Did I say that out loud?

Thoughts and musings of a mom

Oh, Mickey, You’re So Fine…

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Last week, our family went to Disney World for the first time together.  I had never been there as an adult, but went twice as a child, back in the days when there were only one or two parks.

I figured this was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime trip (or my last once-in-a-lifetime trip to Florida) so we decided to stay on resort.  Because of this, going back and forth from the resort to the parks, involved countless bus trips.  This time gave my husband plenty of time to chat up the other tourists (he may or may not have swapped venison recipes on one trip), and me, time to reflect on our adventures.

So, without further ado, here are my top ten not-so-secret things you may or may not know about Disney World 2015.  I suspect none of these reflections will be found in any of their brochures.  Ok, I strongly suspect.  Without a shadow of a doubt.

1) You can still land a rocket on Mars safely in the Mission Space ride in Epcot with your eyes closed.  Tightly.  Without breathing.  And without your sister who bailed on you when she saw the barf bags.

2) They say it’s the happiest place on earth.  Clearly those people NEVER took children to the park for the ENTIRE day in 30 degree Celsius (or 174 degree Fahrenheit) weather.  It must have been one of those honeymooners who wore Mickey and Minnie bride and groom ears who coined that phrase.  You know the ones.  They have the coordinating Mickey and Minnie shirts too.

3) Based on my extensive research, aided by a child who MUST visit every public washroom on earth, Disney must have more working tampon dispensers than the rest of every public washroom in all of North America combined.  Either that, or no one has permanently etched a pertinent message regarding its working condition on any of them yet.

4) Talk about one stop shopping.  At the Margarita kiosk in Epcot, you can buy a margarita (thus the kiosk name) AND a bag of Doritoes.  Because, well, why not?  I know when I’m enjoying a bag of Doritoes, my first thought is always, “Man, I sure could use a margarita to wash this down with!”

5) And while, we are talking about alcohol…back to that guy who coined the phrase “happiest place on earth.”  He may have been one of the dads walking around the park, holding his beer carefully, while his wife pushed their loving bundle of joy in the rented Disney stroller in the 30 degree Celsius (or 174 degrees Fahrenheit) hot sun.

6) If you are planning on riding on one of the Disney buses to and from the resorts, keep in mind that you may need to stand up on the bus and hold on (for dear life) to the Holy Crap Handles (depending on your audience, this device may have a slightly different name).  Shave and deodorize your armpits accordingly.  Enough said.  Oh, and hold on tight, because it can become awkward really fast if you fall in between one of those lovely honeymooning couples.

7) Those big refillable Mickey cups (not to be confused with the little Mickey cups…wink, wink) should come with a warning label about developing a possible addiction to Cherry Coke after the 964th refill.

8) Eventually you just want to flush a toilet on your own.  In your own time.  When you are good and freakin’ ready.  Although you must admit, the automatic water sink feature would be a good idea in your own home.  The towel dispenser could become a little too expensive though.

9) It’s the only place on earth where you want a Mouse, or should I say, Mousekeeper (Disney word for Housekeeper) in your room.  The last time I had a mouse in my own house, I left it a tip, but it said “Snap!”  And the mouse said, “Oh, crap!”

And finally, because all good lists should have 10 points…

10) And while you are sticking around the resort, take part in the festivities that surround you there.  For instance, everyone in their lifetime should rent a four seater bicycle.  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  But you’ll probably die laughing anyways.  Oh, and it’s probably not a good idea to go with the margaritas and Doritoes right before that.  Armpit hygiene optional.

But when all is said and done, even though going to Disney may be more of a trip than a vacation, there is nothing better than seeing the happiness on the face of a child (and sometimes really, really tall ones too) when they finally get to meet Mickey and experience the magic of it all.

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21 Signs You are Done with Snow

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When we were kids, we used to hear the stories of how our parents had to walk to school uphill both ways.  Of course, the winter version of that story included the necessary description of the height of the snow banks and how they reached the power lines.

I believe we are in the midst of one of those winters right now, although I’m fairly certain my kids’ bus only goes uphill on the way home.

So as my husband goes out to snow blow our yard after the 92nd blizzard of the year, I will stay in my cozy, warm living room, and share with you my list of why I feel (know) we now have too much snow for any earthly good.

Here are some signs you may be done with snow…

*Not one single person complains on social media that schools should be open on a snow day.

*You laugh in the face of a mere 20cm of the white stuff.  And then weep uncontrollably because it is then that you realize it will be added onto the 7328cm you already have in your front yard.

*You see a snowman at your local Weight Watchers meeting, trying to lose those extra pounds before spring.

*You believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that extra 20lb weight gain this winter, is the sole responsibility of storm chips.

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*You almost kiss the face of a hydro lineman in a gas station parking lot when you see him preparing for the next blizzard.

*Your husband is not jealous that you almost kissed the lineman.

*You could probably cancel your gym membership due to the shovel workout.

*You could probably cancel your pool membership too because when this stuff melts, you’ll have a pool.

*Upon your suggestion, your husband strongly considers wearing swim goggles outside to snow blow the driveway so he can see in the midst of the blizzard.  Then realizes, he’ll save the goggles for the pool.

*It would not surprise you if the local ski hill stays open until the long weekend in May.  Or July.

*Curtains and blinds are no longer necessary.  Ah, well, um, let’s not test that one.

*Locking your door is hardly necessary either because if an intruder can make it in, you would gladly give them your money, and maybe even a thank you card.

*School is canceled the night before.  Wearing pajamas inside out is not necessary.

*The kids know when you run water into the bathtub, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bath night.

*You will no longer refer to the winter of ’92 as the big storm to remember.

*Students can’t remember what a 5 day school week entails.

*Your kids can no longer simply build a snowman by rolling 3 snowballs.  They have to carve the poor creature out of its surroundings.

*You consider unfriending friends and family who post pictures on Facebook of them sunbathing in much warmer climates.

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*You consider allowing your kids to play with matches outdoors in the hopes that the snow will melt if the burning match touches the ground.

*Move over Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton….snow plow operators just took your place in the list of the most admired people in our part of the world.

And finally…

*Even your kids give up singing the Frozen soundtrack.

So obviously, the groundhog did see his shadow on February 3rd.  And your shadow.  And my shadow.  And possibly an entire village of stinkin’ groundhog shadows.  But here’s to BBQ season, which may officially begin in August, at the rate we are going this year.  I’m serving up groundhog burgers!  Join me if you can!

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You’ll be home soon

Tears were beginning to flow down her cheeks.  I hugged her.  Tightly enough to let her know that I love her, but not enough for her to know that I really just wanted to take her back home with me.  I saw the anxiety wash over her, as she listened to the other girls’ chatter, refusing to look in their direction.  Eyes fixed on me, pleading.  Her words whispered, her stomach knotted.

Maybe she wasn’t ready for this.  Maybe neither of us were.

But this would be a good thing.  A weekend winter camp would be a great introduction for her, just two days separated from mom and dad, far less than an entire week in the summer.

So here I sit tonight, praying that pure exhaustion washes over her and allows her to sleep through the night, away from her mother’s safe and warm embrace.  Knowing that tomorrow is a new day, and that the next time darkness falls, she will be snuggled in tight beside her mother, trying desperately to vividly recall every moment of her newfound independence.

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Being Thankful during Christmas Break

My kids have been sick with a couple common different ailments for a good portion of our Christmas break. The action all really started on Christmas Eve and hasn’t stopped yet, although I think we are in the home stretch, so to speak. I could be negative about the whole ordeal, but I am going to choose to focus on the positives…or at least try.

1) No hospital visits have been necessary. If I want to pick up any more germs, I’ll just lick my own tv remote, thank you very much. I didn’t even feel it was necessary to get everyone in a fluster and ask what doctor was on call on our local newschaser Facebook site.
2) We didn’t have any Caribbean cruises scheduled, so no big plans to cancel. And no sunburns. Or suntans that would be covered up once I got home because it’s a flipping -97 degrees outside.
3) My kids’ aim is getting better. Three cheers for no extra laundry. And no carpeting. Yah for vinyl flooring!
4) Netflix has a good selection of Christmas movies. They have now watched both the new and old versions of Miracle on 34th Street. And Santa Paws. And an American Girl movie, and…
5) No gas money has been wasted travelling around. Or money spent on eating out. Or Boxing Day sales.
6) Only one of my knuckles is bleeding from cleaning with Lysol wipes and the extra hand washing. And I didn’t discover the bleeding knuckle while transferring a white load of laundry from the washer to the dryer, which is my normal practice.
7) I’ve been able to narrow down the mean time in which my kids are likely to vomit. Their prime hours are 2-5 am. Which is great, really, because when you stick them in the tub at that time of day, there’s guaranteed plenty of hot water coming from the hot water heater.
8) My kids now know what a BRAT (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) diet is, and what their mom will allow them to cheat with. They also know that I’m not referring to their sparkling personalities when referring to this particular diet.
9) We still have three boxes of chocolates in the house, as well as 12 blocks of cream cheese and 8 boxes of crackers. I see me inviting a lot of company over in January.
10) I’ve discovered that I can light up my main hallway like an airplane runway so no one has any excuse as to why they can’t locate the facilities in their time of need. It also makes it painfully obvious that we are home and no one will be tempted to break in and steal any of our germ laden possessions.
11) My kids have been sleeping in until 9am every morning, allowing me to stay up until 2am, when they are most likely to be sick.
12) My oldest has discovered that her mother is sometimes right, and having Vicks on her feet at night will not kill her.
13) My seven year old now knows how to take her own temperature so that when she doesn’t believe her mother’s hand to the forehead method, she can take matters into her own hands.
14) New skills have been mastered. I can now tie my girls’ hair up into ponytails at a moment’s notice from very awkward positions (mothers of kids with long hair know exactly what I’m talking about), and I’ve managed to complete every level of my Mahjong app while waiting for stomachs to settle.
And finally…
15) I didn’t have to take any time off of work to look after my kids in their time of ickiness. Having the time already scheduled off, I may need a vacation from my vacation at the rate we are going though.

It’s back to work/school this week for me and the kids, so here’s hoping and praying, we are done with this mess.

Oh snap! Aaaaaachoo! God bless me!

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New Year’s Resolutions Version 2015

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Yeah, um, so New Year’s Eve is tonight and therefore that means I only have a few hours to fulfill last year’s resolutions. Some took, and some will most likely appear on this year’s list. I flossed my teeth more often, I didn’t have a root canal, I cleaned off my dresser a few times, I got my passport, and I now have slightly more blog followers than I did this time one year ago. Thanks to my husband, my shower is looking pretty good (I wouldn’t lick the floor of it by any means), and my basement is beginning to come together. And of course, there are the ones that will remain on my new list, like the veggies and the Bible reading.

So without further ado, or something like that, here is my new list for 2015:

1) Convince my family that they need to unravel their dirty clothes before flinging them towards the other ravelled dirty clothes that have accumulated since I last unravelled dirty clothes and threw them into the washer. An intense training session may be required for this.

2) Post on my blog and my blog Facebook page more frequently. Not so much that my regular 5 readers are desensitized and never read any of it again. Of course, this may have to occur after my latest Netflix-a-thon comes to a bitter end.

3) Clean out my entire basement. Once upon a time, I had dreams of selling the contents of my basement, and getting my girls braces with the extra cash. I am not quite to the point where I just light a match and hope that insurance (dental or otherwise) takes care of all of my issues. There is hope as long as Costco still sells mammoth shelving units.

4) Print more pictures of my family and actually place those pictures on the wall. Or make really cute little ones and put them in my wallet. Oh, I need a new wallet.

5) Be more social. I’ve become quite the hermit in my later years. I know, hard to believe, (insert sarcasm here) being the socialite that I was in my younger days. Maybe I should invite people over more, like every Friday night and we could eat cheese ball and fancy crackers, and we could do each other’s nails, and tell ghost stories. And if they insist, they could help me clean out my basement and hang pictures on the wall.

6) Figure out how to actually use my cell phone. Which I suspect means not letting my 7 year old take selfies during church or while driving in a vehicle anymore (she’s used up all of the memory…is that a tech term these days?). I’m still saying no to a data plan, so there really can’t be that much to learn, right.

7) Take my husband to Newfoundland. Without the kids. And see an iceberg. And kiss a cod. Ok, maybe I’ll just plan a trip to NFLD while my kids aren’t in the same room as me.

8) Read more.  My Bible, and the 3964 e-books I’ve downloaded.  I know, I have a problem.  Exaggerating is only one of them.

9) Eat out less often. Buy/hunt more meat, cook it and serve it to my family. But not with cheese ball and crackers. Vegetables, lots of vegetables. I may not be ready to embrace clean eating, but perhaps I should try for eating-cleaner-than-my-shower-floor-clean.

Ok, I can do this. I’m going to rock 2015.

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Location, location, location

I have this incredibly annoying habit of allowing others to rent out too much space in my head. It’s not like they care to be there, and in fact, they probably don’t even realize that they have such a fabulous rental property. Folks, it really is all about location.

There have been several renters in my head throughout the years. Some have made the news lines on CNN, while others try to live more quietly in more spacious surroundings out of the spotlight. But somehow, each one of these renters have quietly snuck into my head, and occupied it for far too long, wearing out their welcome.

Each situation is different. But every time, I do the exact same thing. I allow their perceived trash to pile up inside my head until I make it my own. I mull over it, picking up each piece and seek to find the mistakes. Many imaginary conversations take place in my rental property, and in them, I am the winner, the righter of the wrongs, the giver of “necessary” advice, the judge.

Eventually, I open my mouth and I begin to complain about my occupants. Maybe not outright at first, but a knowing look, a rolling of the eyes, a snide comment, a tinge of sarcasm. Sometimes a brazenness follows and the words spill out, the words themselves not necessarily nasty or hurtful, but the tone, the casualness, and the implications are all there. Laying there, pained and prideful.

But eviction notices must be served. I need to take each unwanted occupant, throw them out of my head. Yet, not out onto the streets. No, I need to send them to my heart, where I know, with prayer and patience, because it really is me who has the obstacles, they will change ME for the better.

And then, when I’m ready, I will move on.

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My train of thought….

The following is the internal dialogue that took place in my head while taking my shower this morning. This is how my brain works. Welcome to my world. Enjoy. I’m sorry if you thought I was solving all of the world’s problems every morning while shampooing these lovely locks of mine.
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I just got two page likes on my FB blog page this week. That’s really cool, I should try to get some more likes on my FB page, and increase my readership. How do people do that? I should have a contest. But what in the name of time, would I give away? I don’t make anything, so I can’t give some cute little Pinterest craft away. I haven’t written a book, so an autographed book of mine won’t do the trick.

Thank goodness, I remembered to buy more shampoo yesterday. It came with those facial wipes, which are a little too much like diaper wipes, as far as I am concerned.

When my kids ask what they are going to “get” from me for doing something, I tell them that they get to live in our house rent-free. That won’t work, I can’t allow someone to come live with us if they win a contest on my FB page.

Of course, if someone did come and live with us, they could clean up the house for me and help me de-clutter it. Because right now, the best option I have is to light a match and walk away. I shouldn’t say that. Those things happen to people.

Having someone to come live with me might not be a bad idea. A lot more legal, I suppose. And they could cook too. Now that Scott is working day shifts, this whole cooking supper for everyone is going to get old really fast. I need a housekeeper.

This shower would be a heck of a lot cleaner if I had a housekeeper.

I don’t have the room to have another person live with us. But then, of course, I could make the girls sleep in the same room and they could get the bunk beds that the youngest one has always wanted.

Maybe people would just share my blog out of the goodness of their hearts, and they wouldn’t really need to win a contest and share my blog page all over the place. That could work. I could try that.

It’s Sunday morning. I should shave my legs. I need to replace this razor before I need a tetanus shot.

Oh, maybe I should just give Twitter a better go of it. But Twitter is like watching the popular kids out on the playground and hoping, just hoping that if you tell them you like their nice, new jacket, that they will become your friend. If I just hit that star button, they will want to see who I am and check me out and see my blog. And know that I am the next best thing since sliced bread. Unless of course, you’re going gluten free.

You know if Kristen Howerton (blogger extraordinaire) liked my blog, I might be popular. Maybe if I just tag her in a post, she will see it and that will work. Or maybe, Jen Hatmaker or Lisa-Jo Baker (writers and bloggers). You probably can’t do that. They probably have people Iike me blocked from doing that sort of thing.

I need one of those voice recorders for the showers. I would be more organized and could actually get things done with one of those things. I don’t think they have such a thing for the shower. Someone should invent one of those things.

I need a secretary. Someone told me the other day I need one. My memory is getting worse. I think I have early onset Alzheimer’s. It was that book that made me think that. What was the name of that book again? I can’t remember. Oh yeah, Still Alice. I wonder how many people self-diagnosed themselves after reading that book.

Oh, this is nice, hot water. We need to get this shower head replaced soon. I think I’ll stay here a little while longer because it’s so nice and quiet in here. No one will ever notice I’m gone.

I need one of those voice recorders. I really need one for school. But Apple would be the one who would most likely make it, and we don’t use Apple products too much at school. Maybe my iPad can do that already. I need to figure that one out.

I wonder if anyone else replied to my Facebook status about cooking a turkey. I need to clean the rest of the house before our company comes over.

Yah me! I might actually get on four articles of clothing before someone bursts through the door, yelling for Sunday morning fashion advice. Wait…are two socks considered two articles of clothing or only one? Make that five articles (or four). I need my housecoat on. Don’t need the neighbours talking.

Wow! It’s steamy in here. That was a long shower…
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This blog post has been brought to you by my sponsors today, Sunday morning Netflix and whole wheat toast with real butter. Praise The Lord, the kids can watch tv again, after the oldest one lost all electronics but a light switch last weekend.

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Not letting go

This weekend I took my daughter to her first overnight camp with her local Girl Guides. All week I had been cautious of her going, as she was a newcomer to the group, and it was now becoming chilly to be sleeping in a tent all night. But my husband, the former Boy Scout, also felt it was a great opportunity and it was now two against one, mom waving the white flag of defeat.

So there I was, on a chilly damp Saturday afternoon, driving her through the drizzle and the back roads of our beautiful province, trying to read road directions downloaded in an email from her leader. Not incredibly concerned that we may be lost, I continued to drive, subconsciously knowing that I would be delaying her arrival if we didn’t find the camp on time.

When we finally arrived, we took her supplies out of the van, her and I each taking an armload up the muddy path through the woods to the field where the other girls had already planted their belongings for the night. With only a few other parents in the near vicinity, I felt I should make my departure before my over-protectiveness became too painfully obvious.

We said our goodbyes, replayed our little farewell ritual a couple times, and I turned to leave. As I stood on the other end of the small open field, I watched her try to find her place amongst the others, milling around their camping gear. And there she was, lost amidst many.

She caught my eye, noticing me watching her. She swiftly came towards me, hugging me again, embracing the familiar. I told her she could walk me down the path to the van if she wanted. I almost held her hand, but I knew I had to let her go.

And once more, we said our goodbyes, knowing this was our real final parting for the day. I would have to wait 20 hours before I saw her shining face again. Not even a full day, but in some way, it felt longer. So after I lingered over to the van, I watched her again tread up the hill, meandering along the path.

I let a tear fall, once alone by myself. More followed as I drove down the dirt road in the opposite direction, taking me farther and farther away from the child who made me a mom. Comforted by the thought that this was a necessary, albeit bittersweet part of growing up, maturing, making friends, and somehow, knowing deep down she would find the joy in this experience.

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Somewhere down the road

This weekend my husband and I went to a beautiful outdoor wedding. The weather was perfect for the end of September, with just the right amount of warmth from the sun and light breeze for the occasion. The festivities were set right on the water, with the guests sitting on wooden benches nestled amongst the trees beside the winding path down to wedding altar.

The gorgeous bride was in the youth group my husband and I ran many moons ago, as were her sisters and friend who were three of the five bridesmaids. The minister was my husband’s best man in our own wedding 18 years ago, and his wife was my first roommate in university. This all made for a delightful afternoon of reminiscing and celebrating the future.

If I were to segment my life into different periods, I think I would do so based on the places I have lived throughout my time on this earth. The period lines would be somewhat blurred as well, as at times, I have travelled only a few miles up the road to live in a different dwelling. We have lived in our current home, having moved 30 minutes into town, for just 6 short years. As newly weds, we had lived double that amount of time in the small community in the area where we attended the wedding.

On the way back home from the festivities, we took a little detour, looping around where we used to live. The big, old red house had changed. It was not the same as when we lived there. Landscaping was being completed and renovations were changing the blueprint of the house we used to call our home, our first home, the home where we brought both of our daughters after they were born.

We also drove by our former neighbour’s house. It was empty now as she had recently passed away, and her husband 6 years prior. They were dear friends to my husband and I as we were just starting out on our new adventure of home ownership and parenthood. Many an evening we walked down to their house, made ourselves at home at their kitchen table, delighting in her cooking and his stories. And oh, the stories that were told. The true gift of hospitality.

We also stopped by two other neighbours’ houses to discuss the nearly completed moose season and the upcoming deer season. Both homes of the parents of former youth group members. More memories of Friday evenings spent in the gymnasium in the local elementary school. Youth, freshness, laughter, love, and a longing to draw each of them closer to God.

Changing gears in our conversation, on our way home, I chatted with my husband of a funeral we had attended a couple years ago. The man had been a mentor and confidante to my husband in those years. He knew what life was like for us when we were first married and for my husband previous to our marriage, as we tried to forge ahead through years of youth ministry. As I sat in the church that afternoon, I was overcome with emotion as people walked in for the funeral service.

People from those years sat down, sang, listened to the words of reflection, grieved and celebrated a man whose life was a testament to his dedication to his family and God. I had looked around and saw some of the same faces I thought would some day be at my own funeral, if I were so lucky. I grieved at the loss of this man, but also the timeframe in which these people were all encapsulated. I wanted to go back and relive the happy moments just for a little bit, and hold onto them tightly.

But I know time goes on. We grow older. And so does everyone around us. Circumstances change. We roll with it. Jobs change and babies are born. More tears. More laughter. There is death. There is life.

Sometimes I long for those days that seemed longer and less hurried. At times, I grieve for those days, those moments, those celebrations, even the routines.

There are moments I regret in my 40+ years on this earth, but not the houses and communities we made home. I have made mistakes. Each has been a lesson learned. And each new period brings me quietly to the next, watching our own children growing up now, watching their futures unfold.

Even as I stray, God has guided me on this road.

This road just 30 minutes into town.

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Why I’m not wearing new fancy shoes to school today

The good Lord above blesses us with intuition. Sometimes we listen to it, and sometimes we don’t. Unfortunately, this is a story about how I didn’t.

This weekend my daughter asked me if I wanted to go for a bike ride with her. Not incredibly in the mood for a whimsical trip around the neighbourhood, and knowing we had company coming over, I stated that I did not. I did relent though when she asked me immediately afterwards if I would go play with her and her new skipping toy that she had just purchased at Walmart that afternoon.

As I sat on my front steps and watched my daughter try out her skipper/skipping toy/ankle chewer, I thought to myself, I could do that. It had been a few years, but I knew I still had it in me. Just put the circle con-TRAP-tion thing around my ankle, swing it around in some kind of centrifugal force type manner and hope for goodness sake, I can jump over the attached rope and ball. You get the picture.

I should have known when I couldn’t get the loop on my ankle without taking off my shoe first that it was a mistake. But did I stop myself? A big resounding no.

I also should have stopped when a nearly audible voice told me that I could break my ankle with this device. But did I listen? Heck, no!

Well, my daughter and I took a couple turns each. I was trying to be fair, but I was getting pretty good at this. We had even brought the toy out onto the street because it was more difficult to do in the grass, our driveway had just been sealed and the street was very quiet at the time.

So, on my final (and I mean final) attempt with this destructor, I was doing really well, and even promised my daughter that I would give it right back afterwards. Visions of kicking it old school were running through my head, pre-electronics, kids playing out on the street, an impromptu street hockey game between the dads and the kids. A real Norman Rockwell painting. I think I even heard a choir singing in the background.

And then gravity and all of the other creative forces of nature screeched in, interrupting my little poorly-timed daydream.

I looked down and saw my left foot step and roll over on the darn ball, plummeting me to the pavement, in an embarrassing fall. I wasn’t completely flat out, but decided that for dramatic effect (and maybe even for safety’s sake), I had better lie down the rest of the way. I didn’t hear a snap or crunch, but there I was lying on the street, so I figured I had better get my daughter to go retrieve my husband, the paramedic, from the house to assist me.

My daughter didn’t race to go get him as quickly as I thought her little body could carry her, so she had to be told a couple of times to go get him. A deep, hoarse whisper rose from the depths of my soul and she finally got the memo. Note to self, practice kid’s response time when mom is giving orders while lying in the middle of the street.

But I must say, my husband’s response time was much quicker. He immediately came out of the house and came to my side, bending down and trying to help me up off of the street. He told me later that because I wasn’t screaming in agony, he actually took me a bit more seriously. Make another note to self, remember that in the future, but use it for good and not evil. And for the rest of you reading this, if my husband is your paramedic, he’s going to take you more seriously if you’re not screaming bloody murder after your arm has been cut off.

While attempting to walk up my driveway though, I realized that I was going to faint. I’m a fainter. I admit it. I lost all pride decades ago in this department. I faint at the sight of needles, I faint at the talk of needles, I faint while getting a needle, I faint while someone else is getting a needle. I even almost faint just thinking about a needle. In fact, this paragraph is making me woozy. But apparently now I faint while trying to hobble with a sore ankle in my driveway, as my husband gives me direct paramedic orders to keep on going.

I made it though, all the way to my front steps, with a little tough love from my husband. Ok, I also admit, I’m a really bad patient. Although there was that time I had my wisdom teeth pulled, and I think I was pretty funny that day. And then of course, there was that other time when I was in the midst of giving birth to my second child, when the intern told me that HE knew what I was going through. He learned a new lesson that day, so yeah, I’m not always a bad patient. But pretty close.

Back to the story, and under my husband’s orders, I regained my composure out on the front steps. With his assistance I made it to the recliner in our living room and positioned myself there for the majority of the evening. I made a quick Facebook status about my embarrassing fall and found out that most of my neighbours were away at that time, and that there was no video footage of it floating around cyberspace.

The next day my foot continued to swell and some bruising appeared. I continued to elevate, ice and rest for most of the day. I even learned how to use crutches. I would have posted a picture of my foot, but to be quite frank, I wouldn’t have made a foot model prior to this occurrence, so I saw no need of putting you through that. And by the time I had proper lighting for a quick shot, it would be another day of not shaving my legs, so ah, yeah, not going to happen.

This brings me to today, our final day of summer vacation, and I’m left sitting in my recliner, continuing to ice and elevate my foot. I’m happy (ok, maybe not happy, more like, pleased) to report that I can put on a pair of shoes (they really won’t fit in our dress code for work tomorrow), and I actually walked across the lawn without any crutches. Tonight I will practice internal wincing just in case a 5 year old accidentally steps on my feet tomorrow in eager anticipation of their first day of kindergarten.

So here is what I have learned from this particular episode of The Life and Times of Christy Terris Hoyt…
1) I’m not 12 anymore. Nor am I 22. Who am I kidding? I’m not even 32.
2) When the good Lord above tells me that I might break my ankle while playing with a skipping toy/ankle chewer, I will listen and actually heed the warning next time.
3) Oh, and when my husband brings home crutches from his parents’ place three weeks prior to the above-mentioned incident, I won’t question him and tell him that we can easily pick up a pair from the Red Cross. Thankfully, he listened to his intuition.

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