Owie

I can't remember to buy water softener salt.

1. There aren't any flatbed carts anymore.  The garden center is closed.  Go figure.
2. They expect me to remember to buy it at the end of my trip.  Do any of these people HAVE children?  If so, I doubt they've ever shopped with them.
3. There really isn't room in my minivan, not with the wheelchair and groceries.
4. Ten of those 40 pound bags is really really heavy.
5. They are really heavy.

So, when Mr. Survival decided to avoid annoying emails for work  join us on our shopping trip, I was pleased.  To say the least.  Chickadee was at preschool on the old school schedule still, and miss THANG and Beansprout are already out on the new school schedule.  The older two behaved really well, and we loaded up a cart first thing with water softener salt.  So we wouldn't forget.

I swear that cart barely withstood us dumping in all that salt.  We bought it right away.  Mostly cause we didn't want to pay for a broken cart. Partly because I didn't want to haul that stuff around in a cart that can't remember how to turn, let alone it's purpose in life.

We left the store.

1. No Mr. Survival
2. Mr. Survival won't answer the phone.
3. Mr. Survival won't answer the phone four times.
4. My older, maturer children begin acting like puppies on a leash tripping me up.
5. I arrived at the van and contemplated unloading all that salt.
6. I pondered if I could tie children to the rack on the roof.
7. Mr. Survival arrives, just as I opened the back door and hauled up the first bag.

He gets out all smiles.  I glower.  Poor man, he has no idea what he is getting into.  He thinks he's coming on a relaxing family adventure full of fun.  The kids flit about like pesky little flea demons.  I grumble about calling four times and him not reading my mind.

Mr. Survival tries to save the day.  He really does.  But the kids distract, and I am so intent on getting the cart over to his car so we can pop it's tires with extra weight, I am ignoring my hero.  So.  Mr. Survival proceeds to take care of business by plowing ahead with the cart.

Right over my toes.  Then, he felt the bump, and pushed again.

Four hundred pounds of salt.  I yelled.  I didn't even yell like that when I was in labor.  I do yell like that occasionally at my kids, because they stopped dead in their tracks.  Mr. Survival put us all in time out in separate vehicles-I got my own car nyah-and I licked my wounds.

Luckily my toes were not crushed and oozing blood and bone everywhere like it felt.  They still aren't even swelling or bruising very much.  I feel like an idiot, but they HURT!  I was able to walk, and even handle them fairly gingerly.  They twist and turn.

But running is out.

Walking might be all right, but not at my normal 4 mph pace.  I'm optimistic.  I have to be because I'm a pessimist.  Laugh if you will.  It works for me.  Optimism as a pragmatist convinces my subconscious things are better than they really are.  Or, at least even with reality.

Anyway, any tips/ideas/thoughts on my decreased activity state?  I'm hoping it will be less than a week, given the tolerance I have for moving them and the lack of bruising and swelling.  But, I can't really walk without shoes.  And I'm definitely aware of my toes at all times.  It might realistically be more.

All suggestions welcome!  Hope you all have a great day.

*Photo by Betsy Babyyyy
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