If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eyed Joe

So I believe I mentioned in my last post that doing the Cotton-Eyed Joe in three-inch heels – after several glasses of wine – wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever tried to do.  And lo, I was right.  It took a couple of days to fully manifest, but it seems I have done something to my left foot.  It currently hurts like a son of a bitch.

I’m not a wuss, I swear.  My mother has described my tolerance for pain as “freakishly high”.  I can deal with most anything.  (Which is good, because I have klutzy tendencies and am constantly bumping into things, tripping over my own feet, falling down, cutting myself on gum wrappers and shampoo bottles and basically being an all-around spaz.)  I mean, I might whine about it but that’s mostly because I’m an attention whore.

Ninety percent of the shoes I wear on a regular basis are blindingly uncomfortable because like Grandma always says, you have to hurt to be pretty.  So I am quite accustomed to foot pain.  Whatever’s going on now, however, is a different story.  I noticed a few days ago that it’s swollen and slightly bruised, and while it doesn’t hurt if I’m just standing there, as soon as I bend my toes there’s a shooting pain all along the top of my foot.  And the really weird thing is, it feels better if I’m wearing heels than if I’m just barefoot.  I have no idea what kind of injury that could be.

Oh well, it doesn’t really matter since I don’t plan on going to the doctor about it anyway.  Either it will get better or my foot will fall off.  Whichever.

Old People:  Worse Than Kids

Over the weekend I took the kids (well, technically I took Miss T since AE was already with my parents) to my folks’ retirement house near Austin.  My grandma’s 91st birthday is in a couple of days, and Austin is kind of a central meeting point for her family from San Angelo to come visit.  N couldn’t go because he was swamped at work, and I think he got the better deal, honestly.

I had a good time, but these days dealing with my grandmothers is an awful lot like herding cats.  Or trying to keep a whole gaggle of little kids from running into the road.    I love them to death, but GAH.  They’re always trying to help, but end up being underfoot instead.  My mother, aunt and I spent two solid days just saying “No!  Go sit down!  We’ve got it!  Stop helping!”

One grandma wants so badly for Miss T to sit in her lap ALL THE TIME, but of course an active 19-month-old isn’t interested in quietly sitting with an 88-year-old woman.  The other grandma is deaf as a post so she just never knows what’s going on.  Let me tell you, once my grandma’s 85-year-old brother and wife arrived on Saturday, it was just a festival of speciality all over the place.

Speaking of special, you don’t know fun until you hear two old ladies quibbling over Skip-Bo.  It’s cutthroat, y’all.  They don’t mess around.

A Most Irritating Phase

AE has been SO WHINY lately.  He whines about everything.  He doesn’t want to go to bed.  He DOES want to go to bed, I’m so tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired.  The bath water is too hot, the bath water is too cold, MOM YOU GOT WATER IN MY EYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES.  He’s sick of playing Wii, he wants to play Wii some more, I hardly got to plaaaaaaaaaaaaay.  He doesn’t want to watch Finding Nemo again, he wants to watch Garfield (again), even though he isn’t paying attention to it anyway.  He doesn’t like THOSE sheets on his air mattress at Nonna’s house, he wants the other sheets.  Even though he doesn’t sleep under the sheets.  Oh, and he doesn’t want THAT blanket, no, not THAT BLANKET EITHER.  THE OTHER BLAAAAAAAAAAAAANKET.  Where’s my stuffed dolllllllllllllllllphin?  Where’s my booooooooooook?  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!

Please, please let this be a phase.  Because quite frankly I’m at the end of my rope and a little siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick of the constant whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiining.