Mummy at the School Gate

Yep, it's still there...marginally better but it wasn't that painful in the beginning so I can honestly say that it's been a bit of a breeze...until yesterday that is. Yesterday, I thought I'd take a spin around town and do a little bit of well earned retail therapy. I thought I'd take a look at shoes as I haven't even been able to contemplate pretty shoes for a very long time.  Just practical ones...ones that didn't hurt. I'd forgo the mobility scooter and take my chances on the crutches  I haven't been out since the operation -and I don't count the visit to the hospital to get the dressing changed and the visit to the petrol station, afterwards! So I was kind of looking forward to leaving the kids at home, especially as BH had volunteered to come home early to take me out for a coffee! How could I resist such a gallant offer? But I wish I hadn't. It was...scary.  It was very scary.  I was invisible even with the crutches.  I was jostle

We all know that personal space is that precious zone that others shouldn't encroach on. Sometimes we allow others in that zone.  Sometimes we allow others in to save offending them. Someone that gets up close and personal feels like either we're being threatened or comforted. The other night I was at a party.  There's someone I've met on several occasions, and we've exchanged the usual chit chat, but I don't know her well. Each time, she gets up soooo close that her breast is rubbing against my arm.  She talks from the side of her mouth almost like she's whispering secrets.  I found myself leaning in closer. She's right in that comfort zone, but it's OK because it makes me like I'm a really good friend each time we meet. There's another person at the party who also invades my space, but on this occasion I find it really off putting.  I move back each time they lean in. I know them well, but they just get too close for comfort and I find

I had a bit of a sneak preview yesterday. It's all looking pretty lovely.  Who would've thought I'd be getting excited over a foot! I had to go and have the dressing changed and was a little apprehensive as she peeled but the layers but once the last layer came off and my foot was exposed I nearly wept. It looked great. It looks like it's healed...and it's all nice and straight and pointing in the right direction.  I called in BH to have a look at the surgeons great handiwork and he peered over my shoulder squinting, exclaimed, "Is it supposed to look all gory and mutilated? I'd get the Frankenstein boot on quick if I were you. You don't want to scare the kids!"  He asked about the wire in the second toe and how they'd get it out...I stuck my fingers in my ears at that point and chanted "Lalalalalalalalala!" in case I heard the answer.  As I stopped I caught the tail end of BH saying "...suppose

I have a left foot. I think I've had it fixed although at the moment my eyes are not too clear and the brain still a bit fuzzy.  I had a lovely sleep, thank you very much but they woke me up to make sure I was still alive.  Did I ever tell you how much I like sleeping?  Anyway, I digress I've never been a fan of feet.  They look disgusting - on me anyway so for years I've hidden my left foot beneath various items of covered shoe-wear or socks.  Ski boots have been the best as they show no deformity. My shoes have generally been a size too large.  I often trip out of one as it's too big and embarrassingly end up bleating "Oohhh...there goes my shoe!" giggle, giggle! .  In my befuddled state I've posted a picture on Facebook of my left foot.  I didn't mean to, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  My foot is twice the size of the other one.  The sympathy trail was delightful.  People thought I'd had an accident.  I hadn't. I'd