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A few days before Christmas, I was walking down the sidewalk from the car to the house. It was one of those dark, cold December nights where you can see your breath in the air.

The kids were helping me carry things into the house. My daughter was most of the way to the front door and my son was behind me. I looked up towards the house where my daughter was in the process of cutting the Christmas lights on.

In an instant I found myself flying fast towards the sidewalk. My knee and shin slapped hard against the cement, my head narrowly missed the hard surface. I braced with my right hand and flipped myself over causing me to land on my back in the grass.

I had not slipped on anything. It was just the sort of thing that goes without any explanation. One moment I was up, the next I was down. I have done this before, though, thankfully, not very often. I feel dumb every time it happens.

Instantly I cried out in pain. Looking up at the sky, I surveyed what hurt. My hand hurt, my arm hurt and my knee and lower leg hurt, as well. Thankfully, I did not knock out my teeth or hit my head. I didn’t think I broke anything besides my pride in the fall.

My kids helped me up and got me inside where I changed out of my now wet-from-the-grass clothes. I was really surprised that I did not tear a big hole in my favorite pair of pants as hard as I went down.

I looked over my leg and hand, and sat down on the bed. My son and daughter brought me an ice pack that I held close to the spots that were sore.

It took a few minutes and I began to smile as I looked at both of my kids and said, “I guess I just fell off the sidewalk — again.”

The phrase “to fall off the sidewalk” for us goes back to a sleepy afternoon several years ago when my daughter and I decided to take a nap. As we began to fall into a peaceful mid-afternoon slumber, I did that thing that we all do in our sleep from time to time — I twitched myself back awake again.

My daughter asked me in a very sleepy voice, “Are you OK?”

“I just fell off the sidewalk,” I answered.

I don’t really know why I answered that way. If I were to guess, somewhere suspended between being awake and asleep, I had started to dream that I was walking from our house to the driveway on the sidewalk and had fallen off.

The whole terminology of actually falling off a sidewalk just made the two of us giggle before we went back to sleep again. Waking up a while later, we laughed again at the thought that one could fall off the sidewalk. This was before it actually happened to me. I now know firsthand that one can actually fall off the sidewalk.

Regardless, we now had a saying of what was happening when one twitches themselves awake from sleep. From that moment on, when someone in our family twitches awake, it is understood that they are “falling off the sidewalk.”

Growing up, there are many times when we fall on the sidewalk. Children are known for spiraling out of control. Unfortunately some of those times are over pavement and we end up sprawled out with a skinned knee and a tear-stained face.

As a kid, it always seemed like there was a good reason for falling on the sidewalk, like we were trying to fly or learning to use the pogo stick with roller skates on our feet.

A big hug, some antiseptic and a character Band-Aid (preferably Hello Kitty) makes it all better when we are 4.

Falling on the sidewalk is one thing. There is usually an explanation. Falling off of it seems about as ridiculous as a 44-year-old woman lying face up in the grass just seconds after she was upright.

Eventually, my leg will mend, though it is going to still be sore for a while, according to the doctor who eventually checked it out. In the meantime, I’ve watched a lot of television and kept my errands to a minimum in an attempt to keep my weight off my sore leg.

There is another benefit to staying off my sore leg, as well. The less I walk, the less likely it will be for me to fall off the sidewalk again anytime soon.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.