Weekend before last, on Mother's Day to be exact, I broke my left baby toe. It's about the sixth or seventh time I've done it, and so I did what I always do…I carried on. In this case, carrying on meant putting in my vegetable garden and getting the yard work done, plus making dinner and that sort of thing.
Now, while making dinner was kind of a necessity (hubby doesn't cook), you might be forgiven for thinking that putting in the garden wasn't the wisest choice (my FitBit tracked 13k steps for each of three days straight). In my defense, however, I was under a bit of a time crunch (spring tends to be a fleeting season around here) and I fully intended to rest my poor abused digit once I was done.
And then hubby tore a calf muscle at tae kwon do.
And he was in way worse shape than I was, because at least I could still limp around. Him? Not so much.
And so I went from “I'll put my feet up once the garden is in” to “Well, then. Someone has to get groceries…and walk the dog…and vacuum up the dust mammoths…and do the laundry…and be chauffeur…”
It's been an interesting week and weekend. 😛
As of today, hubby is healing well (and able to drive himself!), the garden is growing, it's raining, and I have a whole, glorious day of doing absolutely nothing that involves my poor toe.
Because it can totally do its healing thing in 24 hours, right? Right?
Oh, yes, and we've agreed that in future, only one of us can be injured at a time. 😉