A little perspective…

I recall a certain fight that my mother and I had once when I was a little girl.  I was probably about seven or eight years old and I have no real recollection of what our disagreement was about.  It may have been about bed times or a second scoop of ice cream or my desire to watch more t.v.  that night. Those are my best guesses anyway.

At the time my twin bed was diagonal in one of the corners of my room and I remember running into my dark bedroom and collapsing at the side of it with tears streaming down my face.  She did not follow me.  All I wanted was for her to follow me. All I have ever wanted when I ran from a fight was for the person to follow me.

Instead my brother Chris came into the room.  He helped me up on to the bed and told me not to be upset.  He gathered my multitude of stuffed animals and laid them all around me, up and down from my head to my toes and before I new it my sobs were replaced with laughter.  He made a bear dance and a cat kiss me and another animal jump on my head. His puppeteer-ing of my bears and dogs and kitties was enough to make me forget my woes.

Sometimes I wish it was that easy now.  That someone could come to me and make my tears disappear with just a “dancing” bear, full of polyester.  That the sight of a cute face sewn with plastic eyes and yarn for nose and soft “fur” could make me feel better in no time.

I thought I had it so bad that night because I did not get my way but little did I know that things would get harder and that I had it so very easy, all cozy underneath my yellow, frilly bedspread in the bedroom where the sun shined so very bright every sunny morning.

I’m not really sure how to end this post except to say that I feel like crying in my bed tonight and snuggling up with my favorite bear from childhood, who happens to be stuffed in the way back of K’s closet as she sleeps and I dare not disturb her.

I’m off my game lately.  Literally unable to run and given “the boot” (by my FIFTH doctor) today,  trying to avoid surgery for this damned Achilles.  And I mean that in the nicest way… it just seems truly “damned”.

I just hope this fixes the problem.  Six weeks of wearing it all day and taking it on and off every time I have to drive anywhere (yes, it IS my right foot).

Right now a night without that second scoop of ice cream or an extra show on t.v. sounds pretty okay to me…