Friday evening, Caroline and I left P lying in bed while we went to pick up some dinner and his prescriptions at the pharmacy. As I signed for the medications, I noticed that, along with Lortab for the pain, the doctor had also given him a prescription for Valium. After his previous surgeries, he never got a prescription for Valium and I was a little confused as to why he was given one this time. However, by the end of the day Saturday, I realized the doctor gave us the Valium because he knew I would need it.
Note to self: Next time (heaven forbid) your husband needs surgery, do not schedule said surgery while your parents and your best friend are out of town. It’s a cocktail for a nervous breakdown with a side of crazy.
Friday night, Caroline woke up several times during the night with a cough and congestion. I was a little worried she might be coming down with a cold and, truth be told, decided that might be a good thing because then she would be content to just hang out around the house all day Saturday, and sleep, and watch Disney movies.
I live in a world of delusion and fantasy that would make Mr. Roarke and Tattoo very proud.
She woke up for the day around 6 a.m. demanding pancakes and entertainment. Frankly, after a long night of listening to her cough and making sure P was doing okay, I just wasn’t really up to a morning of rolling Barbie around in her Beach Glam Cruiser with her miniature friend, Polly Pockets. But I did the best I could, in between getting P his medicine, lifting up the toilet seat for him and helping him get dressed. It’s amazing how limited a person is when they can’t bend or twist or reach for anything.
The morning was going along reasonably well, until tragedy struck. I was walking into the living room to get something and neglected to see Caroline’s Cozy Coupe sticking out from the hallway. And in case y’all don’t know what a Cozy Coupe is, which probably means that you don’t have kids, a Cozy Coupe is a delightful little red plastic car that allows children to happily Fred Flintstone themselves around the house or the neighborhood. It is a toy bargain at just $39.99 and appeals to all ages and genders. Plus, nothing cracks me up more than when Caroline comes scooting around the corner driving the Cozy Coupe like she’s late for a job interview.
Anyway, apparently, the wheel was turned at a funny angle, which left the front tires sticking out, and as I walked by I hit my baby toe on the wheel. I looked down to see my baby toe sticking out from my foot at something resembling a 90 degree angle.
And then I picked up the Cozy Coupe in a fit of pure rage and threw it out the kitchen windows.
No, I didn’t. But only because the pain had brought me to my knees. I limped to the couch, moved my toe back to where it belonged, and cried like a little girl. About that time, P came hobbling into the living room because he had heard all the commotion, but seeing as how he just had back surgery, it took him about 10 minutes to arrive on the scene. He told me to put ice on my toe but, since we have a bottom freezer, he couldn’t bend over to get the ice for me, so I had to hobble my sad little self over to the freezer to make an ice pack.
So, really, enough about P and his bad back and his surgery. Let’s talk about my toe. It isn’t pretty, y’all. And we all know there is nothing you can do for a baby toe injury, except whine and complain about the pain and discomfort. So, on that front, I am taking excellent care of my baby toe.
On Sunday, I rebounded somewhat from my critical toe injury and, in a fit of OCD that I assume came from the stress of the surgery, plus the toe injury, plus sitting around my house for 48 hours looking at all the things I wanted to get done, I did some serious, serious house cleaning. I am not exaggerating when I tell y’all that I hauled about 240 bags of trash out of this house today…or at least 4 or 5.
I started by cleaning out under our bed. We don’t really have a linen closet, so I’ve just kept assorted comforters and blankets under the bed, along with a huge Rubbermaid container filled with gift wrap supplies. Oh, and also a photo collage from my college days and a photo album from high school. Obviously, it’s part of a strategic home organizational system.
I washed all the various blankets, comforters, dust bunnies, etc., then folded them and put them away in the top of one of Caroline’s closets. It’s not exactly a linen closet, but it will do. Then, I cleaned out the closet in the playroom, otherwise known as the storage facility for enough camoflauge clothing to make Cabelas weep with envy. That particular closet has a really cute little window in it (I have no idea why. I guess back in the 1920’s people wanted little windows in their closets).
Anyway, when P and I bought this house 9 years ago, we talked about how a child would be fascinated with that little window and it could be a magic little hideaway. It dawned on me that Caroline had never seen that little window because of all the junk that has accumulated in that closet. So, I cleaned it all out and sure enough, she made herself a little nest of blankets and sat in there looking out the window for at least 30 seconds.
It was magical.
Next, (I know, I was on a roll) I cleaned out Caroline’s closet and made her try on all of last year’s fall and winter clothes to see if anything still fits. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of it she’ll still be able to wear, especially considering that she’s grown about 2 feet taller in the last 3 months. She loved our little impromptu fashion show and I swear at one point she had some black velour jogging pants, turned around, checked out her bottom and said, “Oh, these just look DARLING on me!”
It’s like living with my own little J.Lo (well, back when J.Lo was still J. Lo, and not the refined, low key Mrs. Marc Anthony)
Finally, I ended the day by Windexing the OUTSIDE of my kitchen windows. THE OUTSIDE. Like, up on a stepladder, cleaning my windows, OUTSIDE. They had been driving me crazy with all the smudge and haze, so I seized the OCD moment and cleaned them.
And that is how I spent my Sunday.
Did I mention that my toe really hurts? And did I also mention that I am crazy and have no idea why I chose this particular weekend to do my entire list of to-dos for the next 6 months?
However, I do feel an incredible sense of accomplishment and, as a bonus, P even rubbed my feet for me tonight, sans the right baby toe. Because hello! all he had was back surgery, I BROKE MY TOE.
