where the rubber meets the road…

Seems to me, I have no grace at all in life anymore. The only bonus I can see to this problem is that I  have a seemingly endless amount of stories to tell on myself. Feeling sad? Having a hard day and need a laugh? Talk to me. Let me tell you about the time I was walking my dog, tripped over air and skinned my hands and knees, in front of my neighbors. Love is sacrifice, right? I’ll sacrifice any chance of you thinking I have my act together, just for you to have a laugh. Plus, I can’t help it. Really. At this rate, I’m concerned my kids will forever want to duck behind corners and pretend I’m not their mom…just because I fell off my bike in the cross walk in front of the school? (That happened yesterday, for the record.)  They  haven’t yet, and I hope that they wont ever react in that manner, though I wouldn’t necessarily blame them in wanting to do so.  My desire is that, with a few more instances of my gracelessness they’ll learn there is only one acceptable reaction (unless mommy has bones protruding from her injuries); laughter.


Today I rode my kickbike.

I love my kickbike. I would like to write songs of its glory and sing them loudly, but that’s obnoxious and probably not the best usage of my time, right? Then again, it might be okay. At least it’s a little better than spending time viewing mug shots of Amish guys who were arrested. But, I digress. I rode my kickbike because, as mentioned above, I fell off my bicycle, in front of many kids and some parents. It was a lovely spectacle, caused by my being cut-off by a particular son of mine. After that, I decided I needed to go back to riding my kickbike because, well… it’s not so far to fall. And I can stop it way easier and faster, if need be. (Usually.)


This morning I had the chance to test that theory. I rode with the boys to school and as we arrived at Traben’s class, I realized he’d forgotten his much-loved toy he wanted to show off at sharing time. His class only has their ‘magic circle’ time once a week, so it’s a big deal and he needed his toy. I told him I’d ride home quickly and return with it in a few minutes. So, ride quickly is what I did. As I approached a 4-way stop, I was cruising and didn’t see any cars at the intersection, so my plan was to blow through it like I always do. There is rarely traffic and they have to stop anyway, so I knew I’d be okay. Well, you know what they say about people who assume stuff… Just as I started crossing the road, a truck approached it and proceeded to not stop…until they were waaaaay out in the middle of the intersection. And right in my path. Instinct kicked in, I grabbed my brakes and threw my foot on the asphalt.


I kid you not, my shoe made a classic & comical braking sound, as the rubber hit the road. I felt like I belonged on an episode of the Flintstones, (though I wasn’t barefoot but wearing my faithful wool/plaid Converse). I barely avoided a collision and stopped in time. The truck’s driver then insisted I go ahead and pass him, despite the fact he was halfway crossing the road himself. As I went around his bulky diesel truck and proceeded down the road, I realized a neighbor had witnessed this all. And she was laughing. Lots! Especially as she inquired if I had any of the rubber left on my shoe, to which I honestly replied, “Barely!”


And so I laughed, too. And as I rode, I thanked God in heaven for one thing… My safety? Nope. The fact that I continued on my journey injury-free? Nah. I thanked him for the fact that there are no traffic cameras in our neighborhood. I have no desire to be the next YouTube sensation for my constant klutziness. Then again, that sounds like I’m trying to protect what little pride I have left and you know what they say about pride… I think I’m hopeless.


One thought on “where the rubber meets the road…

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