This morning we woke to a thick layer of ice everywhere. Most of it had melted by the time I walked John to school. There were, however, a few lingering patches of black ice on which we both slipped slightly. On my walk home I was walking at a faster pace and forgot about the ice. That is until I slipped and my arms went all crazy and I stumbled to catch my balance. That episode got me thinking about how much I hate ice and walking on it. I once fell four times in one day in Rexburg, Idaho where the ice is a permanent fixture until June. The last and final time I fell that day I just sat there for a minute not wanting to get up.

I hate slipping on ice almost as much as I find it hilarious to see someone else do it. Don't you hate it when you slip and fall and a passer by asks if you are ok? Even if you feel like you broke your hip you immediately jump up and act like it was no big deal, laugh it off, and try hard not to limp too much as you stagger away. And what about that split second when you are falling, it is almost like it happens in slow motion, you feel your arms flail and your legs fly over your head and there's nothing you can do.

I remember walking home from high school and noticing a splat in the snow next to the sidewalk. I was cracking up as I got home and told my sister that I could totally see where someone bit the big one in the snow around the corner. She was like, "Hey! That was me."

Speaking of biting the big one, last winter I was walking across the church parking lot with Kitty in my arms and John holding my hand. I totally fell on ice covered in snow, Kitty bumped her head and John fell on top of me. We were kind of hurt. The sweet couple driving by at the same time backed up and asked if we were ok. There's nothing like walking into church with snow covering one side of your body. The whole thing traumatized poor John-- for months he would draw pictures of us falling on the ice and would make it pertain to his church lesson that week. For example, if the lesson was on being a peacemaker his picture would show him soothing us after we fell on the ice. Or if it was on obedience, his picture would show us walking carefully on the ice because I had told them to walk slowly.

The final memory I relived today was from a slick day in Provo. I was walking to class, with hundreds of my fellow Cougars, through a narrow construction zone on campus when suddenly the guy in front of me biffed it on the ice. I am so embarrassed to admit that I looked at him on the ground and just stepped over him and continued on my way... Who does that? I do.