We have an enormous, steep staircase at our house that goes from the upstairs landing to the front door. It was one of the first things that attracted me to this house when we bought it a year ago, so lovely and open, with hardwood steps and iron rails. It didn’t occur to me then how often I’d be holding my breath as one or both of my kids went up, down or past it. Now the thing terrifies me – it’s 15 steps of straight down and slippery, just waiting for someone to tumble to a painful and dangerous landing.

But it wasn’t one of the kids that almost fell down a couple of days ago, though. I was carrying a bag of trash and got my foot caught in my pant leg near the very top. If I’d been moving faster I might not have been able to catch myself on the upstairs floor overhang, and I’d be blogging this from some hard core traction in a hospital bed, or worse.

They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments like that one. If that’s the case, I either need a scarier near-death (or at least near-injury) experience; or I need to work on getting my brain some better material.

Here are some of the things that did NOT run through my mind in the milliseconds during which I dropped what I was carrying and snatched at the rail and the eye-level second floor, grasping for my very life: my first kiss, my wedding day, the birth of either of my kids, warm memories of my dead parents, the smell of fresh-baked bread, standing on a mountaintop in Zion, Utah, or the elation of winning a softball tournament.

Nor did I think of any of the following: earning my first paycheck, driving along a Texas highway with the windows rolled down and the Old 97s blaring, the sounds of my kids laughing at each other’s jokes, my favorite pizza place, hiking in the Swiss alps, selling my first book, or backpacking through Europe. I didn’t long for the taste of a a well-crafted porter or glass of Cabernet, didn’t hear the sound of a ball cracking off the meaty part of a baseball bat, didn’t remember walking all over Chicago with my friend Dara, or think of hubs and me singing Irish folk songs with a band in Dublin. My conversion in the warm waters of the mikveh didn’t cross my mind, nor any kind of spiritual reckoning. No longing to right the wrongs of my life or wishing I’d actually put stuff in the kids’ baby books.

You know what I did think? I should’ve dried my hair and put on mascara. Yep. Apparently, my brain went straight from impending danger to how I would look when the paramedics came.

What the hell is wrong with me? No, seriously. I’m ACTUALLY ASKING. I used to be the girl who never wore makeup and thought sweatpants were acceptable by at least the third date. I used to be substantial, and care about things that matter. What have I become???

Comments welcome. Be gentle.

_________________________________________

I’m M.J. (Manda) Pullen, an author and mom in the Atlanta, Georgia area. When I’m not almost falling down the stairs and realizing how meaningless my life is, I blog with humor and honesty about writing, publishing, parenthood, life in general and the many lessons I’ve learned the hard way.

If you enjoy reading this blog, please sign up for the RSS or sign up for my monthly updates here (and enter the monthly giveaway). Thanks for reading, commenting and sharing!

MJ Pullen

M.J. Pullen is a distracted writer and the mom of two boys in Roswell, Georgia, where she is absolutely late for something important right now. Her books include quirky romantic comedies and playful women's fiction. She blogs erratically with writing advice, random observations, and reflections on raising very loud kids and dogs. Join her Distracted Readers newsletter list for updates, free content, giveaways and more.