My goodness me, I'm having a klutzy week. In the span of seven days I banged up my knee and my car. We're patched up and surviving, but I still feel a tad foolish.
Last weekend, Anya and I were out for a run together (we do that from time to time) and she said, "Mom, what does graceful mean?" I laughed and told her that "graceful" is the last word anyone would use to describe me. I said it means that you move easily and smoothly and don't trip or run into things. Dancers are graceful. Stomping through puddles while running, as we were then, is not particularly graceful.
I am not graceful and illustrated this aspect of my physicality quite splendidly on Monday at the park. It was the kids' last day of spring break on Easter Monday, and we went to the park with a soccer ball. I tried to dribble the ball down the sidewalk on the way home, but as I trotted along I lost control, tripped over the ball, and went down on my hands and knees on the asphalt. My left hand is bruised and my right knee rather badly skinned. Almost a week later, my hand is healing fine but the knee still smarts every time I bend it or touch it with anything, even soft fabric of PJ pants. It's very tender. I ruined the leggings I was wearing at the time (though I may cut them off and repurpose into running shorts because I'm resourceful that way).
Now, almost a week later, my poor car is the victim of my klutzy tendencies. I'll spare you the details, but let me just say that the lane at the ATM is narrow and unforgiving and now I need a new sideview mirror...
Since I snapped this picture I've patched up the mirror with some bright blue duct tape and a rubber band, but I think a more permanent repair job is in my near future. I hate parting with my hard-earned money this way, to fix my stupid, klutzy mistakes.
It could be worse. I can still walk. I can still drive my car. We're both just a bit worse for wear.