Dangerous Doings

The Boy and I had a very full weekend – lots of activity, lots of fun and – for me – lots of injuries.

Friday:
Our first opportunity to tackle yard work in Lord-knows-how-many weeks. The Boy mowed and edged, while I played a giant game of Pick Up Sticks. Literally. Strong winds over the past two weeks had left a variety of twigs, sticks and (even) branches scattered around our front lawn.

As if the aching back and sore knees the clean-up experience gave me wasn’t enough, the gusting winds kindly slammed our back gate into my side while I was dragging a bag to the back alley.

The Boy turned when I gasped. “What happened?” he asked. “You don’t want to know,” I told him. “But it’s gonna leave a mark.”

Saturday:
Fun, fun, fun times geocaching and exploring little towns and ranches in North Texas. We also found abundant poison ivy. Poor Boy – thankfully I’m not allergic. And thankfully for him, we have plenty of Calydryl. I wasn’t about to stay home from the party. There were briars and brambles aplenty, happy to rip into my legs and hands.

The Boy turned to see blood running down my ankle. “Well, that’s gonna leave a mark, too,” he said.

Sunday:
Worship and recovery – and ironing and laundry and grocery shopping. You know, the normal get-it-done rush before the weekend’s over. In the hustle and bustle, I executed a quick turn in the family room to set a stack of things down without tripping over a furball. I didn’t trip on a furball, but I did ram my foot into the sofa leg (and from the swelling and pain, I think I broke a couple of toes).

For the record – I didn’t say anything. The Boy merely said, “You’re a danger to yourself. No one I know gets injured the way you do.”

He obviously doesn’t know my mom.