I was the CEO here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated, before I decided to take a sabbatical for a few days.
I’m back now.
And considering that I just had my wireless mouse completely UPSIDE DOWN on the desk for several seconds and couldn’t understand why the little arrow on my computer screen kept moving in the exact opposite direction I wanted it to go, tonight’s post should be incredibly riveting.
Where were we? I can’t even remember.
But let me tell you what’s been going on in my life.
On Tuesday, I thought I had a mosquito bite on my leg. It itched well enough to compete with all manor of poison ivy and poison oak and I HAVE BEEN SCRATCHED BY A DRAGON CLAW, but it was tiny, and… well… it was a mosquito bite. In this part of the country, we’re not allowed to complain about them, unless we want to be slapped across the face with a hat. Minor bug bite complaints are left for city slickers and folks who confuse the terms DEER, ELK and ANTELOPE.
On Wednesday afternoon, during PE, I thought to myself, “My word! My leg is beginning to throb!” And, right there in the middle of a floor hockey game in my gym, I lifted up my pant leg to inspect the area two inches above my ankle.
Apparently, what I had believed to have been an inconsequential mosquito bite was really a bite from a spider the size of a Volkswagen bus. It looked like the very worst bite anyone had ever received, and I suddenly felt that complaining about such a thing in this part of the country was perfectly acceptable. It seemed to rank right up there with rattlesnake bites and a decent bull-goring.
On Thursday morning, I was limping. The bite was throbbing exactly as I imagine an injury with a grenade might do, so I went to the doctor. And I told him, “Listen. I think I’ve been bitten by a tarantula with fangs like a mountain lion’s.”
He asked to see it. I told him, “It’s not pretty.” He insisted that he’d been a doctor for so many years, he could handle ‘not pretty.’ I lifted up my pant leg to expose the area of my leg, two inches above my ankle, and he said, “Wow. Cover it up! I can’t look at it!” And then he burst out into loud barks of laughter while I fumbled to push my pant leg DOWN, which is when I decided that he didn’t need my insurance co-payment.
“It’s not a spider bite,” he said. “It’s a staph infection.”
Do you know what girls absolutely do not want to hear in an exam room?
The words STAPH INFECTION. Because HYSTERIA, like Def Leppard never intended!
And that is how I came to be on another round of ridiculous antibiotics that are strong enough to kill a brontosaurus dead in his great big tracks.
I have no idea if my leg is BETTER. Folks keep asking, and here is what I know: On Thursday night, I could not walk without holding onto kitchen counters and furniture, while hopping like a one-legged kangaroo on crack. At one point on Thursday evening, I cried to Hubs, “It hurts so badly, I’m ready to start talking about amputation and recovery time with a surgeon.”
On Friday, the throbbing was gone. I was left with aches and pains and DON’T ANYONE BUMP MY LEG, OR I WILL PEE RIGHT DOWN IT FROM ALL THE MIND-NUMBING PAIN! But the throbbing? Well, Jesus took that away. I could walk by limping. I no longer needed the kitchen counters as ambulation aides. But, because it was raining, I played the STAPH INFECTION IN MY LEG card, and stayed home from the high school football game. I’m so glad our Small Town High boys managed to win without me in the stands, talking uncontrollably to other fans, and paying very little attention to the actual game in front of me. (Good job, boys, for winning at home without me there!)
On Saturday, my leg still LOOKED awful, but it FELT better. It was still sore and swollen, but I could walk without limping. So I did what any doctor would recommend. I left my boys behind, and Hubs and I drove two hours to Bigger Town, USA, where we had Date Day. We strolled through stores without anyone saying, “I’m bored,” because I threatened to ground Hubs from Bronco football today, if he ever mentioned the word BORED out loud. We went to Barnes and Noble, where we spent a leisurely TWO SOLID HOURS, because books are my love language.
I bought four.
And I never had to say, “Shh! Stop running in here,” or “Use your library voice in here!” at all.
Hubs and I also had a real lunch, at a real restaurant, with real linen napkins. I did not have to say, “Sit up here and eat,” or “Don’t play with the salt shaker,” or “Don’t blow bubbles in your milk” a single time.
It was exactly like being a normal human being at mealtime again.
Date Day was fantastic. Hubs and I joked about reconnecting in our marriage. Hubs even said, “I’ve reconnected so much today, I could probably even escort you into Pier 1 Imports without falling apart mentally.”
The Lord is good and worthy to be praised.
We also spent an enormous chunk of time in Target, and we never once had to look at Legos!
And then we came home.
And today? Well, my leg is the same as Saturday. Sore. Achy. Ugly. And, fingers crossed, these oral antibiotics are going to kick some Staphylococcus to the curb and squash it plum, dadgum flat.
So what’s new with y’all?