Wisdom of Little Ones

We were having a wonderful conversation during dinner tonight. Gavin was sharing what he had learned in Sunday school with us. He was explaining something about the Tower of Babel and different languages. He seemed to understand it for the most part. He then picked up a bunch of grapes and started eating them off the vine. That prompted me to ask him, "Gavin, did you know that Jesus told a story of us being like the grapes and he is like the vine?" Of course this was a new idea to him and he and Bennett enjoyed hearing the analogy. The whole thing kinda fizzled out like a dead balloon since it had nothing to do with superheroes.

But just when you think your kids haven't heard a word you said, they say something that astounds you. Evidently, Gavin had really been listening and had actually understood when I explained what an analogy was. So, about 5 minutes after we had the grape/vine analogy, he busts out with, "Mom, Jesus is kinda like a cat and we're kinda like the mice, right?". Since he just threw an analogy at us, it took us off gaurd for a minute. We then realized he was being very serious and had to quickly wipe the smirks off our faces and regain a 'serious' composure.

I asked him if he could tell us how Jesus was like a cat. Bennett felt like he knew the answer, so he pipes in with, "Vuh-vuh (brother), is it because Jesus mells (smells) like a tat (cat)?" We all busted a gut laughing at that one. Of course Bennett said it with dead seriousness. He concluded, all on his own, that that must not have been the correct answer. So, he tries again with, "Vuh-vuh (brother), den (then) does he mell (smell) like a dog?" Again, we couldn't stop laughing.

I could see the wheels turning in Gavin's head, but he was having a hard time articulating how his analogy worked. He then came out with, "Jesus is like the cat cuz he's bigger than us." I just love our dinner time conversations! The faith of a child is so sweet and innocent.

But of course Bennett, never wanting to be outdone, decides to give us an update on heaven. He tells me, "Mommy, before I was born, I was in heaven." I asked him if he could remember what it was like and he shook his head yes. Then I asked him to tell me what heaven is like. Big news flash for anyone wondering what heaven is like...according to Bennett, it is like Gotham City. :) But that was all the insight he was able to share at this time. I'm fairly certain he will continue to spill more information whenever he deems we are spiritually mature enough to handle it.

The End of an Era

Quite a momentous event just occurred in this very house last week. It is not that our precious, little 13 month old little baby girl just started walking. And it's not that we went to the pool three times in one day and its only May. And, no, it's also not about sweet little Chloe figuring out that if she sticks her chubby little finger up her nose, it illicits much laughter from her brothers. No, even though all those things are huge in their own right, they are not as huge as this....drum roll, please:

Chloe no longer sleeps in our closet!!!

Now, I understand that that particular statement might bring a multitude of questions to the minds of most 'normal' people. Questions regarding our 'normalcy', our ability to parent, maybe, or even the welfare of our poor children might be at the top of the list. Let me assure everyone, I've never qualified myself, or any of my family members as 'normal' - I'm the first to admit that we are totally weird! But that's also what makes this family so much fun - you NEVER know what to expect next.

Maybe it would be helpful to qualify why Chloe was actually sleeping in our closet. When, we first moved into the house, my mother-in-law came for a visit and we gave her Chloe's room to sleep in. We didn't want Chloe to wake her up in the middle of the night, so for just a short little week, we let her sleep in her pack-n-play in our ample master closet. Who knew she'd love it?! She loves to sleep in the pitch dark. Every time we tried to reorient her to her bedroom, she'd throw the biggest fit. These fits were not pretty, they were not quiet, they did not end. It appeared to be in everyone's best interest that we pick up the crying baby and put her in a nice, dark, quiet place where she will immediately fall asleep every time. It made perfect sense to us.

If I've learned anything in my few short years of parenthood, I've learned that once you think you've got a kid figured out - everything changes. Change is inevitable - it will happen, you just don't know when. That's the fun of it. So, we knew that Chloe wouldn't live in our closet forever. Just like Bennett actually was able to be potty trained before he turned 4 (my hugest accomplishment to date). So, every time we tried to put her to bed in her own room, it just happened to not be the right time yet, and we just happened to be the last ones to know it.

Well, after only 3 months - she is out of the closet. We couldn't be more happy for her! :) And us too. Because she slept in our closet which is in our master bathroom, Chuck would have to get his clothes out every night before we put her to bed at 7pm. Of course he would never remember to do this, since he pretty much just got home from work only an hour ago. So, every morning, at around 4:30 or 5, he would have to accomplish quite an impossible mission. With stealth precision he would have to open the closet door, reach in grab the right color shirt to match the right colored pants as well as dress shoes. If you've never tried it, I recommend you don't. It's the ultimate in stress. The lighting has to be 'just so'. The door can't creak. No one can make a sound. If the child awakes, it could be hours before anyone gets back to sleep.

Life just got so much easier for us. Way to go Chloe!

The Adventures of Chloe

Hmmm...where to begin....there are just so many that come to mind. Like the 3 1/2 hour road trip we recently took to Oklahoma where she 'yelled' at us the entire way. If I wasn't appeasing her with food offerings or constantly turning around to pick up the book she threw on the floor for the 16th time, she would be showing us her disapproval with this whole trip idea using her voice, only with no words attached. But then I realize that she is only 13 months old, cannot communicate via 'normal' words like the rest of us and needs to be able to get her point across somehow. However, after about the 2nd hour of me being twisted around in the front seat facing Chloe in the back seat all the while singing such lovely traveling songs as "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "ABC's", I really didn't care about her communication problem as much as I cared about the crick in my neck and the cramp in my back. The minute I turned to sit in my seat the proper way, I was quickly reprimanded with an ear piercing cry that reminded me that life, right now, is not about my comfort, but hers - and hers only. Lesson learned - forgo any and all car rides that exceed the distance of 30 miles and or 30 minutes.

This next one is rather fun, but gets old after a while....Everyday, multiple times a day at that, Chloe goes into my closet, finds a pair of shoes she would like for me to wear and brings one out and insists I put it on my foot, right then. She is quite insistent - she will not be ignored. She holds the shoe up to me and says, "Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh.......ad nausium" until I relent and put it on. The entire sequence repeats itself with the second shoe. I'm very thankful that she always gives me matching shoes though, it could be worse. I never experienced this with my boys. They could have (and still do) really care less about what I am or am not wearing. Lesson learned - put shoes on at the beginning of the day and never, ever take them off - comfort is not the important thing - consistency and style is. I especially look good wearing my pajamas with my sneakers in the morning.

A more recent 'adventure' occurred last night....I could possibly be receiving the 'bad mother of the year' award for this one. I need to preface this with...Chloe just learned to walk, unassisted, this past week. She feels she has mastered the art of walking and really has no use for my constant supervision anymore. The scene begins like this...Chuck just arrived home from work and is back in our bedroom changing into his 'play clothes', the boys are upstairs playing 'super cat' (yet another superhero invention), I am sitting at the computer (right next to the stairway and Chloe- key point) checking emails and our lovely little star (Chloe) is 'supposedly' behind me playing. At least she was 10 seconds ago.

Chuck comes walking out to the front room where I and my little daughter were supposed to be and asks "Where's Chloe?" A very innocent question that should not produce terror in the heart of a mother. We run around the entire bottom level of the house searching for our suspiciously quiet daughter who was not to be found anywhere. We both look at the stairs simultaneously and in disbelief shake our heads no, as if to say "she couldn't have". How naive we were. Independent doesn't even begin to describe Chloe.

Our stairway is very open and large. There are 8 stairs before you reach a landing, then 8 more bring you successfully up to the second floor. We climb the stairs three at a time. My mind is already producing ghastly images of my poor daughter. We reach the top in record time and ask the boys "Have you seen Chloe?" Very nonchalantly, Gavin answered, "Yeah, she went that way." Okay, first of all I wanted to go off on Gavin....like, is this a common occurrence, do you always see your sister climb the steps and walk around the corner by herself, this didn't set off any alarms in your developing brain that would trigger you to yell with all your might for your mother or father? None of those thoughts left my mind, however, because she is my responsibility, but you've got to wonder what was going through his mind.

Anyways, we look in her room, she's not there. Then we look in the bathroom. Finally, we find her leaning against the wall next to the tub like this is her regular hangout. To top it off, she has a purple marker in her hand that she is busily chewing on. My heart stops pounding once we find her safe and sound. Then the reality of what she's done sets in and I give her a very stern "no, no, Chloe". For a second, she looked at me as if she might cry, wetness even entered her eyes, but then her mighty resolve set in and she sucked it up and just stared at me. Ooooh, the battle of wills - this is fun.

I would love to say we solved the problem by just erecting a nice little gate at the bottom of our stairway, but that would be impossible because of it's architecture. So, for the time being, Chloe and I are permanently attached. Lesson learned - don't check emails unless I put her in the crib or some other securely enclosed area.

My Brother, My Teacher

Evidently, Gavin feels he has much wisdom to impart to his younger brother and the sooner he gets started, the better. He holds strong and fast to my philosophy of not wasting any time.
Therefore, what better time than the 1/2 hour car ride home from church yesterday to start teaching his 3 year old brother how to draw his letters - properly, mind you. They each have a mini Magnadoodle in the back seat and were using those for this particular activity (for those of you not familiar with all the new gadgets children have these days, this is comparable to the old write-n-wipes we used to have back in the day).

Chuck & I were enjoying a nice little conversation, when suddenly we realized we hadn't been interupted in the past 3 minutes and quickly turned around to make sure everyone was still breathing. We hardly ever have the luxury of voicing one complete thought out loud to each other before we hear "Mommy....." or some sort of yelling/crying/screaming....take your pick. Anyways, when we turned around to check on them you can imagine our surprise when we didn't see anyone in a head lock with the other's hand around their mouth. They were actually participating in a normal activity. "What has gotten into these children?" we questioned under our breath.

As we sat quietly listening to their precious conversation, we decided we didn't need to talk. The moment was more enjoyable by listening to them talk. Gavin was explaining in great detail how to draw each and every letter and making sure Bennett did it the exact way he instructed. He would even say "No, Bennett, I said, two straight lines". Here's an example of what we witnessed:

Gavin: Okay Bennett, now I'm going to teach you to draw a F. First draw one line down.
Bennett: Like dis? Vuh-vuh (brother)?
Gavin: No. From the top all the way to the bottom.
Bennett: Oh
Gavin: Next, draw a small line at the top that goes all the way to the side.
Bennett: Oh
Gavin: Then, draw another small line right under that. Good job Bennett. Now we'll do G

Then Bennett would beam with pride at the encouragement just lavished upon him.

It was a beautiful sight to behold (and listen to). I keep telling Gavin that he's going to end up being the one to teach Bennett to read because Bennett looks up to him so much and just copies him to no end and desparately desires his brother's approval and praise (much like Gavin does to us). I love moments like these! It shows me what a difference we can make in someone's life if we choose kindness over selfishness. They end up teaching me something everday.

My Husband

None of these "comical or adventurous episodes" could be possible if it wasn't for my wonderful, sweet, supportive husband. I live my dream because of him. Ever since I was little, all I ever wanted to be was a wife and mommy. I have my dream job and couldn't imagine life any other way. Thank you, Baby!

Sure, financially we could have so much more if I worked outside of our home. But I don't really want more things. I'm afraid I would be spending all my time looking at my things and not enjoying what matters most to me. My Husband. My Children. I might not get paid with money for my job. What I get is worth more than money...the trust of my children, the peace in my home, the joy in my heart and the knowing that my family's needs are met and I was able to be there to meet them.

Not a day goes by that my husband doesn't affirm me. He doesn't place any expectations on me. All he wants is for me and the kids to have fun each day. That is not too lofty an expectation for me to acheive. He never complains if the house is dirty or dinner isn't ready (or not even thought of) when he gets home or if he has no clean undershirts. And he's already accepted the fact that he has superior ironing skills and that he is the 'all-time ironer' in this house. He is the most wonderful Daddy, too. He cherishes his children! He's never too busy for them or never puts his own wants (a new computer) over their needs (karate classes). I love watching him 'daddy'. We are such a team when it comes to this whole parenting thing.

Since he is a designer, he often gives me the most AWESOME screen-savers, web-pages or Power Points as little thank you's or love notes. I find that terribly romantic and thoughtful. That he would take all that time to design something so special just for me. I get flowers when least expected and little post-it notes around the house. Could I be more loved? I think not!

I don't know what he really sees when he looks at me...but I still feel like the same little 16 year old who fell 'in-like' and then in-love with him. I feel like I'm still 16, just playing 'grow-up' and 'house'. I don't feel like I thought grown-ups were supposed to feel. I still feel like a kid and I KNOW my husband does too. Maybe that's why life is so, so fun.

He's taught me so much! How to make the most of every moment (Carpe Diem), how not to take life and myself so seriously, how to accept and give love. He's taught me that life is simple and that it's fun to play and okay not to be efficient all the time. He's taught me humility and what it means to remain teachable. He's shown me what the definition of self-sacrificing means. Just so that he can spend more time with his family, he will go in to work at 4 in the morning to put in his over-time. He's shown me that giving forgiveness is better than having to be right all the time.

My heart is bursting at the seams right now with thankfulness for him and this is my way of 'shouting it from the roof-tops'. Thank you Baby! I love you perfect!!

Our Batcave

You may not be aware of this fact, but we have a Batcave in our house. Don't all normal, suburban families who have little superheroes living with them?

It sits hidden behind the sofa. Our sofa sits about 3 feet away from the wall, leaving a small little walkway to and from the patio. Also, along that wall are situated two bookcases. Those bookcases, I have been informed (from the upperlevels of superhero management in our house - meaning "SuperGavin") house all the pertinent information necessary to catching criminals. Personally, I remember putting all my old, collectible, harbacked books on those shelves.

The back of the sofa morphs into the computer mainframe where they work tirelessly on all their superhero computer stuff (so I've been told). If you continue on a little farther down the corridor behind the sofa that leads to the patio door, you will soon stumble upon their "workout room". Don't superheroes need to be strong? Therefore, there is a designated place for doing sit-ups and push-ups.

If you were thinking of attempting to sit on the chair in the corner of the living room, caddiy-cornered to the sofa, you would be mistaken in your assumption that it is just an ordinary chair. For when it is being used under the guise of a Batcave, the chair becomes the all important laboratory. I saw my young superheroes over in that vicinty a time or two and asked what they were up to -but you know, it's super secret crime fighting stuff and can't be trusted in the hands of mere mortal parents. Do you think we take this superhero stuff to an extreme or what?

Lastly, before entering the Batcave, you are greeted with 3 little orange sticky notes written in "SuperGavin's" handwriting (therefore, it's only phonetically correct and takes a PhD to decifer). One note warns: "No Grls Alloud". The next note cautions: "Onle Super Heros Alloud". And finally, because of the sensitive nature of the Batcave we are told: "No Gronups Alloud".

Did you know my little superheroes' alter egos? When Gavin is not busy fighting crime is the nonchalant "Gavin Eddie" (Very original being that his given name is "Gavin Edward Mallott"). Even funnier yet is "SuperBennett". He's alias is "Bennett Eddie". He refuses to go by his given middle name and would rather copy brother any day of the week.

I'm so thankful for my little superheroes!!! I just love their imagination!!

Mother/Daughter Issues

I expected to have these with my little, precious daughter in about 12 more years...I didn't expect our first 'encounter' to be at 13 months old instead. Here is the scenario:

We go up to her room to dress for the day's lively events. Since its quite warm already, I chose a stylish (in my humble opinion) little onesie. It's sweet, mostly white, with a large water-color looking pinkish flower off to one side. It has a little 60's flair to it. If we are to be seen today, we would definately elicit several favorable nods.

However, my adorable, already quite opinionated 1 year old, emphatically shakes her head no at me and the precious little frock I am holding. So, I try coaxing. "Look Chloe, doesn't this look cute?" I say with all the charm I can muster. Again, another emphatic head shaking ensues. I decide to test her. To see if she really knows what she's saying "no" to. Maybe she just likes how it feels to shake her head back and forth and is not really saying "no" to my wonderful outfit selection.

I then proceed to select another onesie from her drawer. This one is a small calico, mostly in pink, on a white backround with spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice. I proceed to hold one in each hand and ask her, "Honey, which one would you like to wear? This one (my choice, hence the right choice) or this one (the other, secondary choice)?" She crawls toward me, grabs the 'secondary choice' out of my hand and begins to smile enthusiastically and hold the item up to her as if to say "Doesn't this look cute?"

I am flabbergasted that we are already clashing wills in regards to clothes. I have already planned my new 'modus operendi'. I will simply show her my choice as the second choice from now on and she will think she is choosing the one I don't really want, but, ahh, she would be wrong. :) Two can play at this game.

Insane, Efficient or a Freak of Nature?

It's 2am. I can't sleep. I went to bed nursing a horrible migraine. Therefore, I took 3 Excedrin migraine pills right before bed. Does anyone know just how much caffiene they put in those things? I think I fell asleep just long enough to knock out my headache, but it was a very fitfull sleep. My eyes pop open at 1:59, like this is when I always wake up. I toss and turn and try to squeeze my eyes shut to no avail. Being the ever efficient person that I am, I begin to think of all the things I'd like to get done in the morning before the kids wake up. Then I think to myself, "technically, it is morning right now - what's wrong with getting up and doing a few things?". Most people will get up and read or channel surf on the boob tube at 2 o'clock in the morning. Not me. Do you know what insane activity I chose to do? Mop. Who in their right mind gets up at 2:30 in the morning and starts to mop? To be fair, I must blame the caffiene coursing thru my veins. It makes me do strange things. Hey, but at least I don't have a migraine anymore and now I've got clean floors to boot. One less thing I have to do in the morning.

UPDATE: It is now 4:37am and I am still awake. I tried in vain, yet again, to go back to bed, but my body would have none of that. What is normal for most at this wee time of the morning is imposible for me. I know I will be paying dearly for this at about 3pm today when my children are begging me to play and I can no longer hold my eyelids open. So, what, you might ask, could I possibly be doing now since I've already mopped. Well, I am sitting with pen and paper in hand, busily writing down my thoughts - the old fashioned way.

Teachable Moments

What type of teacher would I be if I didn't continue to be teachable. I bequethed this lesson on my young subjects this very past week. You see, we went for a little outing to a retired battleship. It was amazing, huge, big, massive, old, and full of any and all types of cannons and guns you could imagine...did I mention how big it was? Anyways, we were practically the only people touring the ship this particular day. I was extremely grateful for this due to my large mouth that had my foot inserted into it most of the day.

I kept asking the boys if they could imagine how big the bullets must be in order to fit into such a huge cannon. Little did I know until the unveiling of the video of our field trip to the grandparents that the correct terminology would be 'shell casing' - not bullet. That would be my first teachable moment. I ever so humbly explained that I was just trying to use terminology my children might understand. I don't think anyone bought it.

I then saw it fitting to announce, rather loudly, "Isn't this ship great for protection?" Here, I thought, was another great teachable moment for my children. That guns are best used to protect us not harm others. I was aghast to see and hear Chuck laughing at me as I was teaching such a profound thought. What in the world could have been so funny about this lesson I was trying to instill into my vulnerable children's heads? Apparently, Chuck feels battleships are for attacking, not protecting. I guess its a 'guy thing'.

As we were transcending the depths of this massive ship we came upon a long row of what appeared to be more large 'bullets'. I told the boys that these were even bigger than the last ones we saw, so in all my wisdom, I deduced for everyone that they must fit into even bigger cannons. The boys seemed to be spell bound by my infinite wisdom. That was until, Chuck, who was our videographer for the day's event, ever so subtly (while the film was rolling, mind you) tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a very small sign right above these alleged 'big bullets'. The sign, to my shigrin, informed us that what we were looking at was in fact oxygen and acetylene tanks, not 'bullets' (I couldn't even pronounce the second one properly, I had to resort to my phonetic training).

Well, well, how do I wiggle out of this one? I'm beginning to question why in the world I chose to homeschool. My children are going to grow up thinking that all oxygen tanks are really 'large bullets' you put in cannons on really old battleships. Great, I'm ruining them for life and they're only 6 and 3 - thankfully, Chloe wasn't paying attention so I don't think I ruined her concept of bullets vs. shells vs. oxygen tanks.

But that's not all, it gets worse. Now, I decide to explain to my eager audience how these "chemicals" work. Where in the world I got the word "chemicals" from is beyond me. I explained that they attach these tanks to this really big welder thingy and it fixes the metal on the boat if the boat gets hit from an enemy attack. This spawned a new thought in Gavin's ever deductive reasoning mind. He then asked me, "What if the ship got hit underwater?" Well, I'm already in too deep and don't see any harm in just going all the way, so I draw on all my experience in fixing broken boats from all the wartime material I've read over the course of my life and inform him that they just put on diving gear and do it under water. That answer seemed to suffice for the time being.

I know all this WILL come back to haunt me in the future being that we have it on tape for all posterity to witness. Next time, I'll let Chuck be our 'tour guide' and I'll volunteer to hold the camera and keep my mouth shut. Ahhh, teachable moments, you've gotta love 'em.

The 'Translator'

My sweet boys came into my bedroom the other morning as they always do, ready to snuggle with Mommy. I love our morning cuddle time. However, this particular morning, I was not expecting the little 'surprise' that awaited me. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with poopies.

The boys come in as normal. But instead of jumping up onto the bed as usual, they both stand there looking at me. Gavin has both of his hands behind his back. That's not so unusual. They are prone to come in dressed as Batman, Dick or SuperGavin - so, I'm accustomed to wierd in the morning. When all of the sudden, out of nowhere, I hear my own voice talking back at me and Gavin is grinning ear to ear.

Gavin then proceeds to inform me of his new "invention". It is called the 'Translator'. It's intent is to gather information from the 'bad guys' while they are talking and then it 'translates' it into our language. It is one of the many tools Batman needs in his crime fighting adventures. Gavin's 'Translator' is a cheap little tape recorder we got him this past Christmas that has never seen much action - that is, until now. It has found its purpose in life and is being used with a passion.

He carries that thing with him everywhere. He hides in a room, waiting for me to say some smart remark and then plays it back at me. Or he'll come to me, with hands behind his back, and ask me some huge, important, life question - of which, I'll have no clue what the answer is and sound ever so smart on his little 'translator'.

If this is for the bad guys, why is it being used on me?

Toothless Wonder

Ahhh, my sweet Bennett boy. He seems to be an accident waiting to happen. Every day. This past week he repetitively bumped his bottom, front, two teeth. No doubt, Daddy and Gavin are partially to blame due to their wild wrestling forrays. Whenever I do the dutiful mom thing and ask them to "wrestle gently" I know in the depths of my soul that that can never happen, yet I still feel compelled to say it. It is one of the biggest oximorons I know.

So, because of the mutiple injuries to the same area of the mouth, Bennett ended up with two very loose teeth. We were scheduled to see the pedodontist first thing this morning. The dentist concurred that both baby teeth were indeed damaged and needed to be extracted immediately.

Bennett was SOOO brave. They asked him, "do you mind if we brush your teeth first?" and he replied, "yes, I do mind. I just brushed them at home." Oh, to have the honesty of a three year old. :) Anyways, he didn't shed one tear. He really astounded me by handling such a nervous situation with such calmness. I'm so proud of my Bennett Boy!

The only issue I have with the whole thing is that my 3 year old has lost his first (two) tooth(s) before my 6 year old. I hope this is not the first of many "firsts" that he will accomplish before his brother.

Where's my foot?

Remember the last time I took Chloe shopping? It was lovely, the apple display at the grocery store ended up all over the floor. So, why would I think it would be any different this time? What in the world could possibly go wrong this time? I guess I wasn't thinking clearly today. I don't know, maybe it had something to do with the only 3 hours of sleep I got last night.

So, here come Chloe and I, entering our local grocery store. Everybody runs for cover. We're well known around here by now. Normally, I also bring Gavin and Bennett each pushing their own pint-sized shopping cart, carrying their own little lists and repeatedly ramming into the backs of my heals over and over and over again - that's a whole other blog, I could write for days and days on that one. ....as I was saying...we breazed through the produce section without much fan fair.

On to the isles now. As I was bent over looking at the tremendous selection of prepackaged applesauces, Chloe reaches out and tries to grab whatever happens to be within reach. Unfortunately, it was a large can of cherries for pie filling. Fortunately for me, it didn't land on my head, rather, inches from my left foot. That was a close call.

We are now 5 minutes from check out. I am delighted with our successful little outing. It is well known that 'pride comes before a fall'. I started gloating a little too soon, obviously. How was I to know that Chloe would turn around like she was made out of rubber, grab whatever was in reach in the cart behind her and throw it to the ground like she was in the olympic shot put competition?

I had no clue what hit me, but I knew something did since I was on the floor writhing in pain. As I survey the damage, I notice a can of something (with hard, metal, round edges)that I just put in my cart on the floor next to my ankle bone that is now the size of Rhode Island and getting bigger by the second. My toes start to tingle. I begin to wonder if they will have to carry me out of here on a stretcher because my one year old threw food at her Mommy. I am shocked as I look up and see my sweet, angelic daughter looking down at me like I'm crazy.

I suddenly remember that I'm in a public place and crying or a loud scream would not be an appropriate response. I try to look behind me, but can't seem to muster the energy. The pain is throbbing. If she was trying to hit the bulls eye of the nerve endings servicing my right foot, she couldn't have been more on target. I hear people behind me talking but they are not racing toward me in aid, so I must be handling the pain in a 'civilized' enough manner.

I slowly ascend to the vertical standing position trying to look like all the other shoppers around me - on one foot only. I am now permanently impaired. I feel like I have a ball and chain attached to my right foot and have to drag it behind me. How can such a little person wreak such havoc unintentionally and within milliseconds?