In a few days, I’ll be sitting around the house with my feet propped up. It won’t matter if the kids want their dinner or if they can’t find a favorite shirt or if they need a ride. I won’t be doing it. I wish it were because I am going on a nice, well-deserved vacation.
But instead, I’ll be sitting around because I have to have foot surgery. For years, I’ve been bothered by an extra piece of bone in my foot and now the time has come to have it removed.
I don’t know how everyone is going to get along without me, but I’m about to find out.
I won’t be the one picking the shoes off the floor and putting them in the closet. I won’t be making the beds or cleaning the bathrooms. I won’t going to the basement to feed the cat and empty the litter box. I won’t be walking the dog or feeding the gerbil. (The SPCA might want to check on the animals to make sure they are alive after a few days).
The doctors say for two weeks I am to do nothing but sit with my feet up. If it weren’t for the prospect of the pain, this sounds like a great vacation. Or maybe not. I have a feeling I’m going to have to learn to tolerate more dirt and disorder. My kids are going to have to learn to do a lot more for themselves.
It’s going to be an interesting experiment. Wish me luck.