Anyone Missing a Bone?

Because, I have an extra one in my foot if anyone needs it.

This and other surprise discoveries awaited me this morning when I returned to the podiatrist to be casted for my orthotics. In addition to the extra bone, my x-rays also show that I have a lovely set of heel spurs, one on each foot, as well as a bone spur on top of the big toe on my right foot. Oh, and let us not forget the “funky” thing that the joint between my toes is doing. Yes “funky”; I’m guessing that is a medical term because I still don’t quite understand exactly what it is that the joint is doing also, that is the term the doctor used.

So, yes. I am a freak. How did this happen? Was it a chemical mutation caused by my environment? A practical joke played on me by an angel on Heaven’s assembly line? I do not know but, if I ever decide to have a full-body scan, someone please stop me; the voyage of discovery is a terrifying thing and, frankly, I would rather remain blissfully unaware.

On the bright side, my abnormalities are on the inside and, thus invisible to the naked eye. I will take comfort in that and thank God they don’t include like a third nipple or something.

Just imagine how hard it would be to find a bra that would accommodate that.

Back On

Friday’s Cortisone Flare magically disappeared yesterday and I am now officially back together with Cortisone; he loved me all along and was just playing hard to get.

My heel felt so good at yesterday’s wrestling tournament that I was able to stay on my feet for the entire day. In fact, I would have declared myself 100% fit were it not for the fact that my throat burned with the fire of a million lava-filled volcanoes and the act of taking a deep breath threw me into coughing spasms. Like, really; I actually coughed hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

(Also, I am eternally grateful for my devoted attention to Keggle exercises following the births of both my children.)

I have arrived at the conclusion that I will never be completely well again; if not for one thing, it will be another.

Sigh.

In happier news, the Man-Cub took first place at the tournament. Of course, who would have doubted he would? After all; he has the perfect practice dummy on which to perfect his moves.



And, lucky for him, she is a damn good sport.

In Lieu of A Real Post....

....I give you this.

You Are Oregano

You have are charming, funny, witty, and smart. You love to party - and people love to party with you. You are always friendly and warm. You are able to help people get along.

What Spice Are You?

I'm a lazy poster today because my romance with cortisone was short-lived and my heel hurts worse now than it did before I let the good doctor poke at me repeatedly with a needle which, as it turns out, is a perfectly normal side effect. Lovely, I might have wanted to know about that before I waxed poetic about how well the treatment had gone.

On the other hand, Dr. Google assures me that what I am experiencing is a phenomenon called Cortisone Flare and that it should clear up within the next ten-to-twelve hours, leaving me pain-free.

On can hope, right?

Help! My Arches Have Fallen and They Can’t Get Up!

My new podiatrist is a very nice man, of course; I would say that about any man who was willing to fondle my feet.

He did cause me the slightest bit of discomfort however when he asked me if my bunions ever bothered me.

I was all wha? My wha?

Because, when I think bunions I think, well, bunions…

Yick. Gag. Gross.



My feet are pretty and, frankly, bunion free…..



See? Bunion-free. I’m just sayin’.

On the other hand, the good doctor did give me a most lovely shot of cortisone which immediately eliminated the pain caused by my plantar fasciitis (yes, Dr. Google was correct in his diagnosis) so, I will forgive him for accusing me of having bunions.

Bunions, for the love of God.

So, yeah, plantar fascitis; I return to the good doctor next Monday to have my foot casted for my orthopedic inserts. I elected to have them custom-made as opposed to purchasing the generic model available in the office because I want to do it right. Also, my insurance will totally cover the $395 cost and, contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid.

So, to recap: Arches have fallen like the London Bridge, cortisone is my new best friend, I have no bunions and I am not stupid.

I've had quite a busy morning.

A Non-Politically Correct Post

I bought a new bottle of OPI today, Princesses Rule! which is about as corny a name as you can get but, polishing my toenails with it raised my spirits, nonetheless and the timing was perfect because I see the podiatrist tomorrow and now he will see that I have lovely, lovely princess feet and not the feet of a cave troll.

What? You're a cave troll?

Oh.

Well, I'm sure your feet are lovely.

Spring Wish List

-Warmer temperatures, at this point, 60 would be welcome.

-I would like to wash my car and not have it snow immediately thereafter.

-Landscaping; if I have to go one more mud season without grass in the back yard, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

-More hours in the day to accomplish the things that I need to accomplish.

-A bumper crop of tulips and daffodils; after enduring a ridiculously long and frigid winter, I deserve to have fabulous flowerbeds to show for it.

-I would like to feel better; the pain in my foot being the first thing I would like to say buh-bye to.

-A cute new hairstyle, I am in a rut and in need of something different.

-A play-date with my college roommates.

-A tighter tushie, boobs that defy gravity, a winning lottery ticket, and, of course; world peace.

It is a wish list after all.

If You’re Going to Run With the Big Dogs…

My weekend was exhausting thanks in no small part to the fact that my head still feels like it is stuffed with cotton. We can send a man to the moon, invent technology that allows us to track our children via satellite and eradicate previously deadly diseases and still we can’t cure the common cold.

Mind-boggling.

Also mind-boggling: how anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to the torture that is Cub Scout leadership. Seriously, after experiencing the noise level and general chaos at Friday night’s Pinewood Derby; I am in awe and amazement at the Man-Cub’s Scout leaders. I’m also fairly certain that they are certifiable and, since they would probably agree with my assessment; it isn’t like I’m talkin’ smack.

The derby, while loud, out of control and mentally exhausting, was also a lot of fun. The Cub’s car, while very pretty awesomely manly to look at; was not exactly speedy. It wasn’t slow enough to take home Slowest Car honors, either but the Cub didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, once one of the other moms busted out the popcorn balls shaped like Easter eggs; I don’t think there was a Scout in the place who really cared about the race, competition was a distant memory unless you counted the contests to see who could stuff the entire popcorn ball into their mouth the fastest and really, can there be a winner in that contest?

(The correct answer is: yes, the child who manages not to choke on his snack)

Too bad the Scouts hoovered those eggs; we could have used them at the wrestling tournament Saturday and, not on the kids but, on their parents (to cure them of their competitive bullshit, not to choke them. Although….) .

Seriously, people, it’s Pee Wee Wrestling. There are no scouts in the audience just waiting to swoop in and sign your six-year-old. Get a grip!.

Whew! Sorry about that, didn’t mean to rant.

So…the Cub did really well at the tournament. His first competitor was -gasp!-a girl! And, if you don’t think my son thought long and hard about the playground consequences of losing to a girl; you probably don’t have a son.

Hugh and I coached the Cub to approach the match like he would any other, after all, the girl (or, her parents, who knows?) chose to compete in a sport that has traditionally belonged to the male of the species and, while I think girls have every right to challenge boys; they also have to play by the same rules and can’t really expect to be treated any differently than a boy would be treated.

Apparently, the Cub shares that conviction and he attacked that little girl just like he would have any boy. It wasn’t pretty in the end and, yeah….as the rednecks in my hometown would say; if you’re going to run with the big dogs, you can’t pee like a puppy.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I actually teared up right along with that little girl because; the Cub like man-handled her. I teared up even worse when, following the match, the Cub went right up to the kid, patted her on the back and said “Hey, it’s ok! You wrestle tough enough to be a boy!” I’m sure that’s exactly what her parents were going for)

In the end, the Cub wrestled his way to a second-place medal which would have been a first-place medal if not for a tiny error on the part of one of the officials. When the error was called to Hugh’s attention by the official after the other kid’s hand had been raised in victory; Hugh and the Cub agreed that it was no big deal. After all, the officials were High School wrestlers who cannot possibly be expected to call everything correctly and, as I said earlier; it’s Pee Wee wrestling.

Too bad one of the parents from a neighboring community didn’t see things the same way; the High School football coach had to physically eject him from the gymnasium for screaming obscenities at his own child as well as at one of the officials.

Obscenities at his own child!

Someone needed a popcorn ball, is what I’m sayin’.