Thursday, August 22, 2019

So It's That Time Again

I meant to write a post a couple of months back, when Middle had shrieked something in the midst of a conversation on a long car ride about how traveling in cars was akin to nothing more than riding in what she termed "death baskets" (you really had to be there), but I've spent most of my summer like this:

"Keep extremity elevated above heart."

Which was, really, why she was having the conversation with Hubby about cars being nothing but "death baskets."

Bert the Pain Pump
For the record, we'd been discussing our car's safety features (seat belts, anti-lock brakes, front- and side-curtain air bags), and I was doing a remarkable job of maintaining the conversation, considering a) how much anesthesia I'd been under earlier in the day, and b) how much juice was still pumping into me, courtesy of the nerve block they'd sent me home under. (Say hello, Bert.) All in all, due to Bert's presence and the two-pronged nerve block in addition to the prescription pain meds, I felt pretty great for just having some major surgery. Stuck in the back seat with my foot up on the console while Middle carried on this hilarious conversation with her father, but really not bad.

So the car is truly quite a safe vehicle to drive, but the realization that she herself is also tooling down the highway at 65 m.p.h. along with the car and doesn't automatically stop when the car might do so abruptly was a bit sobering.

Hence, death basket.

But I was on some really good pain-relieving drugs and didn't maintain enough presence of mind (or consciousness for long enough) to actually write the post then.

The surgery I had was to basically resolve some of my right ankle issues, stemming from severe post-traumatic arthritis due to this accident ten years ago. The surgeon went in and cleaned out the joint, performed a microfracture, and inserted donor juvenile cartilage to help stabilize what had been removed from the bone (eaten away by arthritis, probably). Spiffy, eh? I was very fortunate that the joint did not require a fusion. Thus, home, and six weeks non-weight-bearing and recuperating on the hide-a-bed in the den, since I have to have one-floor living for a bit. I'm walking again, and have progressed to just needing my cane and I'm pretty much full-weight-bearing now, at 9 weeks or so post-op, but I still tire easily and stairs are challenging.

Today, however, was the first day of school, and everyone else is out shopping for the stuff they MUST HAVE before they go out tomorrow. (I can't drive, either. It's all very exciting.) Hubby has been working third shift since the end of February, after he got promoted to supervisor at his job, so I let him sleep as long as I could. Because, you know, we need all of the binders. And all of the looseleaf paper. And all of the notebooks. And pencils. And pens.

So I'm writing a bit of an update now.

Oldest is doing combination schooling this year. It's her freshman year of high school (how did we get this old?), and she's going to morning classes at the high school proper and finishing out the rest of her classes in the district's cyber program. It's a blend that seems to suit her needs for this year best, and she got really excited about the idea when the teacher in charge of cyber at the high school brought it up to us as a possibility for her. She got a little nervous today when one of her classes turned out to be bigger than she anticipated, but overall, I think it was a good first day of school for her.

Middle is in 7th grade this year, and is really looking forward to this coming school year. Her band uniform is one of the ones that has special gold embroidery outlining the initial on it (because she's one of the better players); she's in jazz band too, I believe, transferring from last year; and she auditioned for Oopsies, the select singing group, at the end of last year--and made it. First practice is after school on Monday, and she can hardly wait. She came home with a folder full of papers for me to sign today. Yay, Mom-homework. First day of school, every year, without fail.

Youngest is also in 7th grade this year. She's on the same team of teachers that Middle is, and we had to do some fancy arranging to make sure they didn't share all the same classes, because--as anyone who's followed this blog for long knows--they might be twins, but they are definitely individuals, and it works best to keep them in separate classes. She likes all of her teachers so far, and a couple of them were Oldest's teachers in the past, so Youngest was passing on greetings when she came home today. She also brought me a folder full of stuff to sign.

When did they all get so big?

Looks like it's going to be a good year.