Thursday, July 23, 2009


Once again, I'm telling you I'm not patient.

So many people meet me with my flock of kids and then say how patient I am, well, I'm not. I'm really, really not.

I bet if you asked my kids they would say one of the things I say most in a day, besides "No!", "Stop touching.", and "We share and take turns." would be, "Hurry up!".

I'm forever being impatient. Often it's just the little version of lets not be overly late. I'll confess that in my life prior to kids, I was a compulsive punctual. In fact, I was normally early. Alarmingly early.

Being a parent has tempered that somewhat.

Now, I'm just impatient about other things.

I'm not good at waiting for things to take place or get scheduled. For example, when I call the clinic, I want to make the appointment. Inside my head it is completely beyond my capacity to understand how a clinic would have a computer scheduling system that only gives 3 months at a time. Especially when you have an appointment and then they tell you to set the follow up for 6 months out. If you're there with kids and these appointments are for the kids, how can you possibly remember to call the clinic in 3 months to make an appointment for another 3 months out? Insane. But, that's the way it works.

In fact, I just had this happen with one of the clinics at Children's. They sent me a note in the mail to tell me to call them to schedule an appointment for one of the kids. So I followed instructions like a good little sheep and called. Their scheduling person was on vacation for a week. Hello? What? You only have one person in the office that can make an appointment? Okay. So I left my information with the receptionist who thought I had a problem because I though this was insane. A week later they called me back. I missed it.

Now we're playing phone tag. For a week. Again. Crazy.

Finally we get on the phone with each other to schedule this appointment that they're requesting. It turns out the schedule is full until October, but wouldn't you know, October is not available in the computer yet, so she can't schedule my appointment yet. She'll take my information and call me in a few months to schedule the appointment. Huh?? Are we not just right back where we started when you sent me the letter in the mail in the first place???

I'm impatient about things I have no control over and simply have to wait to see how God will work it all out. Like Little One's sisters. I thought I might know what the decision was last week, even though I knew that was a ridiculous long shot. Then I set my sights foolishly on this week, knowing full well, it would most likely not be. In all reality, I know that I won't know until the very moment it happens. It will probably be a scenario that runs something like a late afternoon phone call to say would you take them, great, we're on our way with them. If I had to put a date on it all, I'd say the last week of August or first week of September, because that's when everyone is pushed into a deadline because of the start of school.

I'm also incredibly impatient with myself. It's part of the reason I don't have anything in print. I have the same mindset as my son. I should just be able to sit down, pour out the words and have it be press worthy. This nonsense of writing and rewriting is for others, not me. And yet, it's funny, as I'm not that delusional to think I'm something special in the writing department or that "real" authors don't really work hard at their craft and write and rewrite. I know that's the way it works and still I'm just too impatient to put the full effort into it.

It's the same with my physical self, whether it's getting in shape, staying in shape or healing up from something. I always try to rush the time frame. Today I'm paying the price. It was only one month ago that I fell down the stairs and sprained my ankle. I was supposed to stay off it totally for something like 48 hours. I think I made it 24. Then I was to wear the big blue boot, use the crutches and stay off it for a week or so. I made it a day or two before I was "cheating" with some little hop steps and one crutch. By around 10 days out, I had tossed the crutches, ditched the boot and was back to carrying the baby up and down the stairs.

Yes, of course there was a price, but I've been shaking it off and taking some Tylenol and calling it even. So what if my foot swells up. So what if there are some really ugly bruises. Who cares that it still only bends in certain directions. No big deal. It's a little better every day and it'll just keep on getting better.

At least that's the story I've been telling myself.

Today, I'll confess. Impatient might not have been the best way to go. I'm one month out and it's still doing some wild things. Today when I got up, there were new black spots on my foot. And it hurts in new places, and it's traveling too. Up my leg, into my back. Oh the fun of not being 20 anymore. These are the things we used to just shake off and laugh at and be back to normal in a day or two. Oh the penalty of not staying in the best shape possible.

So today, in between doing all my regular life stuff, I'll be a little more gentle with it. When or if I get to sit down, I'll rest my foot a little more than I have been. I'll make a few less trips up and down the steps. Maybe.

Maybe not.

Life doesn't stand still because mom's ankle is sore. I'll still be making the drive this weekend to pick up the big white van. I'll still be captain chauffeur to all the camps and lessons and whatever this week. We'll still have a Saturday morning baseball game and an afternoon J.K. Lee picnic. The kids will still want to swim at the pool on Saturday.

And I'll still be the mom. Limpy or not. And I'll still be impatient.

Alright, I'm done. We'll be having no more whine about this stupid ankle of mine.

Moving on.

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