Injury Report #2

I am laid up in bed tonight with hot stones wrapped around my calf and my foot elevated on pillows. I wish I could say that this is a result of a weekend get-a-way to a resort and spa. No such luck.

I re-injured my calf on Wednesday. Actually, I tore my calf muscle. Again. This time I can say I did it with actual physical exercise, but because I did it while running a relay race with my ten year old students at Field Day, I am not really sure that I can take much pride in my injury. It all started when the PE teacher told the classroom teachers we needed to show our kids "how its done." Who was I to argue? I lined up on the starting line ready to show all 110 fourth graders that I was the coolest teacher EVER. Two of the four teachers chickened out, and I mumbled under my breath something that resembled "You are so weak!" Meanwhile I was standing in line raring to go and trash talking like I was about to bring it.

The PE teacher yelled go and I realized I still had on flip flops. I flung those things as far as the East is from the West and took off. It took me three steps to realize something felt funny in my leg. I rationalized in a five second time frame that I had given birth with no pain meds, so I could definitely run with a funny feeling in my calf. The funny feeling got worse though as I rounded the bend, and I had to make a decision. Run to win or run to finish. Of course, I chose to win.

I looked to my left and realized I was in last place. LAST PLACE. Oh, heck no! I ran with all my might and came in third, behind a 20 something private and a 40 year old retired first sergeant who takes PT to levels most don't know exist. I was happy with my performance. After all, I didn't come in last, and I beat the teacher in the lane next to me.

Then it hit me. Pain. Pain like I might die. Sweet baby lord Jesus it hurt. I spent the rest of field day hanging out under the oak tree like all of the other over 50 year old teachers praying the pain in my calf was just a cramp. Hoping it was only a tight muscle that would loosen with a continuous walk around the oak tree.

I have spent the last two days explaining to everyone I pulled a muscle on a relay race that involved hula hoops and a frisbee. I have also received the most unsolicited, crazy advice on how to handle my injury. My favorite was the suggestion to eat two teaspoons of mustard. For the record, I did not find that solution scientifically sound and chose to sleep with a bar of Ivory soap in between the sheets instead.

If I didn't have pain killers coursing through my veins, I would be drinking right now. Something to heal my wounded pride. I have vowed to race again on the last day of school. A backyard obstacle course will be constructed this weekend, complete with hula hoops and frisbees. Training will begin as soon as I can stand on both legs without cursing.

Turn Right at the Strip Club

Strip clubs and pawn shops. You are guaranteed to find them outside the gates of every military installation. Stewart has more than its fair share of both. The road we take between soccer practice and our house has a strip club, and at night, the fluorescent lighting has the club lit up like a Christmas tree. The boys never fail to see it. The sign in the parking lot contains a permanent want ad for "beautiful dancers" and has a logo complete with pole dancers. Bright lights. Metal building. Pole dancers. It's classy. Just like all of the others.

Last night we were on our way home, and Keagan, excited that the 75 minute drive back home from soccer practice was almost over, exclaimed, "We're almost home, Evan. I know because we are at the gymnastics place."

Evan replied in his all-knowing, grown-up voice, "That's not a gymnastics training center, Keagan. That's a dance school."

There was a brief pause and then Evan commented, "I have no idea why you have to be beautiful to learn to dance, though."

I giggled and Keagan wanted to know why I always laugh at his mention of gymnasts. Luckily a high speed cop chase ensued in the opposite lane and the beautiful pole dancers were forgotten.

Unit next time, anyway.

Finalists

We traveled to North Carolina this past weekend for a soccer tournament. Yes, it is a four hour drive. Yes, we are crazy. But not as crazy as my parents who drove 15 hours to get their soccer fix.

We won the first game 9 to 0. We tied the second game 2-2.

That meant we had all night to rehash the shoulda, woulda, couldas that always follow a tied score and endless conversations on how many points each team had to score in order to advance to the finals. 

Evan woke me up on Sunday morning whispering in my ear, "Mom, if we score 8 goals in our next game, are we guaranteed to go to the finals?" 

We did better than eight goals; we won our third game 14-0. That meant we were headed to the championship!

Unfortunately, we didn't win the final game, but we came home with finalists medals and a resolve to ensure my boys never pick up a North Carolina accent. I will never hear "mark up" the same again.

Utopia

It was my lucky weekend. We had four soccer games yesterday on fields just steps from the beach. This was beyond lucky; this was my Utopia. In between games number three and four, we had a two hour block of time with nothing to do, so we hit the beach.

 It was low tide when we arrived, and the oyster colony was in full view. We even learned that they clack when touched. I had no idea. The boys climbed the rocks and found a colony of horseshoe crabs. Big horseshoe crabs! On our way back to our picnic lunch, we found a few stingrays swimming in the shallow waters and we sang the ABC song to sea snails to entice them out of their shells. 

The ref's whistle lured us back to the fields, and we went home last night with two wins and two losses. I don't know that bar-b-que and country music at our next duty station will ever be able to replace the love I have for this. 

Both boys told me yesterday that they could live on the island forever. I suppose that makes next year's spring break trip an easy sell.

Swagger

Swagger...My eight year old has it and knows it. He said this morning: "Mom, I feel like a teenager today. I got my necklace on (Skylanders dog tags), my bracelet (Mavericks basketball wristband), a button up shirt, and my earphones. I think I look pretty good."

Evan responded: "Keagan you're the only eight year old that worries about what he wears and matches his play clothes. That's just weird!"

I'll continue to buy the matching Adidas outfits, Baby, if you promise to keep your swag.

Finally...The Beach

Spring break on the beach? Yes, yes, and yes. It's no secret that I love the beach. I mean LOVE the beach, but so do my boys. We didn't even change into our swimsuits...we just had to feel the sand between our toes and get our game on. Because but of course soccer. Why would we spend our spring break doing anything but?

Because I know someone will ask. Yes, that is a scratch on Evan's face. He played night tag yesterday, and the tree caught him. 

I love the summer for so many reasons, but I love to see all of Keagan's freckles pop out with the first warm day. How cute is he?

Tomorrow we will do it all over again, but this time we will wear swimsuits.

T-Rex Tooth

The spring break fun continues...today we visited the oral surgeon. 

The doctor didn't believe me when I told him nitrous oxide wasn't necessary. He had no idea how brave my little guy would be with first a shot and then an extraction. It's no wonder the baby tooth had to be pulled, though. Look at its root! The nurse asked to keep it - for scientific study I suppose - but we declined. I think I will put it on eBay to the highest bidder. There has to be a dental student in need of a unique tooth and willing to pay me for it.

Keagan understood he had something special, too, because with a mouthful of gauze, Keagan asked, "Can I get the measuring stick when we get home, Mom? Because this thing is like a T-Rex tooth!"

Fun in the Sun...But First The County Clerk

It's the first day of spring break, and we spent the day renewing passports, getting our taxes done, and getting haircuts. While my friends were posting pics of their spring break trips on the beach in Hawaii and ziplining through a tropical rainforest, I was living it up at the County Clerk's office.  The boys thought it was a day of complete and utter torture so much so that tears were shed at my lack of concern with spring break fun. The guilt they placed on me was so strong I took them to Wal-Mart, my version of complete and utter torture, to spend their money on new Skylanders. Then all was right with the world.

I returned home to laundry, on-line tests, and a dirty floor, but I had spent so much energy trying to figure out which beach destination I would spend our tax refund that I decided a nap was in order. I call that priorities. 

Soon enough I was back to my crazy, spring break fun and the boys and I did this. It took about 26 shots to get all three faces in the frame. 

One son was far less thrilled with the fun. Today I have promised no dates with the tax guy and no silly masks.