I can go up a flight of stairs at almost the speed of a person with no history of a fall. But going down the stairs I take my time and I freely tell others that are with me, “going slowly because I once fell.” And people get it. Because, like I said, this fear of falling is common and normal.

So yesterday I fell. And as I was in the middle of the fall I remember thinking, in addition to the obvious, “oh fuck”, “please don’t be bad!” My left ankle wobbled out and I lost my balance and crash landed hard on some brick stairs on my right knee. And what really sucks is that I shattered beyond repair a brand new pair of $5 sunglasses that I had fallen in love with. But I got up, dusted the grass off of my ass and was able to move and walk. I was ok.

I walked up to my friends house where this happened and told her laughing, because I needed to go ahead and make this funny and not traumatic, “Did you see me totally just bite it in your front yard?” She hadn’t seen me and was concerned. We looked at my knee and saw that it was scraped but other than that it didn’t seem that bad. And again, there wasn’t much pain.

The day went on and I was aware of my knee and then my ankle hurting and by the time I was sitting in traffic to go home it was in full on, “OW OW OW OW OW OW” mode. When I got home I lifted up my pants leg and the bruise was award winning on my knee and the swelling on my ankle was getting pretty big.

I decided to take it easy for the night, Mother continued to help with W (thank goodness!) and figured that by this morning things would be less swollen. Except the opposite was true. I woke up to a navy tree stump in place of a knee cap and my left ankle was a huge ball of a dark bruise. Pain was like nothing I had met before.

I knew that I needed to go to a doctor. And oh man, what a HUGE difference it is in knowing you need to go to a doctor and then being ABLE to go to a doctor because you have insurance. I am so used to soldiering through all kinds of pain. Of letting pharmacists and the internet diagnose me- and that can only get you so far. It felt like such a massive luxury to be able to walk into a doctors office and say, “I fell and I need to see someone” and then be seen and treated.

Here is some bit of random from the doctor’s office:

1) I have lost more weight and am now 4 pounds below the weight I was when I had my FET

2) I am still six feet one inches tall and two nurses found this to be, “so cool”

3) injuries on both left and right legs from a fall are not so common and yet today 3 people ahead of me had falls and presented with injuries on both left and right legs

The verdict is that I have a level 4 sprain in BOTH my left ankle and my right knee (not grade 4- at this point we do not think I have torn any ligaments). I was fitted with super fancy and uncomfortable immobilizers that do not come in plaid and given crutches to use as support.

(But the real support is coming from Mother who is stepping in to be W’s everything while I grimace and stay flat on my back trying not to move. She also got me skittles.)

Basically, even though I know accidents happen, I feel like a super klutz.

Next to this box was a small white bag. We have a couple of these white bags and count ourselves VERY lucky for having them. These white bags are the clothes that W will be growing into and are precious hand me downs given to us by friends and family members. Most of these things won’t be ready for him for another season, but I took a peak inside a bag with shoes and pulled out something that clearly looked like it would fit him now. And sure enough, after looking inside the size was right.

When W woke up from his nap I presented him with these shoes and his eyes got SO BIG. As big as the shoes. And we sat down and began the process of putting them on him. Putting barely worn cowboy boots on wiggly toddler feet is an aerobic sport. Thankfully W found the process delightfully amusing and giggled with each shove and tug. Finally they were both on his feet and he immediately wanted to show off to Lolly.

His personality changed with the boots on- he stomped and high-stepped and marched in such a cute way. A proud way. He knew that his feet had new adornments on them and they felt special.

We went outside and he ran up and down the sidewalk, back and forth, many times enjoying the feel and the sound. As a boot lover myself I know the feeling.

W in boots

[and just so that no one, regular reader or friend worries- this song is not about you, it's about me, and lessons. And a photo friday theme...]

This week’s photo friday theme is buttons. Feel free to be as abstract or as literal as you want to be.

The other day I had the realization that I was not bringing any sort of “home team” culture into W’s life. I know tons of people that root exclusively for athletic teams simply because they are born into it. Born in New York and you will either be a Yankees fan or a Mets fan- and chances are you will have very little say in the matter. I hear it is like religion that way. Facebook walls get decorated with babies in extra large football jerseys picked out by exuberant sports fan family members, kids start to love or hate colors depending on team sports…

Since my Grandparents lived in a college town there was much to do about university football. And while I was aware that a game was on based on the yelling coming from the den I could never be counted on to tell you who the players were or even the rules of the game. (um…I still can’t.)

I want to find W a home team. A team that we can learn about together, follow, support, and claim as our own. And if you know anything about sports you might have already guessed which team I immediately gravitated towards for W’s team: The Washington Nationals. (fyi- there might be some autoplay on the link)

Their logo is a giant W.

Washington Nationals in 1888

I was going to start doing research on them before I wrote this post- but that ruins the point. At this very moment I know next to nothing about baseball. I know some of the terms, some of the songs, that peanuts are involved. I have even been to a few games. I got the worst sunburn of my life at a Met’s game in Los Angeles (required 6 shots of cortisone). And I really, really liked the movie Bull Durham.

Next wednesday the Nationals play the Mets during the middle of the day. Cheap seat tickets are $10 each but I bet we won’t stay in the seats very long.  And if he doesn’t seem interested I won’t push it. I have a feeling he will love it though- mostly because he loves a good crowd.

So if you were going to ‘splurge’ on cheap seats which ones would you get? The ones at the top right or the ones in the bottom left? Will one be more in the shade? The top right is being called “Upper Right Field Terrace” and the bottom left is called “Upper Outfield Gallery”. Gallery sounds like it would be under cover…um…right?

which seats should we get?

I’ll keep you guys posted on how things progress- but input on how you introduce a home team would be appreciated!

(and I love that there is an app for that)

I focused my photos this week on objects that were right in front of me- literally. The buns on the shelf at the grocery store, the cookies that I found for a buck and enjoy fresh from the fridge on a hot night, the random activity book that W found in a playhouse at the church down the street. They all have words. Beautiful words with beautiful fonts.

Let’s see what words you found! The theme this week is WORDS. Add your image and the link to your blog and join in the fun of photo fridays!

Speaking of WWTK- tomorrow there is going to be a post about a phone call with movie stars that happened this week. And Sunday I will be live blogging the Emmy’s!

/shameless plug

So I bet you all can imagine just how much he hates being asked, then told to allow me to get him out of the tub. Nothing quite so exciting as a flinging wet toddler that is *this* close to the head cracking capabilities of a bathtub. Because I am human I can understand that he is upset and even why he is upset. He wasn’t done playing!

(Toddler swearing is some funny fucking stuff.)

He began his travels to meltdown-land and I could tell that, even when presented with the reward for modifying behavior, it was going to be hard for him. The bathroom light- the ultimate prize- was not even on the table. But once I saw that he really was trying to calm himself down (which is just so amazing to me) I thanked him for changing his behavior and calming down. I told him that it was making it easier to change him and get him dressed. And he seemed to get that and calmed down even more.

His Lolly offered to put him to bed and he softly asked her, “the light?” and we both agreed that he could touch one light before bed. And then I told them they had to wait because I needed to photograph it.

W touches the light

Ages ago we learned that W was very much an admirer of a beautiful light fixture. Beautiful, in W’s eye, meant that it was high above his head or that it was ornate. If was within reach or ordinary it meant nothing to him. But a twinkling glass fixture glistening high? Oh he could chirp about that for ages. “The Light” was one of his first phrases. And if he was in a rough patch about to go to a full on toddler meltdown Mother or I could usually reach through and calm him down by asking him where the light was. No matter where we were he would stop his screams and search the room or great outdoors for a source of light.

This attraction has now morphed into a reward for good behavior. One of W’s locations of doom is the changing table- has been since his forever. There is thrashing, kicking, rolling, grabbing, and whatever is nearby will be thrown across the room. It makes for fun times when the diaper situation is at code HOLY SHIT. I tried all the tricks the books and newsletters suggested. I marveled at friends with babies that seemed like getting a diaper change was no big deal. Laughed heartily when it was suggested that I just begin changing him standing up.

Last week I saw that he happened to look up as we crossed the threshold to the bathroom for what my olfactory was telling me was bound to be a particularly unpleasant change. I said, “W, if you are a good boy while I change your pants you can touch the bathroom light.” And he looked at me like I was telling him he could have the car keys and move into IKEA. He looked up at the ceiling and as if to make sure we were speaking about the same thing he asked, “the light?” And I nodded my head. “Yes. If you are calm and good while I change you, you can touch the light.”

I swear it was like he didn’t breath the entire time I was changing him. He just looked up over my head at the light in wonder and hope. He didn’t flail, he didn’t fling, he didn’t toss the box of wet wipes across the room. He was good.

So I sat him up, fixed him up, and then held him up to the light saying, “one finger- touch!” He reached out one finger and quickly tapped the light. Then squealed and came back down and hugged my shoulder tight. “the light!” I told W that he had been such a good boy and he nodded that yes he had. And we kind of looked at each other. Understanding.

(Please do note- there is whimsical music accompanying his pasta puppet show- so adjust your speakers accordingly)

Click here to view the embedded video.