Yet Another Day in This Week of Torture

Becky has been complaining about knee problems (at the age of 14) that stemmed from a trampoline injury (don't tell Sam, although he already knows, but still). Just about time it started feeling a bit better she decided to try the high jump in youth group and extended it again, thus aggravating the not-really-healed-yet injury. Seeing as how it's obviously susceptible to re-injury, and seeing as how school will be starting in a few weeks and she'll have to participate in gym classes, I figured it was worth getting it checked out.

She needs therapy. For her knee. We'll work on the psycho kind on the next visit. Oh, wait, that would be for me. Maybe we won't work on that because I'm happy in my delusional state.

So anyhoo, I had Becky, Luke and Micah at the gym today for therapy (Josh was with grandparents). It was an interesting time. Micah got a foam sword at the Dollar Tree and has been playing Peter Pan and Captain Hook for two solid days. He did that at therapy, too. At one point a receptionist said, "you boys can't run because elderly people come in here" to which I thought in my head, "yeh, I'll get right on enforcing that." While the boys were rather on the wild side, they do know how to settle and act mannerly around elders.

This was all in the half hour before Becky even started therapy.

Once she was called back, I was glad to see that it was a rather young man that looked like he had a sense of humor. I asked if the boys were welcome in the back (because I'm not all that comfortable with my teen aged daughter alone in a room with a youngish male therapist - thanks Janet) and we all headed to a room where Becky was hooked up to an electrical machine. At the end of fifteen minutes, just before the time was up, she was so sure that it would stop sending fun impulses and actually shock her that she turned rather whitish and tensed. The girl is no end of entertainment.

We headed to the bikes, and Micah found the exercise balls while Becky pedaled to nowhere. I was ever so grateful that nobody asked us to not touch the equipment because let me tell you, an hour and a half of entertaining the littlest man is not my idea of a good time. The kid has more energy than I ever did, and I've lost a considerable amount over the years you know.

We snagged lunch (Starbucks Lite Mocha Frap, thank you very much) and headed to the church to practice drama for the play next week. I had an appointment to go to camp to look over the facilities after that and Micah was a fun time there. While I ran after him, chased him back, and wore myself out keeping up with him, I was also reminded that Holland is a slower world. While the rest of the group was hiking at a normal pace through the wooded paths to the cabins, Micah took time to step on interesting rocks, hang over the bridge to look at the water rushing below him, and look for fun cloud formations in the sky. I got lost from the group at one point. I ended up carrying Micah back from the cabins, and boy was I grateful for that hour on the treadmill each day building my stamina.

I stopped at Wal-Mart to fill some prescriptions and then had to kill a half hour there with kids who were done being out and about. Thaaaat's a good time if ever there was one. The fighting, arguing, yelling, pinching, pushing and running were a bit much, and that doesn't even cover what the kids did. (I kid.) (But the kids really did all that. If you have kids, I know you know what I'm talking about.)

I did find out today that a Caramello bar is only 1.5 Weight Watchers points per square. After an all-day marathon with the kids, I needed that. I ate the whole bar for dinner. It's a good thing, too. I needed the sugar energy to round up the ponies. Micah was playing with Woody's horse, Bullseye, when he got the inspired idea to let Bullseye go visit the real ponies. It was about that time that Bullseye whispered the notion that Tommy and Flash would probably want to run free and not be confined in their paddock like criminals. Micah was just doing what the voices in his head were telling him to. He stood there watching his trusty steeds run off down the road while I ran after them, trying not to pee myself from the exertion. Again, I'm grateful for the treadmill time. It lessens the urge to wet. Who knew?

I am beginning to think that this is the never-ending day.

The good news is that my pants are are determined to make me into a plumber (yeah! except, um, gross) but the bad news is that I do not fit into the size below without some serious muffin top going on (also gross). I hate the whole in-between thing. Mostly because I don't own a belt.