I was so excited about June 26, 2014. So excited. At approximately 8:30 that glorious morning I was expecting to hear the following words: “You’re good to go!” Those words were going to come from the lips of my orthopedic surgeon and they were going to bring me freedom from a near 10-week sabbatical from doing anything worthwhile with my right leg due to a very severe stress fracture in my ankle. (From the half marathon training I did for nearly 4 months that I did not get to participate in.) (Over. It.) Instead, two nights before on June 24, 2014, I decided to be a domestic goddess and vacuum my floors. No big deal. I can walk so vacuuming should not be an issue. Clearly it was. See that little metatarsal on the far left side of my foot with the crack in it? That’s what I did while I was vacuuming my house. Not. Joking. Not. Joking. Not. Joking. Who does this? I mean, who in the world breaks another bone in the opposite foot while there is a fractured bone in the other foot? Who? Who? Who? (Hand raised.) So that doctor’s appt. I had scheduled on June 26th did release me from my stress fracture injury but also set up the whole process again because of my broken 5th metatarsal. And this is what I will be wearing for six weeks. Want to borrow? I won’t lie and say that I’m not disappointed. It was a bit of a blow to know that I will be down a while longer. I don’t like being down and sitting still too much. I have things to do. People to see. Places to go. But, I will just have to do them sitting down. I know God will show me great things during this new trial. He will allow me to grow in areas where I need to grow but maybe didn’t know it. And who knows, maybe all of this sitting still will allow my heart and mind to sit still so that I can clearly hear God’s voice when He speaks to my spirit. Oh, one last thing. If you do the vacuuming in your home, tell your spouse that it’s dangerous and you can no longer do it. You’re welcome.
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Week of Awesomeness
It was a typical Sunday afternoon in the Fall. The kind of day where you can go for a walk in the middle of the afternoon and not even break a sweat. So, I decided to do just that. After I got my puppy in her leash, my youngest son and I left the driveway and within ten feet **crack**… “Oh, sweet Jesus, no. Dear God, please no. Oh, my goodness. Oh my goodness.” My son saw me fall to the ground in my yard and because of the way I was responding, he knew immediately something was wrong. “Mom, what’s the matter? Mom? Mom?!!” I calmly said, “Please go get your brother” knowing full well that his 8-year old little self could not pull my 42-year old self up from the ground. He proceeded to run into the house and the moment he opened the door, he started screaming as if his mother had just experienced cardiac arrest. No, just a broken fibula. That was 10 days ago. I basically took a step onto the street, or so I thought, and instead stepped off the street and rolled my ankle in a little ditch-like hole thingie. I felt it collapse and heard the crack. (Sorry. But it was loud enough to hear.) A couple of hours and $50 later, I got the report that I had indeed fractured my fibula bone near my ankle. But the good news, according to the registered nurse is that I “could be perfectly fine without a fibula bone in my leg.” Nice. That’s what I wanted to hear. The good news is that the Orthopedic Surgeon said that I don’t need surgery. The bad news is that I can’t walk for another two weeks (AT LEAST) maybe longer. I can’t drive since it’s my right foot. I can’t move around in the kitchen to cook. I can’t clean the house. I can hardly do anything but sit and read and write and crochet. Or is all of that the good news? 🙂 Pray for me. Heck, pray for my family. It’s not a life threatening issue by any means (perspective) but it’s still putting a strain on the family life.
A couple of months ago I looked in the mirror and said, “I’m done.” What I was “done” with was simple. Nothing big. But big enough for me to write a blog post about. I was done with my hair. About a week or so ago I had a hair appointment and instead of getting blonde highlights, I got brown lowlights in two different shades. You see, I was a blonde when I was young. And because of that, I always felt like getting blonde highlights was the way to go. But I’m tired of the drastic difference between the blonde and my natural color. And friends, it is radical. So, I did stage one with my amazing hair dresser, Ali. And you wanna know something crazy? I actually like it. I feel pretty good in my new color. At my next appointment, I will go a little bit darker to get back to my natural color. Here are the before and after shots: So, if you see me out and wonder how some brunette looks just like me…now you’ll know it’s me.
That’s my motto effective immediately. Because today, I am 40 years old. I don’t mind being 40. I don’t have any problem telling people how old I am. When people tell me that I don’t look 40, I smile. When children say that 40 is so old, I just laugh. Because if they only knew. If they only knew that it was just the other day that I was searching for 2X4s and finishing nails to help make the treehouse in my back yard. Or that it was just a short while ago that I spent countless hours at the Circle K playing Frogger and Donkey Kong video games. Time flies and in many ways, mostly physically, I feel my 40 years. I have to take a few extra minutes to stretch out my back after sitting on the porch swing for a while. I feel it when I go for my morning jogs. But in other ways, I feel like I’m just beginning to live. Life is so fresh and new and exciting and offering me things that it never did before. So watch out, world. I’m 40. And I rock.