Not Going To Let The Snowmen Take Me Down

My husband was enjoying an afternoon nap, and there was a nip in the air, for Florida anyway, at sixty-four degrees. 

My granddaughters, one three months shy of four and the other four months shy of three, had a bundle of energy, so instead of continuing to tell them to “Look with your eyes, not with your hands,” at all of the Christmas decorations on my tree and side tables,  I decided to take them to the neighborhood park by myself. 

 It is a little less than a mile walk through a trail they call the “jungle,” where we yell “wee” every time we go up and down the tiny hills like the pig with the pinwheel in those Geico commercials. It is a happy routine.

When we saw the playground across the field, they let go of my hands and started running towards the blue slide and climbing bars. I took that opportunity to shoot some pictures and videos.

For once, they both decided to play on the slides instead of one on the swing and one balancing on the black divider that holds in the mulch. They were laughing, running, climbing, and sliding together for over a half hour. I had brought Fig Newtons to tempt them to return home for nap time, and we headed back through the trail.  

We sang the “Twelve Days of Christmas” and “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” on the way home. It is amazing how such little kids can remember so many words, but we sing them in the car from their house to mine a couple of days a week.  

 When we returned to my yard, I was still smiling and feeling accomplished that we had survived our first trip to the park alone, without my husband’s other set of eyes looking out for danger.   

That is when I let my guard down.  My younger granddaughter went directly over to the shrubs in the front yard and started pulling at the Christmas lights I had just put up a few days earlier. 

“No, Josie, leave them there. Those are Grandma’s Christmas lights.  Look with your eyes,”  I pleaded.

She was still feeling playful and mischievous from our outing, so she showed me her big grin and started running, much like she does in the open field at the park. 

Unfortunately, now she was in my tiny front yard and running toward the sidewalk and the neighborhood street. I saw my neighbor’s brown car coming down the road from the corner of my eye.

 It happened so quickly.  I yelled for Josie to stop and started to run. I was standing next to the inflatable Mr. & Mrs. Snowman, tethered tightly with black string to the ground to keep them standing upright on windy days. My foot caught on the string, and instead of moving forward toward the sidewalk, I fell straight down on top of the sidewalk. 

Hard.

 My sixty-five-year-old body moaned in pain. 

I saw the neighbor pull into their driveway, and Josie stopped in her tracks (Thank God!) and came over to check on me.  I asked her to sit on the grass, which she promptly did with the concerned face of a toddler. 

 I was still on the ground, wondering how I would ever get up.  

Lilly, my older granddaughter, must have wanted to share in my pain because she threw herself on the ground and cried out, but fortunately, she was on the grass.

 So there we were, the three of us, all sprawled out on the front lawn. Only five minutes earlier, we were happily singing Christmas Carols.

My neighbor, who had seen the whole incident, came running over to check if we were okay and if we needed medical help. (Did it look so horrific that an ambulance might need to be summoned?) 

 At any rate, his presence snapped me back to the realization that I was still on the ground, wincing in pain on my right side, which took the majority of the hit. Now, I was also slightly embarrassed. 

 “We are ok, thank you,” I said as I took his hand to help myself up. “I was afraid Josie was going to run in the road, and I must’ve tripped on the snowman.”  

The idea of blaming the innocent-looking Mr. & Mrs. Snowman seemed unlikely at that moment because they were both deflated on the ground,  along with the rest of us. 

Suddenly, Josie hugged my neighbor more than once in appreciation of his kind gesture, making us all smile.  I thanked him again, and the girls and l went inside as if nothing had happened. 

While the girls were napping, I took an inventory of my damages:  my left side felt as if someone had struck me several times with a bat, and the heel of both of my hands was scraped and bleeding, but fortunately, there was only a tiny scrape on my chin. 

My face had survived the fall! Yay! I took it on the chin in more ways than one, but I know I would do it again to keep my granddaughter safe. 

Those dang snowmen!

 A bag of frozen corn helped me get through the first day, and I thought I would get through the entire incident with minor pain, at least after the initial impact.

 I was wrong.

 Apparently, the real pain shows up 24 hours later, when your muscles start tightening and throbbing and beginning the healing process. 

Yowzers! 

I’ve alternated between ice and heat packs and made quite a dent in the ibuprofen bottle. 

Nighttime is the worst.  You don’t have anything else to distract you from the pain other than the persistent desire to sleep. 

The irony has occurred to me that we went from a Hallmark Christmas movie scenario to a Nightmare on Christmas in just a few moments. 

Even so, I won't let those snowmen take me away from the Holiday cheer. 

I’m all in, bruises and all. 

My hands are healing nicely, so I can continue to pound away on the keyboard with little side effects. My right side rarely pangs when I am sitting still, and even if it does, it isn’t going to stop me.  

In just ten days, our family has grand plans. A Disney trip that has been in the works for months, complete with Princess Encounters. I am almost nearly as excited as the girls. 

Disney and being with wide-eyed little girls, what could make you feel more like a kid again during the Holidays?  

As Oprah says, “One thing I know for sure” is that in time,  I will heal. 

One ice pack at a time. One day at a time.  

This accident has been a glaring reminder to slow down, take it all in, and genuinely appreciate my health, family, and wonderful life. 

I am fully aware that not everyone will experience a magical Christmas this year. There is so much more than physical pain in this world. Some will spend the Holidays in survival mode, wondering how they will ever get up.  My prayers are for them and peace throughout the New Year.  

To my readers, I wish you all a special, memorable Holiday season. Thank you for your kindness over the past year.

Thank you for reading!

Keep smiling!