On the Mend

The greatest intentions...

I had such plans for last week. I had spring cleaning to do, art in my heart and blogs on my mind. And then there's the fact that I was three-weeks into a new work-out routine that had actually started to yield results. That was the kiss of death, I suppose. That sort of thing always seems to get derailed.

And so it was. Early Monday evening {after a good long workout and a healthy and delicious dinner, mind you} I slipped in the shower. We're not talking about a dainty little fall. I mean a catastrophic, feet out from under you, fall forward with no hope of catching yourself, lucky I still have my teeth, blood in the bathtub kind of slip.

Thank God my brave little four-year-old superhero heard me and went to fetch his Daddy, who was working in the front yard. In a flash, my grown-up superhero was assessing me for compound fractures and head-injuries before TRULY heroically picking up my dead weight and moving me to the bed.

What ensued is an embarrassing story of the call to my parents, the ER visit, the x-rays, the doctor visits, and the days of pain-medicine and pain induced stupor relying utterly on my husband and parents and super-duper-helper-boy, and of course, my daughter's comic relief.

To make a long story even longer, I still hurt everywhere, but it's more like the soreness that follows a couple days after a major workout, and that I can handle. The real problem is what happens to the home of two adults {one helpless and one male}, two small children and one very mischievous dog when the mom takes the week off to lick her wounds.

Factoring in my parental duties, my achin' body and the state of the mess, I should have the house clean in.... hmmm, square root of pi, carry the four....

Approximately 25 years.

Wish me luck.