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Well, let me start by saying Friday’s experiment did not go well. It turns out I can not STAND too much uncontrolled chaos. I’m great for controlled chaos; but the toys in every room, dogs eating crayons left out during art projects and kids building forts out of blankets and furniture is not my kind of chaos. Give me fingerpainting on the table or sidewalk chalk on the driveway – small portions of controlled chaos – any day of the week. Full-reign insanity? No, thank you. Some of the toughest trials in motherhood is finding out that just because another Mother does it, and does it well? Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s for you. AND THAT’S OKAY.

Now…onto the weekend from hell. When my in-laws came over for dinner last night, we spent the first 30 minutes discussing the long list of injuries our children had sustained in the last 48 hours. It was one of those weekends. This was how adorable my son was Sunday morning. And by “adorable” I mean “so pitiful it will break your heart.”

But that? Was a HUGE improvement to Saturday when he wouldn’t walk at all and opted instead to scoot/crawl anywhere he needed to go.

See…on Friday night (while I was picking up LilZ from the mall) AndyZ evidently decided to jump off the coffee table. MrZ says he landed flat on his feet but that he immediately grabbed his right leg and was all, “OOOOOOWWWWW!” I got home a short while later and he was still in a bit of pain. No swelling, no bruising, but he wouldn’t put any weight on it. He eventually fell asleep and we decided if he was hurt too bad he wouldn’t be able to sleep. The next morning when he woke up? He still wouldn’t put weight on it. And when I did the Smoosh Parts Of The Leg test where you try to find exactly where it hurts? He screamed bloody murder when I touched his shin. I decided we should head to the ER.

After two sets of X-Rays it was decided he hadn’t broken anything and that he had a hefty sprain. Where? They don’t know. Without swelling, bruising, or consistent responses to pain in a specific area – impossible to tell. But, we were supposed to keep giving him ibuprofen and to encourage, but not FORCE him to walk. Saturday? There was no walking because the only way we could get him to take any steps was to hold his hand and…well…force him to walk. So, he whined/fussed/moaned a lot and was carried a lot. It was so sad.

Sunday morning he did better, which was what I recorded above. He started walking holding on to walls and furniture, and by the end of the day it was just a wobble/limp slowing him down. I’m expecting him to be 100% by the time we leave for the half-marathon in Orlando on Thursday night. (He’s staying here since a 10 minute car ride makes him miserable – so an 11-hour one was out of the question.)

NikkiZ had her own set of issues with an gingivital abscess erupting in her mouth. Supposedly they grow from some sort of trauma (scratch, cut, etc) but we can’t pinpoint any one incident recently that could have started it. She falls down a lot. Not necessarily because she’s clumsy, but because she’s insane. She’s constantly doing some sort of crazy run/dance/flip routine that has her crashing into people, animals and furniture. Who knows. And the other injury? When she survived the attack from Lord Voldemort, of course.

She tells the story like this, “I was riding on brother’s shoulders and I couldn’t say, ‘red light!’ so I ran into a tree.” Hee. She was on his shoulders and a freaky stray branch from a very small tree got her in the face. He felt awful, especially when she came out wearing a huge bandaid over the scratch.

It’s been a rough weekend. I just paused writing this entry as AndyZ woke up (it’s 4:50 am) so I did the thing I always do. I made him some yogurt and we sat on the couch to cuddle and eat. WE DO THIS EVERY MORNING. Maybe it’s his leg, maybe it’s a case of the Mondays – but he is cranky and is starting the week/day off great by screaming for yogurt, “MORE YOGURT!” but then when I go to feed him he says, “NO YOGURT!” and shakes his head. Over and over and over again. AND OVER AGAIN SOME MORE. When I threaten to throw it away he says, “No, Mommy! More yogurt!” Wash. Rinse. Repeat. TIMES 90 MILLION. Fast-forward 45 minutes (or has it been 23 years?) and the cycle is still going.

It’s going to be a long day. But I guess as long as we make it through without any more injuries? Then it’s better than the weekend. Right?

Injuries to my own sanity of course, don’t count.