Did I mention that I'm coaching cheerleading again this year? Although, this time around, I'm not quite so "Helen-Keller-teaching-paint-by-numbers" ish, meaning I actually have a clue as to what's going on. And, I'm coaching my older daughter's team, and I'm not even in charge - I'm the assistant coach! Perfecto! This means I just have to show up and take direction from the real coach, and when I do pass on tips and instructions to the girls, they actually have the capacity to listen and follow directions, unlike the five and six year olds that I coached last year. This year is also easier because I know what to expect for the games, halftime, homecoming and the county-wide cheerleading dance competition. So I feel pretty damn good about volunteering again this year! I also love that my kids will remember that Mommy was right there in the thick of it, and was at every game, like I know The Ex won't be.
This past Thursday night, I was out at practice, wearing my non-work clothes, since I'd shown up the practice in work clothes on Tuesday, and yeah, I did a couple of high kicks. I mean, what kind of coach doesn't demonstrate this stuff? Apparently the smart ones, because when I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move. I wiggled around in the bed for a few minutes, and then just barely managed to slide out of the bed onto my knees, and then finally managed to grab hold of the side of the bed and get myself in a somewhat upright position. Pain was radiating out of my right glute, straight down my right leg and ended somewhere in my calf. Oh my god, are you kidding me? I decided I could hobble into work to get my laptop and then hobble home, but then I realized I could barely make it in to the kitchen. Nope, work was not going to happen. I knew instantly I had done this with one of the high kicks I had demonstrated. Couldn't be anything but that.
Off to the doctor, who snickered inbetween writing me prescriptions. Guy #1 sympathetically laughed, as did the coach of the team, most of my friends and my mother. The only two people who didn't laugh at my were my children, little loyalists that they are. My mother had to come over and get them straight for dinner, and that was after my former mother-in-law had to bring them home. Saturday morning my mother had to come over and take care of them, because I sure as hell couldn't do it. Not only was I still in severe pain, but I couldn't really function because the meds were finally starting to work. Basically, I got no time with my kids this weekend because I couldn't function, and I'm really pissed off and disappointed at myself for that. I wasn't able to take them to the birthday party of a little friend (passed that off on a girlfriend), I wasn't able to go to cheer camp (which I really did want to do), and I did just barely manage to get school supplies purchased. I don't remember much of anything else, except I very strangley opted to watch the Season 2 marathon of Top Shot on History channel. Some of those guys were hottttt! And manhandling some heavy duty armament! But, I digress.... Everything I did do this weekend was with my mother, and that was painful enough by tonight. I love my mom, but jesus christ, she was getting on my last nerve to the point that I was just ready for her to LEAVE.
My back still hurts, but I am pretty much done with my medication. I can't be all foggy-minded and disoriented at work, because then I won't notice when someone else is like that either. So I'm just doing the Aleve thing right now, and it's working okay. I'm done with high kicks, though, and I'm not even going to try to bust out the splits for the girls to be impressed with.
And oh yeah, I discovered a leak in my roof tonight, just a mere week before I go on vacation. Not really what I needed. The stress of traveling is enough. I've thought up a million and one ways to get out of this trip, except I committed to it when I bought my plane ticket home. Because that one hundred dollars will not go to waste, and it's a non-refundable, non-transferable ticket. So regardless of anything else, I will have to get my ass to Chicago some kind of way to fly back home in about two weeks.
Lastly, Guy #1 and The Ex met today, somewhat awkwardly when we all decided to eat lunch at the same restaurant. I mean, really, in Chesterfield? What are the chances of that happening? I only wish I could have looked better, but damn, I could barely focus my eyes. It helped when The Ex and The Girlfriend walked off and Guy #1 made a snarky comment about the shoes The Ex was wearing. Again, why in the fuck would an almost 45 year old man wear checkerboard tennis shoes? I'm embarrased that I have to own up to having been married to his sorry ass.
Stay tuned for the roof saga!
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