This is my metaphor for my Friday night drama. We had been out for a few hours so we came home to a little puddle courtesy of the Stella Monster. Handsome was down on his hands and knees cleaning it up, like any good puppy daddy, when I came around the corner and tripped over his feet. His size 13 gargantuan feet. What happened next is still playing back in my mind in slow mo. I was literally flying forward but my feet were running behind me, I couldn't stop, there was nothing to grab onto, I flew 5 ft down the hall until I landed, flat on my face, on our hard ceramic tile floor. I did put my hands down but still, splat, right on my boobs, face and knees. We joked later that they broke my fall, boobs not hands. The point is I got up.
We're always running to or from something and we get knocked down sometimes but the most important thing, the thing we have to do for ourselves is not stay down. We have to get back up.
As for my (physical) fall, I'm grateful that I managed not to sprain or break anything. I have a black eye and a sore body. Truthfully, I am a bit of a klutz. But I always get back up :)
P.S. If you want to know what's up with that spooky (yet hilarious) guy in my Instagram feed check him out at BOO The Movie
