A faint gray light filtered into the bedroom and I groaned as the alarm sounded. Morning had come too quickly and I could hear the girls moving about in their room, beginning to wake and get ready for school. I staggered to the bathroom and stuck my eyeballs in, then searched for my walking pants. I spotted them tossed on a chair in the bedroom. I quietly slipped back into the dark room, being careful not to wake James who was still fast asleep in his crib. (Because we are in my parents house and have two households worth of stuff crammed in there, James’ crib is in our bedroom). I tugged my walking pants on and exited the room into the brightly lit hall, greeting four smiling faces before dissapearing into the kitchen to ready breakfast.
The morning went fairly smoothly, as far as mornings with 5 young children go, with James waking and eating not too long before it was time to leave. I walk the kids to school in the morning and then continue on my own walk, going anywhere from 2 to 5 miles depending on time. This morning was no different as I loaded Jacob and James into the bike cart that doubles as a stroller. (Their combined wait is close to 60 pounds). We walked down the street and said good morning to the crossing guard as we made our way to school. On our way there, we ran into a walking friend I had made just a few weeks ago when school started. She was walking with her husband (usually she is by herself) with their first grader in tow, pushing the baby in their stroller.
We stopped to chat a moment – I had gone to highschool with both of them, and actually knew and remembered her husband. Mid-conversation she leans toward me and says, “I want you know I do this all the time, but I think I should tell you – you’re pants are on inside out.”
I looked down and sure enough – no pink stripes were running up the side of my black exercise pants. They were indeed, inside out. Fighting the urge to run home and hide I made a lauhging comment of the dangers of getting dressed in the dark. I knew I would have no opportunity to change my pants rightside out if I wanted to get my walk in, so, with head high I marched to the school, deposited my children, and headed off (to the grocery store – as that was the planned walk) with my pants inside out. (At least they were black, and hopefully not Too noticable).
My friend and her husband were heading the same way, and as they didn’t seem too embarrassed to be seen with a women who couldn’t dress herself right, I walked with them. All was going well until we got to the hill.
It is a big hill that goes under a railroad trestle. I have to lean my body and the stroller back so it doesn’t get away from me – especially with all that weight in there from the boys. At this point I happened to be in the lead and was trying my hardest not to be pulled into a full out run as the stroller struggled to get away from me.
Suddenly my left ankle gave out beneath me and I found myself collapsing to the ground. I instantly clutched tighter to the stroller, desperate not to let go of it and send my children sailing down the hill into a ditch, or even worse – a car. Stroller half dragging me, my knee dug into the pavement as my friend swerved her stroller to avoid running me down. I jolt from behind let me know that her husband had just tripped over my back – or was he lunging to catch the stroller in case I let go? Finally my body stopped, sprawled on the ground, with one hand still clinging to the stroller.
“I’ve got it, you can let go now.”
I thanked him and got to my feet. Boy did my ankle hurt – but no way in heaven was I going to let on. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says.
“Ahh – the only thing really hurt is my pride.” And I laugh it off – because, after all – even though I felt a twinge of embarrassment, it really was very funny.
“So, you’re having one of THOSE days,” she says laughing.
Yes, indeed I was. I managed to walk all the way to the grocery store and home again – but my ankle has been bugging me since, so my husband commanded me to get a brace for it. I figure I sprained it.
Oh, and the day continued. Yup. That evening when I was making tacos for dinner, I reached into the cupboard to add more taco seasoning to the hamburger. Only, the container I grabbed wasn’t taco seasoning. It was CINNAMON. Yup. Cinnamon. All over my taco meat and I wasn’t about to throw it out. So I did what every other Goofy prone mom would do. I added more cilantro and taco seasoning on top of it, and hoped it would taste ok.
Surprisingly enough, it did. And the kids loved it. So, if you ever want to try something a little different, toss a little cinnamon in your taco meat – you might be surprised at how good it really is.
That was my Friday – thankfully, the rest of the weekend wasn’t nearly so thrilling.