i heart learning

i heart learning

Monday, April 11, 2011

the tax shiner

My mother falls all the time.
She's hit the floor more times than my swiffer.
She once did the slippy dance on some water in an apartment hallway she was helping me to move out of. My Dad and I were walking ahead, with an armload of boxes, but still within earshot to hear the echo of her hitch pitched flipflops squeal against the polished concrete, followed by a ka-bam! We stopped for an instant...openly puzzled as to the cause of the screech, but walked on when we heard nothing. A few minutes later mummy came out, rubbing her head and shuffling at a snail's pace.

Her favorite place to fall is her driveway, as she has done this many times over many years.
Her proneness to falling frightens me - and sometimes when I watch her walk I get nervous. I am thankful that so far it appears I have inherited my Dads 'stay on your feet' gene....

Until bedtime. A couple of minutes ago in fact.
Tonight in a lamp-less attempt to rush from bed to the PVR to tape Sister Wives, I channeled my mother in the ugliest of ways, tripping on my taxes and sailing through the blackness to land squarely on my right kneecap. 




Now. What needs to be discussed first? My pain? My taxes as an obstruction? Or my love of Sister Wives? 

We'll start with pain, as I could not think of anything else after my spiderman agility failed me.
It hurt. Alot. I did that laugh and cry at the same time thing - rolling around in total darkness across my cold floor. Just like Mom would - giggling as I tried to evaluate the damage. 
But because I was able to take this picture, juggling my laptop on my leg, I can safely assume that it is probably not hurt too bad. I do see a little purple bruise starting - but that might be a trick of the eye; the monitor light bouncing off my pinkest of pink pyjamas.
Taxes.
This was supposed to be my 'learn' for the day. I am learning how to claim expenses for taxes - like my cellphone and mortgage. So today was the day I decided to get better organized by going through unbelievably full shoeboxes of unsorted, unloved (and sometimes even still unopened!) mail. I was very successful in creating a new filing system, but not so successful in where I decided to leave the organized box-gone-booby trap. In front of my bedroom door. 'Don't obstruct your bedroom door' seems so elementary that it need not be spoken...I would have rolled my eyes had Nelson said that to me today, and 'duh!' would have been my response. It was just one of those lessons I needed to learn first hand.
Sister Wives 
is one of my reality favs. If you have not seen this show - YOU MUST. I have a semi-sister wife of my own: Amelia. She happily distracts Nelson when he and I have a time out.


I learned today that taxes can hurt you in more ways than one. 
And that I am just that much more like my mother.

4 comments:

  1. You're killin' me Becca. Not only do I have trouble staying on my feet, I have trouble eating and reading your blog at the same time. Your make me laugh so hard a nearly sprayed my computer screen with what I am nibbling on.

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  2. update
    it has been 48 hours since my little accident.
    my knee has a big purple spot that pictures cannot capture.
    wearing tight pants hurt, because when i bend my knee they push the bruise like a button.

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  3. As a long time client and more importantly friend of your Mom`s i feel i have to come to her and all other “fallers” defense. It is fair to say that your Mom and i have shared many a laugh while she kneaded my aching muscles back to life. Not the least of which is the tale about the first time i laid eyes on her very odd inflatable lawn ornament. Now, having known your Mom for
    quite some years now, and from our countless home decor discussions, i know
    she has quite exquisite taste. It is therefore with both intrigue and
    reserve that i slowed my car and approached this billowing "objet d`art"
    clearly visible on her front stoop. "What the hell has she bought.....what
    is that,.... this isnt like Sue" were my immediate thoughts. I slowed the
    car even more to take it all in. As i neared, things became clearer. It
    wasnt an inflatable, it was a man..... a dishevelled man, unshaven....unkempt..... wearing a robe undoubtedly fashioned from the
    Frank Gallagher Collection. He may have been reading something or examining toast.
    As i passed, the "inflatable" looked up and waved at me, and then to my
    utter surprise, it spoke.... "hi Mark". Oh my God, its Paul!!!. I dont remember if i managed a response , i may have looked away, i think i waved in kind and turned my focus back to operating my vehicle. Later i managed a wry smile as the full extent of what i thought i saw, and who it actually turned out to be. I just mistook Paul Arsenault for a badly dressed inflatable lawn object. On the plus side, Sue`s decor reputation stands untarnished. Thank God.
    The indignant visualization of your dear Mom crying out for her Lord and maker
    with arms "windmilling" down an icy driveway in pink bunny slippers,
    recycling bin in tow is certainly not one that generally leaps to mind when
    i think of her. And while nobody loves a good face-plant more than
    yours truly, it is also not an un-common leap for some people to tag those
    who are....shall we say........equilibriumly challenged, with an unfounded
    stereotypical label of being an all-round, all the time, klutz, dolt or
    lame-o when compared to those with a sturdier gait or stance . I believe
    my "encounter" dispel`s these notions. It therefore follows that it is the perceived “stay on your feet” ones with their threadbare bath garb rippling in the breeze who are the ones crying out for our help. They walk amongst us.

    enjoy your posts

    Jenny Morley aka Mark

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  4. LOL Mark!
    I love that Frank Gallagher robe! And yes - agreed it should remain an 'indoor' robe, safe from the view of onlooking passberbys.

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