Photo by Gina Marie at www.flickr.com
I really hate to trip. Most of us do, but sometimes I feel like I am tripping far more often than is necessary. The other day, I saw a few pacifiers strewn across the bottom stair as I was on my way down. Thinking I could prevent someone from stepping on them, I carefully slid them over with my foot and proceeded to trip myself, resulting in a momentarily-throbbing toe. In my intense, but short-term pain, I yelled, “AAAAUUUUUGGGHHHH,” and within literally 15 seconds, my entire family was at my side, including my husband and four children.
My four-year-old son kissed my foot and hugged my leg, my five-year-old daughter started to massage my shoulders, and my husband and eight-year-old daughter asked if they could do anything for me. Even my little baby looked like he wanted to “kiss it better.” Sitting there at the base of our stairs, I did wish I had not tripped, but I couldn’t get over the fact that everyone cared about me so much. “I must really mean a lot to them,” I thought. Of course I know that, but the immediacy of their response and level of concern taught me that my family members are my best friends.
