There are many different ways to fall down during the holidays.

So many in fact that it can be hard to pick just one - the options being so varied.

A fall can be painful; it can be embarrassing; it can bring family closer together; it can teach a lesson; it can change your plans; or it can be of benefit to the scientific community.

And once in a very special while you experience the kind of fall that encompasses all of the above.

Until recently, I had yet to fall down this holiday season - although I had managed some rather semi-spectacular stumbles.

When we unravelled the Christmas tree lights in the family room last week, I tripped over the first string laid out on the floor. In a graceless attempt to not land on the next string, I jumped over it which resulted in my feet hooking into the third and forth strings and my daughter yelling "How come mom gets to play in the lights?"

Gord managed to grab me before I pirouetted into the tree but not before my hand came down on Dancing Santa, who lit up and began singing the immortal Christmas classic "Y'all ready for this?"

My second grand stumble occurred as I was trying to carry laundry down the stairs. In a bid to avoid making five trips, I had piled all of the laundry into one basket. Although this completely obstructed my view of the stairs - and the CN Tower had I been standing in front of it - I at least had the foresight to check that the stairway was clear before starting down with my oversized load.

What I had not calculated was the likelihood that a piece of laundry would slide off the pile. As one pant leg fell under my foot, the other stayed wedged in the basket. I slid down the stairs on the pants propelled by the forward weight of the load I was desperately trying to hold onto. Once I got to the bottom and made sure my heart had returned to my chest, I saw my son staring at me.

"Cool. Can I laundry ski next?"

But both of these stumbles are easily eclipsed by the all-encompassing Great Fall of 2009.

Last Thursday I was multi-tasking: Talking on the phone to my sister, while cleaning the house and preparing for my evening. I had been invited to speak at the St. John's United Church Ladies' Society Christmas Party and I had left the hair colour I bought in the backseat of the van. As there was no way I was going to stand and speak in front of 26 women while displaying visibly brown roots and unsymmetrical grey hairs, I continued talking to my sister while I slipped on a pair of ballet flats and stepped outside.

I brought the shopping bag in, and then turned back out to close the van door. It was at this point that the 'been-known-to-wipe-out-on-hardwood-flooring-so-what-was-I-thinking' ballet flats came into contact with the ice hidden under a thin layer of snow on our slip-proof front mat.

My feet went up, my phone went airborne, and my back and bottom hit the brick porch.

Ouch.

Two feet away from my out-stretched hand I could hear my sister calling my name. I rolled over, grabbed the phone and assured her that I was fine.

I was sitting in ice and slush but I was fine. I was contemplating revenge on my inanimate foot apparel but I was fine. I was truly hoping that the only neighbours to see me fall were cats, but I was fine.

And I was beginning to realize that my back really hurt.

I ended up having to cancel the speaking engagement. But I was able to fully participate in an impromptu science experiment:

How long does it take a pair of icy wet jeans to dry when they cannot be removed by a cranky woman who fell on her back and is stuck lying flat on her family room floor until her husband comes home from work?