Friday, June 22, 2012


(I wrote this post for Made by Bedtime Tales last year.  For some reason I feel like I should post it again here.  It is still very important to me.)

My friends, I just wanted to use up my tiny bit of space on the vast internets to get a little preachy here.

I am about to talk about helmet safety.

First I'll tell you the story that sparked this post:
A few weeks ago I was in need of dropping a package off at the post office.  I decided I'd just bike there since it is literally up my street.  Up, as in up the hill on the same street I am on.
As I was heading out the door my husband reminded me to wear my helmet.  I like to think that I would have done this anyway without his reminder.  Sadly, I was one of those kids who thought wearing helmets was for weirdos.  (Which just doesn't make sense, I know.)
Anyways, I biked my booty up to the post office, sent my package, and got back on my bike to head back down.  At about this time my husband and children at home were sitting down to lunch.  As they blessed the food my husband tells me they said a special prayer for mommy out on her bike.  

Fast forward two minutes later:
I am speeding down the hill on my bike singing a song at the top of my lungs.  Something about being on a fast bike makes you feel like you can get away with anything, like shower-opera-singing out in public.  
Now you know those scenes in movies where the main character is happily skipping on their way and there is joyful music in the background, then they start smiling at some good-looking guy/girl and all of a sudden they walk into a door or a wall and the music instantly stops?

That was me.

I am happily speeding down the hill, and I squeeze my brakes as I approached the bottom.
I realize I am squeezing the wrong break (ie. front instead of back).
Music-opera-singing stops as I feel my bike stop moving forward while I continue on my way down the hill.
I see my hands out in front of me.
I see cement.
I see sky.
And then I see the road and cars driving sideways as I bounce on my head and shoulder and skid to a halt.

My husband has told me a few times in the last month or two how he considers my helmet the best investment my family has ever made.

I'd like you to look up at this picture here of my helmet.  Under the Giro symbol and the 'G' is where my helmet skidded the cement ground.  Yeah I know, you can hardly tell.
But if this had been my super-hero-invincible head (seeing as I so often don't see how fragile my own body is), I can tell you that I would have had a lot of blood covering that spot, a small chunk of lost hair, maybe a bit of skull showing and a concussion among other things.

As it was, I walked away with a headache and a couple of scars on my shoulder and knees.

I can't tell you how blessed I feel that something like this happened to me.  
I say this because there was a great lesson learned and not at the expense of one of my children.  
I also say it is a blessing because so many things went right where they could have gone wrong.  
I wore a helmet.  I chose not to see how fast I could go (which occasionally happens), but instead to see how loud I could sing. I flew into the sidewalk and not the street.  I was okay and able to bike home.  This was right before our trip home to see family across the country and I didn't end up in the hospital.

And my husband and children prayed for me and their prayers were answered.

Thank goodness.

Wear your helmet.


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