One day after I raved to Ryan about how awesome the kids are and how they NEVER EVER cross the invisible line that separates our front yard from the scorpion infested woods of certain unfavorable wildlife encounter on the next lot over, I was standing on my front porch watching them run around and enjoy the unseasonably pleasant weather.
Not surprisingly, Charlie crossed over the line. I yelled for him to come back and he did, but not before his understudy had taken notice. Wes, barefoot like me (because apparently this is Huckleberry Finn), headed for the woods shrieking and laughing. And ignoring me and my warnings about scorpions and snakes.
So I jumped off the side of our porch (not as dramatic as it sounds--it's about a foot high) to go after him. And landed with my left foot on a steel landscaping barrier that was buried in the grass (not buried enough, we now know). My foot slid across the metal a little after the initial impact and I ended up on my hands and knees in the grass, trying my hardest not to yell obscenities. Because oh my head that hurt like a %$%#@$%$er. And I still had to get Wes.
So I limped after him, yelling in a not-so-patient tone to GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW. Then dragged everyone inside and turned on the TV so I could call LabMama to tell her all about how I had figured it out, in that split second I was lying on the grass before I realized that I had NOT sliced my foot open clear down to the bone. She would come over and watch my kids so I could heroically drive myself to the emergency room, all without ever bothering Ryan at work. And then when he came home from work I would be preparing a lovely dinner while hopping around on one foot.
I also debated whether I would have asked her to retrieve a bra for me from upstairs.
She was appropriately sympathetic. Ryan thought the whole thing was hi-lar-i-ous. I even led him outside to show him the evil piece of metal he would be spending the whole weekend digging up and he was totally unmoved. Charlie pointed to it and told Ryan gravely, "Donnnn't step on that. That will hurrrrt your fooooot."
If only I had some stitches to prove it instead of the unimpressive and barely visible red line that is there now. It doesn't do the persistent ache that's been there all day justice.
And now he's just gotten a freaking AARON NEVILLE song stuck in my head. Oh no, ladies, he's ALL mine.
UPDATE: Ryan would like me to explain to you that he didn't think me hurting myself was funny, what he found so hilarious was the "old world ethnic Brooklyn accent" he claims I was using as I described the injury. He thought it was particularly funny in light of the fact that I had made corn fritters for dinner.