A Scuffed Reminder

Picture it.
A steady spittering rain drizzle.
1 Saturday.
1 mama.
2 boys.
2 basketball games.
2 different tip-off times.
1 daddy with a football banquet right smack in the middle of tip offs.

Mama on cheerleader/team picture form filler-outer/taxi driver/wardrobe coordinator of 4 for banquet detail.

Kenny was completely tied up with all things banquet.

I owned this one.

Once Eli's game ended, we scooted back home for a brief 40 minute adjournment so Eli and I could change into our banquet attire.

{I must break out a fashion boast here::  holla if you hear me. I wore a killer khaki pant suit that also came with a matching pair of dress walking shorts all purchased for the total price of $1.00 from one of my new-to-me Goodwill establishments.  That's right.  A 3 piece set for $1.00.  I paired that bad daddy with my favorite pair of red heels.}

 We packed Casey's banquet clothes and were back on the hoop scene in no time.

And, it is here that I will choose not to go into irritable detail about the fact that the wait time for Casey's team/individual pictures which we did not even opt to purchase was an entire 60 minutes while I stood next to a junior high boy's bathroom stationary in heels.  Eli was a rockstar and totally patient.  He's my guy.


But, the Face eventually played and was victorious and all things elated too.

Now, time to get to that banquet.
No biggie, we are only an hour late.

Out the double doors we go Casey-Mama-Eli hand-in-hand.

I am carrying the camera bag, my purse, and the bag that housed Casey's change of clothes for the banquet.

Rocking the hyper-drive heel-toe step, the boys and I are making our way to the car.

A cascade of cobblestone stairs is on our route.

Hurriedly and with all 3 of us talking in a collective unison about the games {they are so like me in the talking department; it's not even funny}, we begin our descent.

About the 7th step of the dozen before us, my heel catches in between the crack of one of the cobblestones.

I do this whole mental I got this and began the succession of correctional methods.

The heel was stuck.
Like for realz.
My hands are occupied with Tom-n-Jerry on either side of me.
My shoulders are obese with cargo.
It's flippin' raining.
And, the boys don't have a clue this is happening.

{the above came to fruition in about .5 seconds.}

As if it were April 15th 1912, this mama begins her rattle-trapped rendition of decline.

Boys still walking feverishly forward, I am faced with the immediate issue of immobility.

{now, we are at about 1 second lapsed time}

Panicked, I attempt a lean down drop on Eli's shoulder with my elbow.  He supports me yet has no clue what seems to be the trouble. {That's so Eli through & through.} Yet, he's still in forward motion so it became an unfortunate choice for a solution.

So, I'm now cock-eyed and stuck and we are at about the 2 second mark.

Freaking COMPLETELY out now, I am wobbling, upper-body-protruding-over-lower-extremities and heading south bound at lightning speed.


I chose to let it happen.

At the 2.5 second mark, I realized correcting wasn't in the cards.

I fall 5 steep steps and, in Twister fashion with 5'9"+ heels on my stat sheet,  I crash with the butts of my hands on the 12th step, my knees on steps 10 & 11 respectively and my feet STILL in heels on step 7.

And, I was a perty sight to see.

My heart racing and my entire body in a full-on shake, my brain connects with the reality:


And, little did I know that this incident would serve as a reminder for me in the coming week.

Sometimes you have to "choose to let it happen"

Meghan, you didn't fail.
You fell.

And, you can always get back up.

My rhythm meets my humanity.


p.s.  And, don't think for one hot second I'm not taking a red Sharpie to that scuff mark and moving right along in my reddy reds!