Once winter rolls around, I can count on a couple of things.

First, my Cocker Spaniel is going to fight with me about going outside. She doesn't like it when it gets cold. She's too low to the ground and she's fussy about getting wet.

Secondly, my son is going to lose his gloves at least half a dozen times. In the mad morning rush, there is nothing quite like getting a kid all bundled up, with nothing but his eyes sticking out from between his scarf and his hat, only to have him tell you he doesn't know where his gloves are.

The third thing I can count on is that I'm going to spend a whole lot of time on my backside.

You see, I'm not very graceful ... or lucky. If there is a patch of ice anywhere, I'm going to find it ... by slipping and falling. I hit the pavement really hard at least twice a year, and I have several less severe falls and stumbles.

And chances are these incidents aren't going to happen when I'm by myself. Oh, no. They're going to happen for an audience.

Both my knees are covered with scars from ice-related falls. I got the biggest of them in the fourth grade. I was wearing a bright pink cotton dress, cable-knit knee socks and brown boots (don't ask why, I couldn't tell you). I was pretending to be a figure skater on a patch of frozen water on the playground, when I took a spill and landed flat on my knees. A jagged piece of ice tore into my left knee, and I had to spend the rest of recess being patched up by the nurse.

I went out for second recess and did THE EXACT SAME THING. The same jagged piece of ice sliced the bandage on my knee in half.

The scar is pretty gnarly.

On the other knee, I have a smaller scar. I got that one when I was seven months pregnant with my son. I stepped out onto our wooden porch, where I hit a patch of ice that was, I swear, no bigger than a quarter. I went down on both knees, cutting one so badly my husband made me go in to see if I needed stitches.

My knees, hips and legs are peppered with many smaller scars that I can't really recall the origin of.

Not that I need ice to be a total clod. Just recently, I was on an assignment when I literally fell on my face. I tripped over a curb and landed on both knees, my hand and my chin on an asphalt driveway. One of my knees swelled up to the size of my head, and my husband made me go have x-rays.

Ah, well. I never claimed to be graceful. Just know that if you're ever walking with me, you probably shouldn't hang on to me for support. Chances are I'm going down, and if you're hanging on to me you're probably going with me.

Just help me up when I fall, would you?