As a kid, I had scabbed knees all the time. Even today, you can see the scars of all my misadventures! But as a grown up, I have only had a handful of serious scrapes.
Yesterday was one of them.
It was spectacular. I was walking down the sidewalk to go in the downstairs door at church, talking to my husband, and suddenly I was falling. My husband said it was like a ghost tripped me. I was standing one second, then crashing the next. Completely down, landing hard on my knees, my shoes flying off to parts unknown.
My first thought was get up and get inside. I wasn't sure if I'd hurt anything else but my knee, but stood up and walked without shoes. I got into my classroom, shut the door and peeled off my tights.
My husband went for wet paper towels and I sat down to look at the mess I now had.
And it was a mess!
I taught my one student, in the end letting him draw pictures on the white board because we ran out of craft ideas, all the while holding a paper towel to my knee as the bleeding sluggishly slowed down.
The thing with scrapped knees is that the day of isn't the worst pain. It's the next day, when you wake up stiff and sore and can barely bend your knee and can't bare to wear tights or pants and of course it would have to be a very frosty, cold day and what to wear to work becomes a major dilemma!
My knees are hurt, and my pride is bruised (I am 36 years old and tripped over nothing!) but at least I didn't seriously hurt myself. Or show my underwear. My skirt stayed down where it should.