Cute W is sick, M spent most of the weekend playing soccer, and J partied pretty hard on Friday and Saturday night along with her Saturday marathon gymnastics practice. So even though it’s only 8 pm, everyone seems pretty ready to crawl into bed. Sounds good to me.
So, guess what I did on Wednesday? I was biking to an exercise class on a beautiful day when all of a sudden — bam! I was sprawled out on the road in front of my house. I have no idea what happened, still. It felt like I hit a curb at high speed, but there’s no curb there. Ya got me. But I didn’t even have time to analyze the situation. I’d seen a car heading toward me down the street as I was turning onto the street (I’d intended to ride along the side of the road, which wouldn’t normally be a problem), so I scrambled up fast because I was literally lying in the middle of the road. Some guy was walking up the sidewalk, and he asked me if I was okay. After I mumbled to him and hustled myself and my bike over to the lawn, I looked over my shoulder and realized that he’d retrieved my water bottle, which had flung itself out of my backpack on impact. Meanwhile the car showed no sign of having slowed down at all and only narrowly missed pulverizing the water bottle. Thanks, dude. I assured the pedestrian that he’d discharged his neighborly duty and shooed him away, then heard another “Are you okay?” yell from across the boulevard which turned out to be a cop driving along. What a neighborhood, right? Yes, thank you, I’m okay, I called to the cop.
Actually, I wasn’t particularly okay. I had jammed my tailbone hard and scraped up an elbow. I walked my bike back up the driveway and was full-on sobbing by the time I got to the garage. Then I had to decide what to do. I was clearly no longer up for a bike ride, but would I go into the house and cry some more, or would I drive to exercise class? I tried to be brave. I hauled myself to exercise class and promptly started sobbing at the instructors and barely composed myself and worked out for twenty minutes or so until I gave up and went home and cried some more. It was pretty pathetic. By the end of the day my tailbone still hurt and my left foot was also pretty unhappy, swollen and sore from some injury that I hadn’t noticed during preliminary triage because apparently it was a late bloomer. I had a meeting on Thursday and briefly thought I’d have to cancel due to my inability to sit. I went on a hunt for a doughnut pillow to sit on, and when I finally, finally found one, it seemed in no way more comfortable than just regular sitting. In fact, I’m considering trying to return it. Do you think that would be morally wrong after blowing it up and sitting on it? Maybe I could disinfect it. . . . The only good thing about the doughnut pillow was that at one point J very earnestly asked about “your butt pillow” and that made me laugh. Silver linings, people. Anyway, I was starting to feel a bit better, but with Cute W not feeling well and M doing a soccer thing far away, I spent about four hours driving over the weekend, and even though for half of that I was sitting on a big ice pack, it has slowed the recovery. Your thoughts and prayers for my tailbone, please.
Incidentally, this was not my first bike accident.
What else? Umm, on Friday night we had our elementary school’s ice cream social and book fair, and since J’s a fifth grader, it’s the last for our family, so that’s a little bittersweet. The truth is, I’m starting to feel like one of the old moms, and that’s no fun. But J and I were very, very excited to learn that Molly Bang, author of one of our favorite books ever, When Sophie Gets Angry, has written a new Sophie book, When Sophie’s Feelings Are Really, Really Hurt. J put in her request for that book as well as Augie & Me: Three Wonder Stories by R. J. Palacio, and since I am a sucker for Wonder, too, and for books in general and since it was a 2-for-1 sale, I had to just buy them for her even though J consistently has more cash than me. But like the ultra-geek I am, I had to read the Sophie book immediately, before even purchasing it. Which is ridiculous because I knew I’d buy it for sure and also because the library on ice cream social/book fair night is an utter, swampy-hot madhouse. But I just stood there in the sweaty chaos and read it and got all weepy and verklempt and now I will tell you that you need to buy it, but you especially need to buy it for all artists and art teachers ever. The end.
The ice cream social morphed into a neighborhood party, and I finally dragged J home at about 10 pm, knowing that we’d all be out of the house by 7:40 am for gymnastics and soccer. M had fun at her soccer thing, even though she and her seven teammates were vastly outnumbered by boys at the event. In fact, they didn’t seem to have a problem with that at all. Meanwhile J had another party on Saturday night, leaving Cute W and me alone. Cute W rallied off of his sick bed long enough to consume some mushroom salad, grilled artichoke hearts, and shrimp with me at Cella Bistro. Yumma. J and her friends had a lovely Saturday night, and when I dragged her away a full half-hour after the official pick-up time and prior to most of her friends’ departures, she was so exhausted that she only put in the most perfunctory, child-obligatory protest before climbing into the car.
Phew. Another weekend in the books.