Oh my goodness! No post in over a month? I am deeply apologetic. And busy, obviously. So cut me a break.
A friend recently emailed me and asked how my birthday was (October 5th, if you’re wondering…). To which I replied:
My birthday was a bit of an adventure. It was a Wednesday, so of course I was here (at work). Then I left to join my birthday dinner, and of course I was late because I never get out of here when I say I am, so my food was cold. THEN halfway through my second…shall we say “celebratory beverage,” I get a call from K (who was at practice), crying, to which I hear….”stunt….excited…jump…ankle…birthday…mad…ruin…wahhhh” and then the coach takes the phone and explains that she hit a particularly hard stunt perfectly and celebrated by jumping up and clicking her heels leprechaun-style (although my phone was kind of fuzzy, so I didn’t understand the word “leprechaun” and was confused most of the evening until I actually saw her) and when she landed, she rolled her ankle and at first her other coach was just mad at her for hurting herself and made her sit in the corner, but they had just walked over there and realized that K’s ankle and most of the skin surrounding it had instantly bruised and there was some sort of giant knot and now they think she needs to go and have it looked at by a doctor that evening (mind you, this is 8:00p) to have it x-rayed. And by the way, says coach, she is crying and is afraid you’ll be mad at her. So I chugged the other half of my beer and told the coach that by the time I reached the gym, practice will be over and so I’ll just let her ride bring her to me and I’ll have my ER-experienced nurse father look at it and decide whether we need to take her in RIGHT THEN or whether we can wait until the morning (and a lower co-pay). About this time, I received a text from the mom taking her home telling me that she was crying, trying to hold it back, and (by the way) she’s really worried about how mad I’ll be. So we drive back to my parents, where her ride drops her off. She is pulling out as we pull in and she rolls down her window and says “don’t be too mad at her!” and drives away. So I walk into the living room where she is sobbing about how sorry she is. At which point I lose it and say (with a slightly elevated vocal volume) “WHY DO YOU KEEP TELLING EVERYBODY I’M GOING TO BE MAD THAT YOU HURT YOURSELF?? I SOUND LIKE THE WORST PARENT EVER! I’M CONCERNED, BUT NOW THEY ALL THINK THAT I AM PISSED OFF THAT YOU ARE HURT AND NOT CONCERNED!” And she starts crying even harder and says “because it’s your b-b-b-b-irthd-d-d-day and I r-r-r-ruined it.” Oh. Dad says it’s sprained, but he can’t give her a doctor’s note to sit out and rest it, so we spent the rest of my birthday at Texas Med Clinic (after I drove home and brushed my teeth so I wouldn’t appear to have been getting sloshed while my daughter injured herself), then stopped by Walgreens on the way home where my mother bought me the good Mucinex (the –D form that you have to get from behind the counter after they fingerprint you and take your blood type), because – did I mention? I had a full-blown sinus infection and cough of some sort. “And many mooooooooooooore.”
Current mood: 33
Adventures In MandyLand 