Oh yeah... I'm not getting nothing this year (don't you love it when I use double negatives?) and next year isn't looking so promising either. You know lots of people get all geared up to run a marathon. They spend weeks, months, years in training and then it's all for that one day when they run their little hearts (and lungs) out and cross that finish line going "WOOOOHOOOO!! I DID IT!!!" Well... hooray I say. I have never trained for a marathon in my life, but sometimes it feels like I keep running in them.
Don't get me wrong, I have NOTHING to say against marathons, or the runners that they attract. I think they are on to something. It's called determination. It's guts. It's courage. It's... endurance! Yes, that's it. And it's something to be highly commended. I admire that.
*Insert your favorite verse about endurance here*
For months now, I've let my blog readers down by throwing out all sorts of posts on injuries, sickness, depression, death and not enough about the silly things of yesteryear. (What's a yesteryear anyway?) But the honest fact is, that's all I've been DOING these past few months. I'm dutifully bobbing along with my head just barely above the surface of murky motherhood mire. But you know what? It's OK! I'm not alone. God's right here with me holding my hand.
The other day, when I was healing up from the effects of maybe/maybe not Pneumonia, and thinking of all the things I still have to do that I promised I'd do like, last MONTH, I sat down to have a simple bowl of cottage cheese and fruit. I have a few new (to me) people who have stepped in to give me some pretty decent advice on how to care for myself while I'm shoveling boatloads of energy into caring for others. As I sat down, I thought, How nice! I'm actually feeding myself something that has: 1. Some nutritional value 2. Bright colors 3. Fresh taste! and then I picked up the bowl. The spoon got caught under the edge of my book upon takeoff, and the spoon, plus contents, launched itself against the corners of the wall behind my recliner.
Now I'm going to have dried curds hidden in my secret stack of Hobby Farm Magazines. Well... it could be worse, I thought to myself, as I wrestled my 80 pound recliner with my weak arms, my spasming back and my burning lungs. I could have NOTHING to eat at all! Some people would consider themselves lucky to pick fresh curds off the wall to eat. Hmm... somehow that sounds all wrong.
So anyway, the point I'm tryin' to make here (as if I ever really make one, ever?) is that things aren't easy right now. But it's not fatal either. The other night, when my eldest was having a "moment", which is a nice way of saying she was going off the deep end, and saying all sorts of things mothers should never have to hear, I thought to myself, "Self, you better suck it up and get ready for these hurdles. You may not have trained properly, but boy golly you are in training RIGHT NOW". This is the big time. It's the olympic moment of being a Mom where you just have to get out there and do what you need to do no matter what stands in the way. And so now my quest for a counselor to step in has begun. Ugh. Pit of my stomach yuckiness, but hey - this is the real dirt, and I don't like to stay messy for long. I'm admitting we need help. My daughter needs help. It's ok to need help. Help is good. Come on help!
Speaking of needing help, Princess D walked, or should I say, LIMPED by me at the school yesterday where I was hanging out doing my thing. Ok, since you asked, it's some undercover decorating that only I know about... I sneak in, hang up stuff for a couple hours, and sneak out. Nobody ever knows I was there. Except all the kids who gallop by on the way to lunch or recess. Or come back from lunch or recess. But they never see me. I am sneaky sneaky. Except my daughter. She always sees me. So this time she comes limping by, which, for us types who are prone to really LIVING life (another word for "we trip on carpet turtles" - those imaginary things that don't really exist) we respect the limp. We probably earned it. And we usually have a great story to go along with it. Trust me, I limp a lot. Nobody asks why - they just know I have a cool story to go with it, so they hunt for it in my blogs. Haha! Just kidding. That was dumb.
SO - she limps by me. HI DELAYNA! I say.
Hi Mom,(only put that to a very injured sounding voice) can you take me home?
No Delayna, I'm busy. Go to class. (The girl limps a lot, ok?)
Mommmm, I hurt my foot. It's buggin me.
(Pay attention, I QUOTE my Not-Mom of the year award winning line here...)
Suck it up Delayna - just don't walk home today. Or it will hurt worse.
Please, let the flogging of the terriblest Mom ensue.
After violently wracking myself with guilt at making the school receptionist send a note to Delayna in class reminding her again to take the bus, and not even TRY to walk home (because I was heading out of town to visit our friend in the hospital like any good friend would do if you ended up with appencitis) I decided to call her as soon as she got home from school.
The texts were already in my inbox. Stuff like, Mom - come get me. Mom, I can't get OFF the bus, it hurts too much. Come out to the bus when I get home Mom. Can I have cheetos? My foot is burning. I have to limp everywhere. Can I have cheetos? Can I go on the laptop? Can I have cheetos?
OH SHEESH! Do you SEE what I have to live with people??
So a quick trip to the Urgent Care (if you call 4 hours in a hard chair as quick), an X-ray and a little consultation, and we were on our way. Delayna is now sporting a boot that they took off of a Transformer (probably a Decepticon, by the look of it) to use on humans for foot fractures. She was upset as all heck at having to miss her field trip to central Oregon that was to be four days long starting today (I'm upset too, it was going to be quieter around here this week). We're waiting for a call from the Orthopedist to determine if and when she will get a cast, and since we have no crutches, we're just hanging out waiting for Dairy Queen to offer delivery of a small cookie dough Blizzard to help heal the broken heart. Stupid Dairy Queen doesn't deliver... who knew?
I think Cheetos are sounding good right about now. That should score me some sort of award, don't you think?