Humble Pie and Where's the Maid?

So I got a call Thursday evening that made my daily business come to a screeching halt. According to the x rays, my pelvic stress fracture is more than what we thought. Since the diagnosis in October, there has been no healing. No break. No relief. Apparently, carrying on business-as-usual has done nothing but make matters worse. This doctor called to say NO MORE TEACHING AS OF RIGHT NOW. Got it. The whole body cast thing is enough to stop me in my tracks.

So here I sit imagining eating my humble pie. Tsk, tsk, I can't really be having pie now with two weeks of not moving. I'm already regretting that lovely piece of cake sweet May gave me the other night in our neighborhood get together.I think my pants feel tighter already.

So what's so humbling you might wonder? In a nutshell we're moving in three weeks and my house is a disaster. Boxes everywhere, piles of stuff (I hate stuff don't you?) and toys. I keep giving away toys and throwing away toys (shhhh) but they're still everywhere. From the couch right now I can eyeball eighteen hundred and sixty two things that I should be doing. But then the pain in the pelvis reminds me that I'm staying put. It may sound relaxing but it's not. Not when you have to move and clean, it's anxiety at it's finest. Throw in a few busy children who make more mess and need you and it's like sending up the white flag.

I shamefully admit that my genetic coding forced me into an obsessive type A mentality. I have always been on the go, go, go. And here I am on a stop, stop, stop. Perhaps it's a good time to finish this and that. Or I could just begin Lent early and offer up lots of sacrifices. Let me emphasize LOTS. And as I keep saying to my family, this two week rest thing would be a heckuva lot easier on a white sand beach with a drink in hand. That's all I'm sayin.