Fine, Fine, Fine

We had an extremely full weekend.

Friday:
-An hour at the DMV to renew license tags
-Picked up SUV from the shop
-Library
-exactly 3 yard sales
-Grocery store
-Thrift shop
-Pulled 10 boxes worth of merchandise to clean and sell at a last minute road-side stand on Saturday
-Go to sleep after 1am

Saturday:
-Woke up late
-Loaded the SUV with boxes and folding tables
-Set up stuff next to a friend and hoped for the best
-Come home at 4pm, a little richer than when we left the house
-Clean house for company on Sunday
-Bake a cake for a birthday dinner on Sunday
-Bath night for every one

Sunday:
-Woke up late
-Guests already here!
-Entertain, entertain, entertain
-Make dinner for company
-Sprain ankle and tear up knee
-Manage to keep injuries secret from Guests
-Say good-bye to Guests at 4pm
-Collapse on couch and prop legs up then defend them from 5-year old that wants to use my legs as a bridge

I'd insert pictures here, except I didn't take any and you really don't want to see my torn up knee. I don't have a weak stomach, since I'm the Mama Doctor around here and I have seen my share of bloody gashes and scrapes and cuts. I can look at gross pictures of injuries and say "ouch!" and walk away. This was the first time, ever, that my stomach did a flip-flop when I pulled up my pants leg and saw the flap of skin hanging back and a big bloody gash where the skin should have been. For once, I couldn't say "ouch" and walk away because the injury was on me!

I sprain my ankles often-- little minor ones at least weekly; big, major, limping ones once a year or so. Apparently my Grandmother had weak ankles, so I can blame my DNA, I suppose.  I was just walking beside Andrew along the gravel driveway, headed back to the house and the next thing I know, my left ankle gives out and I land on my right knee and hands. The pain from my ankle nearly caused me to black-out, another first. I managed to swim out of the pool of dizziness and get the ground to stop spinning out from under me and sit down on the ground. That was when I noticed the fabric of my pants around my knee felt wet. I pull up the leg of my pants and when I saw the wound, I burst into tears.

I've got Guests! Dinner is just about to be served! I still need to play hostess! Andrew helps me up and I tell him to tend to the stove, I've left the peas on boil! He goes and I limp over to behind the cars where no one can see me. I wonder if anyone has seen me fall, but no one runs out so I think not. I need to walk past the big windows in the dining room where everyone is seated so I manage to clear my tears and carefully control my limp so that my walk looks normal as I head into the house.

In all fairness, I'm absolutely sure that my Guests would have been understanding and I could have depended on Andrew to take over and serve dinner, except I sprained my ankle in front of them before and my weight was mentioned as a probable cause which pissed me off and I really did not want to have a repeat conversation about weak ankles versus weight. So I chose to pop some Excedrin, slather Neosporin on a big bandage and slap it on my wound, wipe my eyes, and chant a mantra: I'm fine, fine, fine. I'm fine, fine, fine. I'm fine, fine, fine. It worked. They left without any clue that I was hurting.

Today, my ankle is as big as a grapefruit and hurts like hell. This is definitely one of my big, limping ones. My knee hurts and because it's cold and I'm wearing pants, you can't see the bandage and the 5-year old forgets that Mama has a big boo-boo there and keeps bumping right smack on it. I managed to wash it out in the shower last night and the skin is back where it should be, slathered in more Neosporin and covered with a bandage.

Another day or two of taking it easy (well, as easy as I can with 4 children), and I should be alright. Now that the kids are in bed, I can plop on the couch and prop my legs up and no worries about my legs being a bridge to climb on. Until next time, I've got Sam and Dean from Supernatural Season 8 calling my name.