A couple of Saturdays ago, I took my three boys
and met my friend, Jenn and her boys, Josh and Nate, up at my in-law's pool.
They have a fantastic pool at their condo and they let us crash it regularly.
Jenn and I laid in the sun and talked to my mother-in-law, Sandy.
The boys played Marco Polo, dove for quarters and got some end of summer energy out.
Will kept asking to do flips off of the edge and I kept telling him,
"I DO NOT want you to get an injury two days before school starts."
I said this multiple times. Each time that he did something wild and dangerous.
He doesn't ever consider outcomes. He lives in the moment of fun and excitement.
When we packed up our towels, we decided to get ice cream.
Now this got me excited.
All the boys headed to my car and I said good-bye to Sandy and hurried to the car.
I was making great strides in my flip-flops.
And then I wasn't.
Because I rammed my foot straight into a concrete stop at the end of the parking space.
It felled me like tree.
It was actually more of a full body crumpling action.
I was up. Then I was down. I was in shock.
Will got into the car injury free. Me? Not so much.
Nate told Jenn later, "All I saw was her hair go down."
Now it has been a while since I have broken a toe.
And never have a broken one with such force.
It started turning purple and blue immediately and throbbing. So ouchy.
My toe was speaking to me with strong words. Like "How dare you!" and "I think I'm dying."
I drove Jenn's boys over to her and told her,
"I don't think I can go get ice cream. I think I broke my toe."
I didn't start crying until we drove out of the parking lot.
Jack patted my shoulder as I was biting my lip to try and distract myself from the pain.
Addie said, kindly, from the back seat, "It's okay, Mom. Go ahead and cry."
I cried the entire 20 minute ride home.
Toes are important. Mine was upset with me.
I didn't make it to the doctor until Sunday when I realized that I was not going to be able to put
any pressure on my foot.
I borrowed a pair of Will's crutches...he has multiple pairs.
Jack went with me.
I almost passed out trying to hurl my body from the parking lot to the hospital
and then on to radiology. Crutches are no joke.
Apparently, I have no upper body strength anymore.
Jack tried to encourage me as I would pause to take breathing breaks.
"It's like the Olympics, Mom. You can do it."
I think I just glared at him. I was breathing too heavily to say anything.
I made it back home with a confirmation of a fractured toe and a Bozo sized orthopedic shoe.
They were out of my size.
It does not build up one's confidence to wear medical foot gear that could fit a clown.
So I am hobbling about and praying for quick healing. Jesus, help me.
And considering buying a pair of Doc Martens for some steel toed protection in the future.
As soon as my toe stops hurting, I will be getting a restorative pedicure.
Because toes are important.