Uniquely Gifted

I am uniquely gifted, you guys. I hope you are listening closely. I have the rare gift of brilliant, shiny, stubborn independence. Take note here. I would rather die than ask for assistance of any kind. Do not help me. I do not want your help. I have all the things under control. All the time.

I did think about learning my lesson one time...

In the fall of 2009, Ryan was slated for a twelve month deployment to Iraq. Aaron was not quite two years old, and he still rather refused to sleep through all the nights. One particular night in early October, I was returning him to his bed without the assistance of light for my path. I thought I was on the landing and firmly planted my right foot, but unfortunately I was midstep on the stair and started to trip. I quickly turned my body so I wouldn't fall directly on my son and together we fell to the landing. I instantly knew something was not right. Pain. In my right foot. Instant nausea. Aaron, smartly, ran off to bed while I proceeded to roll around on the floor for awhile like all reasonable people do at 0300. I then painfully, gingerly, hobbled/crawled back to bed. Later that morning we would find out that I had my first broken bone.

Ryan left us 7 days later.

Now. What is a single mother of two children under the age of four going to do in a multi level house with no relatives and a broken foot?

If you answered - "Go crazy." Yes. Certainly that is quite right, quite right.

If you answered - "Cry." Certainly tears were shed over the situation.

If you answered - "Ask for help." I'm going to have to go ahead and give a thumbs down on that one.

I asked the doctor for a special shoe so that I could drive the short distance to the store for groceries. He wasn't keen but he acquiesced. He said I needed to use my left foot for both pedals. Hum, quite a conundrum if you've never tried it.

I parked myself on the middle level for sleeping.

I bought a stool on wheels from Harbor Freight to support my right knee and zipped around the main floor which housed the kitchen, laundry room, the boys' bedrooms and a full bathroom.

I decided absolutely unequivocally I would proceed to potty train Aaron because I have strict, very strict, rules about waiting a day past 24 months to begin. Oh. Mylanta. Aaron's will is almost as strong as my own. (Hence why you do not wait past 24 months because children know it is a battle of wills at this point rather than simply accepting the fact that humans void on a toilet and not in our pants.) I chased that naked-from-the-waist down boy all over the place while he gleefully left a trail of pee for me to roll through; simultaneously, unbeknownst to me, Noah sprayed Pledge all over the kitchen floor.

Do you know how slippery that might possibly be?

Yeah. Me neither.

Until I sailed after Aaron, crutches tap tapping.

Crutches went opposite directions. Stool continued without me. Ohmaword. Just. Ohmaword.

(But. That boy was fully trained in two weeks time and we never had to look back.)

A few days later it was the first of the trash days. Now. Our house sat lower than the street which means the bin would have to go uphill. In hindsight, I would have definitely attempted this under cover of night but that is what got us in this mess to begin with. I can only imagine the field day the neighbors had watching this. Popcorn for ten.

I contemplated the stool, the bin, the crutches.

Strategy locked and loaded.

Attempt #1 - terrible.

Logistics are not a strength. Duly noted.

Attempt #2

As I approach the incline, I realize that I can't actually push the bin, while using the stool and one crutch. It would have to be a pulling strategy. But how to propel myself forward while balancing and pulling the bin at a tipping level but not too low....

Lost the bin. Fail.

Sit down on the hill. Rethink my life to this point.

I will not be bested.

I reclaim the bin and contents and drag that puppy up like a boss. And when I say "boss" I mean like an angry, stool-less, crutch-less rabbit hopping on one leg. Bless it.

I will leave out the part of the story where next all three of us got the flu.... Vomit. Lots of it. Pee. Gnashing of teeth. Double bless it.

I'd like to say I completely learned my lesson.

Ask for help. Accept help. And all the people said "Amen."

But, no, I'm still struggling. Still. Help me out, friends, wordlessly come alongside and just do what I'm doing. Hop, slide, chase. I'm not brave enough to ask you. You will have to be brave enough for the both of us.