So, ten days ago (Sunday) the kids were building a fort on the stairs. Why on the stairs? I have no idea. Apparently it's more defensible or something. Turns out that's completely true because when the marauder (me) came to storm the castle, I did not walk away unscathed.

I was heading down the stairs into the den to do a little pre-church crocheting. The kids were blocking the one and only entrance. With visions of knit caps dancing in my head, I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going.

I navigated the stairs fairly well, until I didn't.

To clear the final stage of the fort, I leapt awkwardly over some pillows and landed on the side of my left foot, toes curled under. My full weight, and that of 2 feet of gravity, fell solely on that misplaced foot and I fell. And I fell hard. I took out a couple of presents under the Christmas Tree with me as I went.

I immediately began to do that crying/laughing thing I do when I get hurt when the kids are around. I don't want to scare them, so I laugh and cry at the same time. This time, though, it went on for awhile. They kept asking me to stop, but the pain was so intense I had no attention to spare for them. D, sick with the flu in bed upstairs, heard me "laughing" and thought nothing of it. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

When I finally got my stuff together enough to open my eyes, my kids were rearranging the pillows into a bed for me and had gotten me a drink. Ah, my young padawans, you have learned well how to care for someone in crisis. I hopped up onto the makeshift bed and laid there for awhile dazed and in pain. The swelling started almost immediately. Within an hour a nice bruise had developed. My foot looked like 1/2 an avocado had been laid below my ankle. (sorry, no pictures! too much pain)

I started popping ibuprofen and icing the afflicted area. My little fort architects were happy to skip church and spend the afternoon watching bible stories while getting themselves snacks willy nilly.

Fast forward a few days. I've tried to stay off my foot, but dang-it I've got responsibilities! Luckily, it was my left foot, so driving my automatic car was a cinch. All I had to do was hobble out into the garage to drive my son to school, and hobble back inside afterward. I wrapped my foot in an ace bandage and tried to keep an ice pack on it to hold the swelling down.

Just a sprained foot, I thought, no biggie. Definitely nothing to see the doctor about. It'll go away. Ten days later, after a caroling party, a walk around downtown Salt Lake City, a Christmas party where I ran the nursery and a few other walking-intensive activities, the foot still hurts. Today I went to see a doctor who took some x-rays and told me I'd broken one of the bones in my foot. No wonder it still hurts!! The x-ray below shows the afflicted area. I've got an appointment with an orthopedist to see if I need a screw put in.

The arrow points to a dark area where the break can be seen.The white piece of bone at the bottom of the circle is supposed to be attached to the bone under the arrow. It looks small, I know, but it's surprisingly painful.

If you know me, you know I don't do things by halves. Including, apparently, leaping down the stairs and spraining my foot. I wonder if I'll beep when going through the airport scanners now?

What is it about doctors? I respect and fear them. I follow their commands to the letter. I'm just so grateful that they have time to see me on short notice.

Last night the Princess had a fever and a headache, along with a cough and a pitiful demeanor. Of course, like most kid illness it didn't occur during normal business hours. The fever this didn't come on until 2 am and lasted the rest of night. Neither of us got much sleep last night. Why do kids always get sick in the middle of the night? So, I was biding my time this morning until the doctor's office opened and I could make her an appointment.

The call for the appointment seems a little silly, too. I call, repentant, like Oliver Twist...please, ma'am, could I have an appointment? She checks schedules. I'll take anything--with any doctor. She's found one and I immediately grab it, like a cold war Russian standing in a breadline, I'm worried that if I don't take what they offer I'll be walking home in the snow with nothing to eat. So, I say "Yes! I can be there in 15 minutes, don't give away my exam table!" I rush the Pumpkin to school and then scoot poor Princess to the doctor's office.

Of course, she throws-up the full cup of OJ that she drank this morning all over herself, her car seat, and her hippo. And when I look for the change of clothes I keep in the car, it's not there. But there's no time! So, I strip her down in the hospital parking lot, throw the "car blanket" around her, and hustle her inside.

Now, I medicated the Princess last night, but hesitated to give her more in the morning. I could see she was miserable, but wanted to get her an appointment before I gave her more. There's nothing like heading into the doctor's office with a kid who is medicated. They feel so much better that they're laughing, singing, climbing all over the furniture. You look at the doctor with pleading eyes, claiming "She was miserable and lethargic all night long, I promise!!" The other moms in the waiting room give you that accusing look--how dare you waste the doctor's time with an obviously healthy child when my son is on death's door!

No, the best thing to do is to show up sick.

After throat swabs, finger sticks, blood cultures and a urine analysis they've got nada. "We can see she's sick, and she looks just awful, but she probably has a virus on top of a bad cold. There's nothing we can do right now."

Blah. Well, at least we know she doesn't have strep, diabetes, or a UTI. After a nap, a popsicle, and ibuprofen she's doing a little better, although still glassy eyed and fevery, shes smiling and keeping down crackers.

Baby steps.