To say I have been busy lately is an understatement of gargantuan proportions. In January and February I have been away from home 19 nights… not all for total relaxation, but close. Thankfulness is alive and well in my heart, but still, home life goes on and needs attention. Plants die without mama.
There is a relief in the force (as opposed to a disturbance) as Nora’s online school is over. We “affectionately” called it Stupid School. And it is OHHH-VER! What I learned from this experience: RUN as fast as you can from public online school. They do not care about your kid even 1/100 of what you do. Parents have the final say… period. It’s MY kid. Not yours. We endured the 100 days required to qualify for her to have double the time with her reading specialist, whom we love. Now we are in a blissful state of Little House on the Prairie…. quilting, cooking, planting, playing, discovering, reading and of course we are on season four, episode five of the Prairie-thon. Perfection! Homeschooling rocks my socks.
Today is March. How in the world did that happen? This month marks THREE YEARS since my car accident where the uninsured 19-year-old gal pulled in front of me and I hit her good. The steering wheel air bag malfunctioned and only came out one side, impacting my right shoulder. March 2016 marks THREE YEARS of my shoulder hurting every day. I am not one to whine or complain (unless we share a bed) so most people are surprised to hear this news. Low-grade constant pain is exhausting. Seriously.
Name a type of shoulder pain therapy, I guarantee I have tried it unsuccessfully. I do have a few fond memories of quirky attempts, such as the acupuncturist who put a ring of 12 needles in my shoulder and explained the it was called “Circle the Dragon” and would relieve my pain. I rebuked the dragon and called it “Circle the Wagons” but still, it did nothing. Then there was the medieval torture tools that were dragged and scraped on my shoulder creating colorful bruises… all for naught.
Today, March 1, 2016, I endured a shoulder MRI with contrast injection. Tears running down into my ears, it was all I could do to lie still and breathe. The doctor informed me that this was the epiphany of tests and he WILL be able to tell me what’s wrong. Good. I hope he’s right and no more needles are necessary… wagons or dragons.
My 17-year-old son, Keeve, drove me to my appointment for moral, emotional and physical support. I just returned home to collapse and do nothing for the rest of the day. Eight hours til bedtime. Kids, you’re on your own for dinner. It is Taco Tuesday and there is a Rubio’s gift card in my wallet. If you read my blog, you score.
Go with God.
My Sister's Jar 