Not a flake.

It's 12:04 am friday. I was told by my favorite weatherman, the first flakes would start to fall at 6:00pm thursday. Lies! It's all lies. Not a flake has flown.

However, I am able to walk. Yes you heard it here first. I can walk. It hurts like hell. Not even just the walking parts, but my whole body hurts like hell from bracing to walk. My foot feels like it's made out of marble or maybe granite. Which is harder?

Anyway, each step, no pun intended, of this little Achilles adventure has been difficult, but managable. I'm sure I will eventually loosen my foot back up.

Oh, there is bad news. For the last week I've been experiencing a burning sensation in my right calf. Confirmed by the doctor today and known for about a week by me the other Achilles is pissed and showing it. Hopefully being able to distribute the weight evenly will chill things out and I won't have to go through this again anytime soon.

On a side note . . . over the course of healing I spent so much time sitting or in the wheel chair that the kids actually looked shorter to me when I could finally stand straight up. Weird!

BTW, still no flakes.

I'm already down, you can stop kicking.

Did I mention last week it's been a bit rough around here? All the tears. As of about 30 minutes ago it became a lot rougher and there were more tears and a lot of cussing.

While backing into the garage I plowed into the moulding around the side. I can't even figure out how I did it. I was pulling into the middle of the garage and somehow I ended up hitting the edge. So in actuality I guess I wasn't pulling into the middle of the garage.

Luckily, Joe knew I've been really feeling down in the dumps lately and he was very nice. Shit does happen. But it does seem to be happening in a lump sum right now. I wouldn't mind spreading it out a bit.

Boo Who!

What a rough couple of days! It started Thursday while watching Juno. Tears started to flow.

You see, I rarely cry. I didn’t cry before I had the kids. Afterward birth, the Hallmark commercials would set me off and sometimes America’s Funniest Home Video, that will have to be explained later. But I survived all that and returned to my tough self. But there’s something about being cooped up in a cast and later foot brace that really makes it rough for me to stay my composed self.

The last time I totally lost it was in August at my parents’ house. Cast on, cooped up and freaking out--I really let’er rip. Both Joe and my Mom were privy to this emotion laden event. So I made it from August until yesterday and it’s been a major downpour since.

I cried in Juno. It’s a great movie . . . but it makes you cry. Then I do the bills this morning and realize I can’t make everything happen this summer that I want to and suddenly, without warning, tears are rolling down my face. Unfortunately, my mom came over earlier than normal and got caught up in the flood. Poor thing.

Alright, crying twice in two days is a bit much for me. I worried I could possibly be getting a little nutty, but I remembered I already am, so it’s not that. Then my friends want to see another movie. I think great. Fantastic. I’m getting out of the house. We’ll talk I’ll get my shit together. Life will return to normal. We see Atonement. I’m start crying again, but I keep it together pretty damn good. I could have totally lost it, but somehow I kept the majority of the tears back.

It’s not that I’m against crying. I just don’t want it to be me.

Land Ho! Negativity Ahead!

What exactly was I thinking? I was being totally irrational. I fooled myself into thinking I would be get back to my normal life the second the cast came off. Well, I thought I’d sort of get back to my normal life. Visions of me hobbling around the house until I got my “strength” back filled my mind. I believed I’d be walking in the CAM walker for a week with crutches then I’d graduate to just the CAM walker, then my own leg bare of all medical assistance. It was all fantasy . . . at least for now.

Dr. Benenati did remove the cast, but said the foot had to be non-weight bearing for another two weeks. I am cast free, but filled with angst. This scrawny little leg, ankle and foot are no longer protected by a strong purple cast. I’m totally exposed. I can wear my CAM walker, the rockstar boot – that’s what Gus called it – but it offers no protection on the back of my leg. Griffin finds the scar too tempting when uncovered, he wants to poke it.

By the way, I thinking I’m raising a serial killer. On Sunday morning I was at the top of the stairs on my crutches working up the courage to make the first hop down, when Griffin came up behind me and pushed me. Thank God I had a good balance going. You can use you imagination to figure out my reaction.

Where was I? I’m freaked out. It’s as if a new body part as replaced the damaged one, but the new one . . . it’s not that great. I know it will be. The throbbing pain is gone from before the surgery, so already there is improvement. Like all the people on Extreme Makeover I will be happy once the healing is over. It’s the near future I must contend with.

Here are the marital tribulations that have popped up during my “downtime.” When on crutches it is impossible to get yourself a drink of water and take it anywhere. Granted I could stand at the sink and a have glass and move on, but we have the water cooler in the laundry room. Call me crazy, but we got the water cooler to avoid the arsenic laden community well-water we currently have, so I want that water not the tap water. The wheel chair that has helped me so much can not make it into the laundry room, so I’m dependent on others. I think I’ve asked Joe for approximately four things a day: things like my book upstairs, a couple glasses of something to drink, pain medication. Almost everything else I do I can do on my own. But damn it all to hell it takes him at least a half an hour if not an hour to get the water to me. I know he’s busy. I should be happy I even have someone to help me. But there’s a bigger issue. I’m learning how much he really doesn’t know about me. I have a few rules, Shelley would say many. Here are the rules as they apply to beverages.

1: Water should always be cool. If not previously cooled, there has to be ice, at least five cubes must be in the glass.
2: Milk is never to be served in a plastic cup, at least not served to me.
3: When giving someone water for a pill, the server should always make sure the water is cool, not warm. Bluck! People that love each other check the coolest of the water.
4: Lemonade with one ice cube is ridiculous.

This is why I prefer to do things myself. I know all the rules. If I say, “Could have the milk in a glass, glass?” Suddenly I’m bitching and complaining. Not that anyone has said that, but the eyes reveal the soul. I was handed a hot bowl right out of the dishwasher for cereal this weekend. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT? This was not given to me by my husband, but someone I did complain to and they basically said, “To bad.” It was horrible. The second the milk hit the bowl it was lukewarm. AAARRHGGHGH! I couldn’t finish the bowl and a great deal of Cap’n Crunch went down the drain, which should be considered a sin.

My bed has not been made to my strict specifications. No one will clean the poor rats cage, that is happening tonight if it kills me. It was deemed showers in the morning for the boys are too much of a hassle and Gus went to school looking like Charlie Bucket. The blinds in the Family room rarely get open unless I mention it and then I’m a fish monger’s wife. There’s shit all over the kitchen counter, toys in the “stupid” room, family room and office. Not all the decorations came down from Griffin’s birthday party.

Otherwise I’m doing great. Thanks for asking.{

Cast Off for New Adventures

I am cast free, but still non-weight bearing. I’ll be on the crutches for at least another two weeks. I have very easy range of motive exercises to do. Thankfully, I can take a bath tomorrow and I can sleep without a cast tonight. The scar is presently totally disgusting. Nothing like dried blood to make your leg look lovely. The scar is long, somewhere around 9 inches. Best part, it’s a thin little line. I believe Mindy’s fix of wearing hose with a seam to all fancy events will solve the problem. Well, except for the problem that I hate wearing hose.

Thoughts During Recovery

What a great morning, followed by a very boring afternoon.

What great friends to have! Amy and Patty with Becca came over this morning to hang out a bit. Amy made a great breakfast. Afterward we just sat around and talked. Talked about our friends we miss and all the things we “need” to order out of the new Stampin’ Up catalog.

The days have been passing quickly, but having people over this morning made the day pass in a wink. I can’t believe Friday is almost here. I have all these questions facing me in the next few days. I always tell my student to answer their “what if’s”. Once you answer them you can sleep. Here’s my turn:

Have I been good enough that Dr. Benenati will actually take my cast off? I have sat on my derriere for the full 3-weeks. Something I can’t believe I’ve done. I’ve been served and have only complained once when it took about an hour to get a glass of water. Being served has been weird. People just don’t do things the way I would or um . . . on my time schedule. But I’ve handled it. I hope my helpers feel the same way. I’m pretty self-sufficient. I can shower. Go potty. I can get up and down the stairs; which scares the #%$& out of me. During this whole thing it’s been amazing to me how “actual” pain rather than “oh this kinda throbs” pain will make you sit down and stay down.

How will I handle it if he says it has to stay on longer? Although I will be extremely bummed, I will absolutely know that I have to do it. I have great plans and aspirations once I’m free of my shackle, however I think I’ll start slow . . . like a long bubbly bath, but I can live if I have to wait. It will only make the reward sweeter.

Will he have any more purple casting material? I can survive with a different color. I know I can.

How will I manage while Joe’s away on business? My fabulous mom, my great friends . . . prays to the Church of Quinky Dink.

Will I be able to really walk? Right now I feel like I could run if I really had to, if there was a fire or other disaster. I just don’t want to look wimpy in front of Benenati, but I’m scared. I’ll have my CAM walker, but still that isn’t a cast and I won’t be using the crutches. I know my foot’s going to swell and hurt. I know I’m going to have to spend a large amount of my time sitting with my foot propped up on ice.

What will the scar be like? I haven’t been able to see the scar. Kevin was nice enough to share his. It didn’t look bad, but he has manly-man hairy legs. It’s somewhat hidden. I’m hoping it’s nice and straight; better looking than my c-section scar. As my mom says, “Be happy it’s not between your eyes.” She speaks from experience.

Woo Hoo Got Outta the House!

My mom and I went to Costco today. It's amazing how refreshing it is to see new faces. Yippeee!!!

Bored. Officially!

Yes, it has happened. I'm bored. I'm bored with the book I'm reading. I don't want to scrapbook, I don't want to play the guitar or sew. I done 29 crossword puzzles, previous to this week I think I had only done 10 in my entire life, most of them in third grade. I watched a NOVA show about refrigeration last night. Ugh! (Actually it was interesting, but cheez whiz, what have I become.) I've lost the cord to my iPod so there's no reason to download anything fun to listen to.
Oh and I also got all my hair cut off. Last short-do . . . now I must grow it out.

I guess I'll clean my scrapbook area. Maybe that will inspire me to do something. I can't stand looking at it anyway.

O.k. That's done. Now what?

My Christmas Story

We spent Christmas at my parents house Up North. We played games . . . we all love Apples to Apples . . .cooked a ton of food, went sledding, had a good time together with Grandpa occasionally yelling at the boys for being to loud, running, jumping . . .basically being three little boys. But we all survived. Christmas Eve our little dumplings went right to bed without a problem and we rejoiced.

My mom and I finished up the under the tree stuff and we headed off to bed early for us, around 10:30. Joe and I had drifted off for long winter’s nap when what to our wondering eyes should appear, but two little boys ready for Christmas cheer. It was 1:30 in the A.M. Not only were they up, but they had already gone downstairs and seen that Santa had indeed been there. They arrived at our bedside with Lego boxes in tow. Thank God, they didn’t wake up Griffin or my dad. Norm’s like a Grizzly. Don’t wake him up from hibernation, ‘cause you will experience his full force.

Because, I’m probably one of the nicest and possibly the dumbest mom’s on earth I tell them I’ll lie down in their room. My idea was they could put together their Legos and I could finish my interrupted night’s sleep. Great idea, bad application! Just below their bedroom is the family room, which is adjacent to my parents’ room. Unfortunately the bedroom floor acted like a kettle drum. Boom, boom, boom, with every move they made. Will was lying on his stomach and banging his feet. I asked at least ten times for him to stop, but nervous energy kept getting the best of him. Surely this was going to wake up my dad, who is not at all nice when his sleep in disturbed. I’m terrified. I just don’t want to deal with my dad at now 2:30 in the morning. --Meanwhile, I would like to point out, while I’m living my own little personal hell, Joe was sound asleep. -- After repeatedly telling the boys they have to be quiet, enough blood reaches my brain to think the greatest solution. Take the boys over to the loft. This is a huge “playroom” my parents built over the garage. Although we could hear Amy screaming at the top of her lungs during our "sound test" over the summer, I was sure the situation would be better and I could crash on the couch.

We packed up the Legos and headed downstairs. Before our trek began it was decided I would take down the boys’ stockings and bring them with us. They were tied to the banister. As I was untying them, holy smokes, there was my dad. Gus and Will looked like Buckwheat when he saw a ghost. He started yelling at them, when I just lit into him. “I’M TAKING THEM OVER TO THE LOFT. GO BACK TO BED.” He hadn’t noticed me on the stairs and I scared the b’Jesus out of him. I grabbed the stockings and we go.

O.k., finally I got some peace and quiet. Freezing cold peace and quiet. The heaters had been turned off, so it took about a half an hour to heat the place up. I couldn’t sleep. They needed help putting the Legos together and the couch was not comfortable. I just gave up, helped them with the Legos and at 4am I found A Christmas Story on TBS. We opened the couch into a bed and watch the whole movie. At six something, I told them as nicely as I could that they needed to lie down and close their eyes or I would spank them. Lovely Christmas morning mothering! We all drifted off with visions of me whacking there backside and slept until 8am. That’s a better time for Christmas morning to start. We headed downstairs and had a normal Christmas morning.

Needless to say, but I will anyway, I slept from 10am until I think 1pm. I’m thinking Benadryl for next year.

This is what it all looked like!

For all of those coveting Shelley's puppy . . .

It's a girl.

I Covet My Friend's Dog

The puppy is Shelley's, but I want it to be mine. However, it should be known Koby, the puppy, was only over for an hour or so, fell asleep twice and didn't need a potty break at all, then she went home. The perfect puppy.

What's Happening Now

I survived the surgery, post surgery and now I’m in it for the long haul. With cast on leg I will venture through this crazy world, hopefully not skidded across the floor on my crutches. The incision is approximately eight inches up the back of my leg and my legs were the only good part left. I guess modeling for Playboy is really out. Bummer!

I’ve been getting reports of the real world, but I’m only connected to what is happening inside the house and what I can see out the window, so I turn to t.v. Thank God for cable. If I hadn’t some type of advanced television hook-up how would I know what the life of an Alaskan Crab Fisherman was really like? How would I have learned about all the jobs I don’t want to be doing? I now know what the first year of a panda’s life is like. The trials and tribulations of a teenager desperately wishing to be something different and transforming through sweat and tears into that something, entertained me for an entire afternoon. Hell, I even know things about transsexuals I didn’t know before. The little facts I’ve learned will completely drive my friends nuts over the next few months. I’m saturating myself in useless knowledge. I apologize now for all I will bestow upon you.

Each day I’m able to spend more and more time upright before the throbbing leg sends me back to the couch. And it’s happening right now, so I shall write more later.