In case you missed my last blog post because you were out livin’ large and having a great summer, I’ll give you a quick recap of the sitch here. I won’t bore you with all the details of the drama, but I broke my right ankle two weeks ago. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m sure it’s broken; it was x-rayed, and I saw an orthopedist and everything. Yes, it sucks. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be on crutches. Yes, it is definitely challenging to manage a four-year-old boy and a four-month-old baby on one leg. And yes, the house is a wreck.
But I didn’t even have to leave my armchair to get a fun new clip this week. Check out my “online exclusive” article that appears on the website for the magazine Her Nashville: Red Alert: A Dress Code Dressing-Down.
It’s just a first-person rant about how silly dress codes for special events can be. “Black tie” is fine, but “nightclub chic” is just plain ridiculous. Please go read it for yourself and boost my numbers, if you don’t mind me pimping my own work. (How can you really mind too much, though? You’re reading my blog, after all, right?) I had fun writing it, and I am grateful to all my peeps who made suggestions and encouraged me to write about it.
Actually, I’m feeling a little grateful for my line of work in general right now, too. I may have a busted ankle, but at least I can keep doing my work without any real breaks. (Um, no pun intended.) Earlier this week, I wrote an article for NurseZone about a court decision affecting the administration of insulin to schoolchildren in California, and I pretty much did the whole thing right here from this very spot. Thank goodness for laptops and wireless Internet connections, too.
In case any of you ever break an ankle or a foot, let me pass along the advice that my friend Kimberly gave to me: get someone to buy you a big apron with really deep pockets. You can hobble around on your crutches and carry things by sticking them down in your apron pockets. Genius, right? It’s far better than trying to wedge things under your chin or hold them with two fingers up against one of your crutches. Just take my word for this. Plus, you get to look all warm and friendly and homemakerly, which is kind of fun if you’re like me and you’re so NOT a homemaker. I may work from home, but the domestic arts are definitely not something I’ve ever come close to mastering.
Downside of working from the armchair with the ankle propped on a pillow? You pretty much have to make sure you have all your stuff right there with you, or else you have to haul yourself up and down on your crutches, which is an enormous pain. I’ve actually had to send my elder son upstairs to fetch papers off the printer for me. No way was I going to climb the SEVENTEEN stairs anymore than I have to. Stairs are my enemy right now. Normally, it doesn’t bother me that our printer is upstairs on the work station in our playroom, but right now, it’s a very frustrating set-up.
But like I keep telling myself, this is temporary. I have to tell myself that a lot, however, when I’ve managed to finally get myself comfortable, and the baby has a blowout diaper. That’s the sort of situation that makes me grumble that I could be the star of a new reality show: Domestic: Impossible. Think about how often you use your feet. Uh huh. Now imagine me, pretending I’m Big Bird, trying to do all the stuff that I need to do on a daily basis. Good times.