Wow, I think this is the longest stretch of non-blogging I have had since I started this. I don't really have anything great and important to write, but I was thinking about something last night as I was trying to sleep, and I thought I would share.
I missed my grateful Sunday, so I would like to say today I am grateful for scars (sounds weird, just hear me out!)
Have you seen the show Scarred? It is this awful show on MTV where they show people who have caught their "scarring" accidents on video. Usually, they are engaged in acts of stupidity, trying to look macho on a bike or skateboard for their friends. Really a disgusting show, but sometimes, like a car accident I am passing on the road, I find myself unable to look away.
So I am laying in bed last night, and for some reason that show pops into my head. Not really what you want to be thinking about as you are trying to drift into sleep. Slowly, my thoughts go from the show to my own scars, and before long I was having nostalgic thoughts and giggling to myself. Much like the show, many of my MANY scars are from acts of stupidity, and I would like to share my 6 favorite scars, in order of appearance:
1. When I was probably 5 or 6 my parents used to drop Brooke and I off at the top of the hill and let us run down the hill to our house. Of course all of you know I have the grace of a newborn giraffe learning to walk, so I spent alot of time being overcome by gravity. My knees are COVERED in nasty scars. I realize not all of them are from my racing down hill, but that is what I think of everytime I look at those scars.
2. This is probably my favorite: I have a scar on my lip. In Kindergarten I went a birthday party for some twins in my grade (I can't remember his name, but her's was Jessica) at a rollerskating rink- you can't tell me that doesn't bring back some memories for you! Anyways, we were all in a circle singing happy birthday to them, and I had a momentary lapse of judgement and stuck my hands in my pockets. Now keep in mind, this was the 80's and the tighter the jean the better. So in go my hands and seconds later gravity is once again getting the better of me. I go careening toward the floor, and low and behold, I can't get my hands out of my pockets. I land flat on my face, and as I am laying there, still trying to get my hands free from their denim prison, the lady standing next to me starts screaming, "blood, blood!" My lip swelled up so much, my family called me Daffy Duck for a couple of days. Unfortunately, it was not photographically documented, so my scar is the only momento I have.
3. On my right palm I have a blue dot scar. I was in 3rd grade and trying to flirt with a boy named Luke, and decided the way to get his attention would be to slap his hand as hard as I could. Unfortunately, he decided to erase something at that very moment, so my hand came down on his pencil with a vengeance. When I lifted my hand, the pencil came with it and when I took it off, there was hole in my palm. Although it wasn't as bad as I am sure it sounds, I learned the valuable lesson that the way to a man's heart is NEVER violence.
4. When I was 15 Brooke and I went on a ski trip with the Meadows. We stayed at a friends house, and much to my dismay the room we stayed in was also home to their pet turantula. I am TERRIFIED of spiders, so all night I had nightmares it was on the wall next to me. In my sleep, I would climb off the top bunk to safety and then realize I was dreaming and climb back up. However, on what turned out to be my last descent of the night, I climbed out tushy first. I landed on my rear, but not before my head took the brunt of the fall on the corner of a desk. At that point I am sitting there in a daze, and Brooke yells at me for waking her up yet again, so I climbed back up in the bed. Then I went to feel my head, and all I could feel was blood, so I told Brooke I was really hurt. She flipped on the lighted, screamed, and bolted from the room- leaving me abandoned (just kidding Brookey). They ended up supergluing my head back together to avoid an emergency room extravaganza, and I still have a big, bulging scar to back my story up- as if anyone would make an embarrassing story like that up. The best part was I was sitting in the bathroom while they are glueing me back together, kinda like humpty dumpty, and Christian (the older son who I had the BIGGEST crush on) walks in and starts mocking me for my sleep falling ways.
5. When I was 16, I lived in Eagar, AZ for a summer. I don't remember who my fellow criminals were, but we decided to climb a water tower- highly illegal, might I add. We saw someone coming toward us with a flashlight, so made a run for the hills. One of the boys (I think Tim) yelled something over his shoulder, but I didn't understand him... until I ran into exactly what he was warning us about. I ran full speed, which let's be honest is not actually that fast, into a barbed wire fence. I have a couple of scars right above my knee which always remind me of the mischief Sheena and I got into that summer.
6. Last one happened at EA, when Rachel and I lived behind the Goodman apartments. I was running around the back in the middle of the night (don't remember why) and it was pitch black. All of a sudden, I am on my face in the dirt with one of my legs suspended in the air. I hobbled back to my apartment, only to find a NASTY gash on my right foot. Rachel nursed me back to health, and in the morning we went to see what had attacked me. There was a huge, broken flower pot just hanging out there, waiting for some unsuspecting person to "stumble" upon it, literally! That scar always makes me think of all the fun times I had at EA, including my time face down in the mud.
So if you didn't gather this from the above, I am grateful for scars because of the memories. They are not only permanent reminders of what a clumsy fool I can be, but they take me back to good times that I would have forgotten if my skin was perfectly flawless!