Just call me Grace

When my sisters and I were babies, we could talk up a storm. We read early, processed ideas quickly, and could quote Shakespeare's 14th sonnet at 6 months. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but you get the point. We couldn't, however, walk.

When the twins were born, I was 19 months and still relatively immobile. My parents had not one baby, but three to carry around for a while. I'm sure my mom was worried about it when she talked to pediatrician.

His answer? "Well, Susan, some kids are mobile. Others are verbal."

And thus began life at the Terry household.

As I've mentioned numerous times before, we were a family full of nerds and not very athletic. For me, it wasn't merely that I couldn't play sports. I could barely get from one end of the house to the other without falling and breaking something. By the time I got to middle school, I had broken my collarbone, both wrists, and the main bone in the top of my foot. I was a walking accident.

The trend continued into college and graduate school, where I distinctly remember a 6-month period of time when I fell and sprained my ankle on four separate occasions. That ankle still gives me a bit of trouble when I jog (which is rare, admittedly), and every now and then will swell inexplicably. Wonderful.

I had hoped that in entering my third decade, I would be putting that everlasting awkward phase behind me. My hopes, however, were dashed just a few short days ago.

Picture, if you will, a cafeteria like all other cafeterias. It's high school lunch period, and I've made my way through the line, the salad bar, and the drink dispenser. I'm feeling quite sassy (and comfortable) in my little empire-waisted, knee-length dress and sandals, and I've said my hellos to fellow teachers and former students that have crossed my path. I'm now headed for the teacher's table at the very back of the room, weaving my way between tables and chairs filled with unbelievably gorgeous and graceful teenagers (no kidding; I don't think there's a kid here with a zit on his face).

Suddenly, my little sandaled foot hits a puddle of water. It slides slowly, but uncontrollably, in front of my body. My other foot stays in place. For the first time in my life, I've successfully completed a split. The only problem is that I'm in the middle of a bunch of 16-year-olds and in my once cute (now impractical) empire-waisted dress. In a split formation. On the floor. With a tray in my hand, surrounded by a puddle of pink lemonade and taco salad.

The room got quiet. (It really did!) Finally, one of the girls at the table nearby looked down at me and asked if I were alright, then quietly admitted that she's nearly done the same thing a million times. Nearly, being the operative word. I had ACTUALLY done it.

I mustered up as much dignity as I could manage, struggled out of the painfully awkward position I was in, stood up (all the while trying to keep my dress down), and gathered my tray and silverware. Next stop: the kitchen, where I had to let the cafeteria staff know that there was a mess that had to be cleaned up. Chef Joe is still teasing me about it.

The bright spots: I'm okay. I landed in a split, but still upright enough to not have flashed my undies to all interested parties. I've provided a reason for others to smile, laugh even.

I never thought I'd say it, but I'm currently looking forward to my forties. I'm bound to outgrow this phase sooner or later. For now, I'm off to attend a pep rally in the gym. Wish me luck with those bleachers ...

Another summer gone

Well, folks, tomorrow starts year #6 at my school. Hard to believe that I've lived in Macon that long (remember when I was only moving here for a year, till I could get a more glamorous job in a more glamorous place?), or that I've been away from Athens for more than, oh, 6 months. Where has the time gone?

So what did I do with my last day of summer? After church, I spent 3 hours (literally) trying to get a virus off of Cal's computer and another 2 hours filming and editing this video, a task that my odd husband HAD to have accomplished before he could peacefully turn in for the night.*

It's 9:30 now, and I'm about to head to bed at my earliest time in two months. And tomorrow? I'll be getting up at my earliest time since our morning flight out of Atlanta for our trip to Puerto Rico. Ahh... memories. Sigh.

*What Cal didn't mention on his blog was that our truck was parked just out of view of the camera. That's right, people. We DROVE half a mile so that the man could run up the hill for his video. He even did a few jumping jacks before we left the house so that he'd look sweaty, like he'd really been working hard. Nice.