The Laundry Did It
Doesn’t this look worse than it was? Ghostly. Poor lighting.
In the annals of what happened to you since January first, I really only have to say one word: “Laundry.”
Yes, I did baskets and baskets of the stuff. On the second snow day that followed the ten-day winter break (if you’d like to put the word break in quotes, you can, depends upon your experience), I figured I’d tackle the laundry that was out of season or outgrown, you know the bottom of the barrel so to speak. I carried a basket down the stairs. I missed a step.
Stars, pain, twisted ankle, yelling and nearly fainting. That’s what happened.
The laundry is not done. The days have gone by. I have employed RICE like a very good girl (that’s rest, ice, compression and elevation). My hubs, he’s been stellar. My teens—tag-team—have also been stellar. They rose to the occasion. I felt grateful all around.
Also, I felt exhausted. Bored. Addicted to Web Therapy. And I’m just pages from the end of Andrew Solomon’s Far from the Tree at very long last just six days into 2014 (to finish it by the close of 2013 was a little hope). It’s brilliant. Read it (all year long). It was not so terrible to act like a patient patient as opposed to the impatient I truly am.
Anyway. Here we are. That’s the scoop.
To know more I invite you to read my latest on how my New Year’s Resolutions are at odds with one another and the snow daze over at Brain Child’s blog. Note, I wrote this before the great ankle sprain of 2014. Note too, that the only bone I’ve ever broken (a finger) was in pursuit of laundry on the stairs. I should probably just stop with the laundry already.
I also have an essay at Full Grown People about life with a snoring spouse. It’s tender, honest, and in its way, a little romantic.
Lastly, the last essay I loved publishing in 2013 is about picture books, an orchard and a museum; it’s over at Momfilter.
Please be careful inside; you never know when the steps will mock you. If you’re anywhere with weather, be careful outside, too.