I fell the other day. I was tired, trying to get the girls ready for camp, and hurrying. My foot slipped off my shoe and my ankle gave out. I cried out. (AH!) Then I hit my knees. Cried out again. (AH!) Then my belly! Then boobs! Then nose and forehead! (AH! AH! AH!) Then I lay still, doing a silent inventory. Am I okay? Did I break anything? Where do I hurt?
The neighbor ran up, three kids ran out of the house. Are you okay? Did you break anything? Where do you hurt? I was fine. I was embarrassed. I had a bump on the head and a couple of bruises.
Caroline commented, "And you say I cry when I fall? You screamed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear you!" (It was clear that indeed I would be the screaming type if ever I were tortured, not the silent stoic type as I'd previously envisioned.)
Life is like that a bit right now. It seems like I've been falling for a long, long time. I wrote it all down once, the list of things that have happened, and I felt pretty justified in the last decade of outcries.
But right now there is a moment. I'm taking inventory. Am I okay? Did I break anything? Where do I hurt? I think I'm done falling. I seem to have hit everything that can be hit. I'm applying my ice, blushing over my wimpiness, and tearing up a little out of shock.
But I am okay. Right now I am okay. And I'll take it.