I am writing this with a Disney Princess ice pack on my foot.
Why?
Because we are big fans of the Disney Princesses around here. That Princess Jasmine is a ball of fire.
Oh? The reason for the ice pack?
Because I’m about 92% sure I broke my toe around 2 a.m. on Sunday morning. There is 8% of me that’s not entirely sure it’s actually broken but mainly because when I showed it to P before church on Sunday morning and announced it was broken, he glanced at it and said, “Doubtful”.
It’s easy to be a skeptic when it’s not your toe.
Caroline slept in our bed on Saturday night and P slept in her bed because we are big fans of musical beds at our house. She was really congested and woke up asking for a Kleenex so she could blow her nose. I got out of bed, threw on my robe (because I have an 80 year old woman inside of me who likes a robe to ward off the chill), and started to make my way to the bathroom to get the aforementioned Kleenex.
Apparently, I was still a little groggy because I forgot about a chair that has been in our room since the dawn of time. I ran right into it with my ring-finger toe bearing the brunt of the impact. I wish I had it on video because I went down like I’d been shot. In fact, I think I might have blacked out from the pain.
I hobbled into the bathroom to get the Kleenex, fully expecting to turn on the light and see my toe at a 90 degree angle to the rest of my foot. Mercifully it was in line with all my other piggies, just slightly red and angry. And who can blame it after what I’d just put it through all for a lousy piece of tissue?
Caroline had no idea I’d sacrificed my metatarsal health just so she could blow her nose and immediately went back to sleep while I laid in bed with my throbbing toe. I kept thinking I should get up and take some Tylenol or maybe a shot of tequila with an Advil chaser, but that would have required me to get up and walk.
I must have finally passed out from the pain because next thing I knew it was morning. I limped my way into the kitchen to discover that my toe now looks like a big fat organic purple grape. It’s every bit as attractive as what you’re imagining. I’d take a picture but I’m going with the assumption that there are some things that need to remain hidden beneath a sock.
Anyway, you can imagine how thrilled I am to have a broken toe (it’s totally broken according to the internet, otherwise known as the gospel diagnostic truth) a mere week before I leave for the Dominican Republic.
In other weekend news, it was the big debut of the Wonder Woman costume and the spray-painted red boots.
The good news is that Caroline LOVES her Wonder Woman costume. The bad news is that spray paint doesn’t really adhere to synthetic pleather boots. They looked great for about thirty seconds. I’m just going to call it a crackle finish and pretend it was intentional unless I can figure something out by Friday.
In other bad news, she didn’t win the costume contest. I’m not the kind of mother to talk about how my kid was robbed but, between you and me, she was robbed. Apparently the judges had no appreciation for red boots with a crackle finish and a golden lasso of truth made out of drapery tiebacks from Bed, Bath and Beyond. The important thing is that she thinks she won because they gave all the kids a bag of candy and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her any different because why would I do that to myself?
Sometimes the lasso of truth is better as a lasso of you don’t need to know the truth.