The Bees Knees

It’s official. I’m an invalid again. Barely one stinkin’ month after the wrestle with the gall bladder. I’m obviously on the losing end of some sick, karmic bet. (Oh Bubble Girl!) And here I was thinking that by regularly putting pennies in the jar I would elevate my status in the universe. Apparently not so. (Somebody needs to give me back my damn pennies! ☺)

The long and short of it
I mentioned yesterday that I woke up with a non-working knee. It resulted in my limping around all day. NOTE: Carrying laundry and Beanie up and down steep stairs as I played marathon catch up post-vacay does NOT work with a bum knee. So I propped up as much as possible while home alone with a 7-month-old bambino. But seriously. Baby care equals baby totin’. So baby got bounced as I hobbled from room to room, task to task, poopy diappy to poopy diappy. Like a peg leg pirate on speed — with a parrot on his shoulder. Work was luckily manageable in the midst. Wonders never cease.

Then, in my now well-documented and oft-repeated infinite wisdom, I thought, “Two miles for Miss 6’s fitness club should be doable. I’ll just use the stroller as my walker.” Oy vey.

Come pick up time, I clenched my jaw and hobbled to the garage, balancing the infant seat on my good leg. I get to the door and forget which leg to use first when stepping down to the step. Blinding white pain. Re-clench jaw and wipe tears with free hand. “I. CAN. DO. THIS. AND. I. WILL.” (I have a stubborn streak ☺) Beanie finally clicked into back seat base, I attempt to load myself. I have to slide the seat all the way back to get my now throbbing and unbending leg in. Luckily (ha!) it’s my left. It takes me the full drive up the hill to breathe normally again. And I call hubby in the middle, leaving him a woe-is-me voice mail. Oh the drama.

So once I make it to school and park, it isn’t until I begin to unload the BOB that I remember hubby ran over it on Friday. (No, Beanie wasn’t in it at the time.) I curse. Silently this time because there are parents picking up kids all around me. Stubborn streak says, “You’re going anyway. The axle’s bent, not broken.” So I do. Barely making it up the STEEP grade at the front of the school. Wincing, wincing. I think I can. I think I can.

Finally, I make it back to her classroom. Have a quick tête-à-tête with her teacher who’s also had her share of knee woes. Feel better, now equipped with the RICE strategy (Rest. Ice. Compress. Elevate.) Repeat. Then I look around. Miss 6 is nowhere to be seen. Damn. Damn. More silent cursing. I figure she went ahead to the gym. Without consulting me, of course. Without considering that it is located ALL THE WAY AROUND THE GODFORESAKEN SCHOOL. So off I hobble. Searching for my errant child. Find her. Berate her. Everyone staring at me like I have two heads. Decide to do the walk anyway. Maybe it will loosen it up some. Then I’ll ice it. So smart.

The walk starts. The kids run off. I can’t even see them. Lucky for me, my faithful friend (another mom with twins in Miss 6’s class) keeps up with them. Nanners mom sticks with me just in case. And we arrive back at school an hour later. Dead last. I am tempted to berate again, but throbbing knee prohibits. It is now twice it’s original size and beginning to turn purple. Nanners’ mom says, “I’m taking the girls. You go home and ice. Now.” Okay.

I still have Beanie though and it takes me 20 minutes to get us inside, bottle made, ice for knee, phone in reach, leg propped up, etc. I am really crying by this time. I grab the Advil and down three. Beanie is crying roundly by now too. Along with me. We nestle onto the couch — awkwardly. And that’s basically where I’ve been ever since.

The Advil and ice have worked their magic, though I STILL can’t straighten my leg with out tearing pain. B-partner is convinced it’s a blood clot from the surgery. Looks like I need to add another bullet (for full disclosure) to our partnership agreement: “I am a train wreck. If you can comfortably work with said train wreck, despite multiple dramas and maladies, please sign here.”

NOW maybe my High School/Now-Living-in-Russia friend can see how I seem to have so much time to write.

PS: I’ve decided better of rolling out the family drama for the time being. I don’t want to ‘Pat Conroy’ myself out of the fold. And though I may have an axe or two to grind, I’m not convinced that having the truth laid out in black and white will set me free. ☺

PSS (Miss 6-ism): When mom arrived with goodies in tow last week, Miss 6 came to me with a snack she'd brought in her hand. "Mom, Grandy brought this. But just to give you a heads up, it's for all of us." Well then.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Novocaine for the Soul. Eels. “Before I sputter out.”