My Mini-Crisis

Before I get into my story, let me just say that I haven't disappeared.  I have all these built-up posts that I want to share, but (1) I am way busy for the next week or so (which explains the 1 a.m. post) and (2) I finally bought my new computer and so pictures are on one computer, internet access on the other, etc and I haven't had time to deal with organizing the computers yet.  But I'll be back and posting like crazy in the next few days. 

Now to the story that couldn't wait.  Dylan and I were down in the basement today (the mess of a room I am attempting to organize).  He was playing a computer game while I was looking up paper storage ideas for my office.  I'm trying to make a final decision so we can get rolling with this project.  My cell phone rang so I ran to grab that and while I was gone, Dylan was pulling things out of drawers and making a mess.  I walked back towards the computer right as I said hello on the phone and stepped on a bag full of thumb tacks.  One went all the way into my foot and a couple others poked me pretty hard.  Luckily it was Marcos on the other line as I started to yell for help.  Unfortunately that made it more of a fiasco than it needed to be.  Keep in mind, timing is a big part of this story.  So I'm now having a slight freak-out session and Marcos is having a major one thinking I'm dying.  Oh, did I mention by now Dylan is crying and screaming too and apologizing because he'd left the bag on the ground.  He's asking things about whether or not we need to go to the doctor or the "hostibal".  So it's complete chaos for a minute.  I finally gain my composure enough to try to explain the situation to Marcos and instead of being relieved that I'm truly not dying, he was pretty upset with me.  Not helping.  The last thing I needed during all of this was a lecture on not freaking out when he calls so he won't think he needs to dial 9-1-1.  So I ended that call and got back to my own little world.  

Now I am doing the best I can to comfort Dylan, but my own tears are getting in the way or truly providing any motherly comfort.  I tried several times to pull it out, but it was in there good and the part of me that could feel the pain would not let me grab hold and pull hard and fast enough to get the dang thing out.  So much for the tough girl in me!  Next thing I know, Preston starts crying two floors up.  I tell Dylan to go up and talk to him until I can make my way up the stairs.  He takes his sad little self upstairs and starts explaining the whole situation to Preston.  Mommy hurt her foot and she needs to go to the doctor to get it out and it was an accident and it's going to be okay so don't worry (sob, sniff).  Poor little guy!  Let me try to explain how I looked.  I had socks on so the thumb tack went through my sock, but it was in a bag.  So I had socks on with this big tack stuck in my foot dragging a heavy sack with all the other tacks in it.  It was pretty awkward.  I tried to stand up to hop up the stairs, but even flexing my foot to stand sent shooting pains through my foot so I opted for a half crawl, not able to use one foot to even push off the stairs.  Who knew one foot could cause so many problems?  And that's the other part of the story that's just crazy.  If all of this hadn't been happening at once, I maybe would have coped with it a little bit better, but all of my tough mom genes went out the window and I was a mess.  I tried to call a million people to get someone on the phone that could tell me what to do and no one answered, which just made me mad and upset and a bit frantic.  

I finally made it to Preston's room and figured out how to stand up , balance on one foot, get him out of the crib, sit back down without dropping him (while balancing) and scoot myself over to the stairs.  Then I held my foot out with the bag of tacks dangling while I slid down one stair at a time.  Got the mental image yet?  The poor kid was just staring at me, wondering why his mom was crazy.  By then, Dylan was gone.  I immediately start to panic thinking my child has freaked out and left my home.  I started thinking about how I was going to deal with a baby and a lost 4-year-old with a stupid tack in my foot.  How could I run after Dylan if he was gone? Luckily he'd gone out in the backyard and I was able to hop over to the window and yell out to him.  

I tried several times to get the tack out and finally got my sister, Alicia, on the phone.  She was ready to drive down to help me get it out, but she lives like 20 minutes away.  I realized what a waste of time that would be for her so I finally decided to just call my neighbor.  Honestly, I cannot explain how embarrassed I am to have had to resort to calling my neighbor to come rescue me because I was too big of a wimp to pull the tack out of my foot, but I just couldn't do it.  She came over with first aid kit in hand and was so cute about the whole thing.  It really was in there pretty deep, but she got it out.  I soaked my foot and put some neosporin and a bandaid on it.  I think I might need to get a tetanus shot too.  I'd better figure that out pretty quickly.  I don't know when I last had one of those.  Anyway, so that's my little "emergency."  It's so embarrassing to even think about, but it is what it is.  One more memory in this little world of mine.