The Vacuum, the Witch and the Birthday
I have been involved in a terrible vacuuming accident! Some people have accidents with motor cycles, boats, lawn-mowers or chainsaws (have i told you the chainsaw story....?). The fact that I had an accident with my vaccum cleaner is a sad testimony to the level of domesticity I have been forced into by having children.
So, as my dear friend was on her way with cake and balloons for my Birthday, I was tidying up the space from the post xmas explosion of plastic crap and tiny bits of paper. While vacuuming near the two little stairs in my hallway, I backed up, and fell off the stairs. I landed with all my weight on my foot which had twisted underneath me.
After Rescue Remedy, an ice pack, ibuprofen, some incredible healing energy from my son (who is a Natural at that sort of thing), some birthday cake and elevating my foot, I agreed to go to the ER. Broken. I knew that when it happened, but entertaining denial, at least for a few moments is part of my nature. I now can add to my list of birthday gifts a decidedly UNsexy pair of crutches, one of those stupid boots, a prescription for pain medicine I will never fill and an order not to bear weight on my foot for two weeks. Wonder how my new employer is going to like that news.
Nothing like a directive to slow way down.
I suppose I could say that I am permanently scarred and will never be able to push a vaccum cleaner again because of PTSD, thus forcing my children, friends and students to do it for me!
So, as my dear friend was on her way with cake and balloons for my Birthday, I was tidying up the space from the post xmas explosion of plastic crap and tiny bits of paper. While vacuuming near the two little stairs in my hallway, I backed up, and fell off the stairs. I landed with all my weight on my foot which had twisted underneath me.
After Rescue Remedy, an ice pack, ibuprofen, some incredible healing energy from my son (who is a Natural at that sort of thing), some birthday cake and elevating my foot, I agreed to go to the ER. Broken. I knew that when it happened, but entertaining denial, at least for a few moments is part of my nature. I now can add to my list of birthday gifts a decidedly UNsexy pair of crutches, one of those stupid boots, a prescription for pain medicine I will never fill and an order not to bear weight on my foot for two weeks. Wonder how my new employer is going to like that news.
Nothing like a directive to slow way down.
I suppose I could say that I am permanently scarred and will never be able to push a vaccum cleaner again because of PTSD, thus forcing my children, friends and students to do it for me!