyes to the dark yet when I heard another dog barking from across the street. If you know a thing or two about Yorkies, then you know they are a wee bit excitable. Upon seeing that other dog Leni decided that she was going to go check him out. The only problem was she would have to cross a road to get to the other dog. Then I would have to chase her, while barefooted and half asleep. That was not happening.
Luckily my brain and my quick reflexes worked in unison. Before she could so much as make a leap toward the other dog I stepped off into the grass. This was a fatal error. In hindsight I should have let the dog run. Wild and free.
When my foot touched the grass, I realized that the grass was damp. Evidently there had been a mist that had blanketed the slightly over grown yard. Wet plush grass is a bad thing. Especially when it is dark outside. And you are sleepy. And barefoot.
It all happened in slow motion. I stepped onto the grass, as I reached for my dog. I felt my foot instantly start sliding. Even Princess Leni knew this wasn’t going to end well. She looked at me. I looked at her. Then my foot bent in a way that would have made a grown man cry. And throw up a little. My knee buckled from the pain that was radiating from my bent toes. There was no stopping my momentum. I was going down. Repeat, I was going down.
My next conscious moment, I was lying on my side. My thigh was burning from shifting my weight in an attempt to not break my toes completely off of my left foot, As I fell. Or…did I break off my toes? The pain was excruciating. I thought surely I had screamed on my way down. Surely all of the neighbors would be running out to help me soon. I just knew my husband was on his way to my rescue.
A minute passed. All I heard……was crickets.
To add insult to injury Leni was not a rescue dog. She wasn’t trying to help me. She just climbed up and sat on my chest. Sure I guess one could argue that weighing three pounds gave her a slight disadvantage but she is no Lassie. This I now know.
So it was just me, my mangled foot, my burning thigh and my worthless (yet adorable) dog. Being the woman that I am, the woman who birthed four children, the woman who sat by her son’s hospital bedside as he fought pneumonia for 10 days, the woman who survived a 21 day cleanse. This would not break me.
I grabbed a rail, and pulled myself to my good foot and hopped up the steps. I hopped through the door and into the house. I made my way to a chair. I was going to live. I told Leni that I was going to live.
She looked up at me. Then peed on my hardwood floor. Of course she did.