Bounce

Some stories, usually embarrassing ones, need to sit awhile before we have enough distance from the event to own up to whatever it was that we did. I have some embarrassing stories that I wasn't able to tell for years, they were just that bad. It's only been a week and a half for this one, but I'm ready.

So two Saturdays ago, we threw a surprise-60th-birthday party for my mom. I volunteered to do it at our new house, because a. I love our new house, b. it's great for entertaining, and c. I knew that it would be the motivation I needed to get completely unpacked and decorated in a timely fashion. And it worked! We had several weeks of no-fun weekends, filled with unpacking, arranging, cleaning, etc., but the house was all put together after living here for only 4 weeks, and we don't have to worry about all of that anymore (until the next time we move, she says ominously). The house looked great, Costco did a fabulous job on the food (what, do you think I could make the house beautiful and cater for 30 people all with a small person attached to my chest?), and the party went beautifully. Lots of people showed up, including my aunt from Seattle, which was the biggest surprise for my mom.

One particular guest made herself not-so-welcome by about 10 minutes into the party. This one:

Okay, so that's a really old picture of Missy, from way back before we had babies, when we used to (cringe) let Missy sleep with us. I know! Disgusting! I know. That's an embarrassing story in itself, isn't it? But let me just say that before we had actual babies, I was one of those horrible people who thinks that the dog is their baby, and trust me when I say that Missy had thorough baths once a week at this point in her life. Does that make it any less disgusting? Ah, I didn't think so.

Moving on!

So Missy was barking like crazy when the guests started arriving, so I was a mean dog mommy and I took her to the basement and shut her into the one room down there that actually has a door (it's mostly unfinished). About 2 hours later, I remembered that she was down there and that she probably needed to go outside to do her business, and that she'd certainly calmed down enough by then to sit quietly in "her room" (the mud room) again. So I grabbed her leash and headed down the stairs to get her. I was wearing some wide-leg pants and very pointy-toed shoes, and you can see where this is going, can't you? Certainly. The toe of one shoe caught in the other pant leg, and down I went.

Except, when I fell, luckily my brain reacted quickly enough to say "must NOT fall FORWARD, I have babies and I do not want to DIE!" So I threw my body backward. Lucky indeed, since I started falling at the very top of the stairs. Stairs that end in a bare concrete floor. The throwing of the body worked, and I did not fall forward. Did not land on anything important like my head or my neck (yay!). Instead, I kid you not, I BOUNCED the whole way down the stairs (boo). On my tailbone. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Yeah, I think six bounces is just about right--I didn't think to count at the time. And then? Did I lay at the bottom of the stairs and moan until someone came to offer sympathy, like any sensible person would do? I did not. I proceeded to get the d*** dog, walked back up the stairs, forced myself not to limp, and proceeded as if NOTHING unusual had happened. I mean, I was in the middle of hosting a party with lots of people that I either have not seen in a long time or do not know at all (Mom's friends from work, etc). And since the noise of the party had covered up the noise of my body bouncing down the stairs, I certainly wasn't about to make anyone the wiser. Of course I did tell Joe later, but all he could do was laugh at me. I didn't even have any crazy bruises to show for the whole thing, to elicit something other than laughter. Guess that means too much padding on my rear end, huh? Talk about a bummer