Tour de Chapelboro

This past weekend Team WestEnders sprang into full-on Operation Out of Town Guests mode, as we hosted friends from Maryland. Since t was going to be a fairly short visit, we tried to narrow down the list of possibilities and figure out what we reeeeeallly wanted to show them, for the full Chapel Hill/Carrboro experience. Okay, throw in a little Durham, too, because the first thing on the must-do list was a Bulls minor league baseball game. I mean, what's not to love: a spectacular early-Summer evening, a gorgeous ballpark, a goofy mascot leading the between-innings shenanigans...and an opponent called the Lehigh Valley....Iron Pigs. Yep, that's some bona fide All-American Triple-A entertainment right there, folks.


The next day our travelers were feeling the effects of their journey (which had been hampered by a fatal accident that closed Skyline Drive, forcing them to backtrack and adding time to their trip) and slept in a bit. So once everyone was up and about--and reasonably chipper (coffee being the great motivator that it is)--Husband and I proposed taking them on a walking tour of our little towns. First you park on Main Street in Carrboro and start meandering, until the road becomes Franklin Street as you cross into Chapel Hill. From there you can wander all the way to the university, taking as much time as you like to peruse the shops and restaurants lining either side.

Then of course it's almost required that you take a right turn onto campus and stroll through the shady, cobblestoned paths. I felt almost like an actual Tour Guide as I was able to point out landmarks like the Old Well and the Bell Tower (not that they would have missed it, mind you, but still...). Since they're Penn State fans, we included UNC's football stadium on our loop--even though it's not nearly as impressive....or enormous...as the one in Happy Valley. Alas, one of the planned highlights was disappointingly unavailable to us: the Student Store was closed for inventory. (How dare they! Didn't they know we'd be bringing guests who wanted to gawk at all the outrageous ways Carolina blue and the UNC logo can be plastered onto anything under the sun? Harrumph!)

After all this gallivanting we'd worked up an appetite and earned a nice dinner....cooked by someone else. I'd secured us a table at a local eatery that only I had yet tried (when my interpreter pal came to the area a few months ago). The menu is one of those that features local, in-season ingredients, and while it contains plenty of meat options, it's also vegetarian friendly. Of course, at the moment I'm still restricted to both gluten-free...and vegan, so it turned out there was exactly ONE thing I could order...a salad featuring BEETS. (Um, yeeeaaah...I haven't eaten beets since I was a kid, and I loathed them then, so...I chose it with large amounts of reservation...and trepidation.) The verdict was: still not really a fan--but everyone else seemed to greatly enjoy their selections, so we're calling it a WIN.

It was a fairly exhausting, but entirely fun weekend spent catching up with old friends and showing them the sights. Now can I have another weekend....to recover from this one? Pretty please???

Next, the Guinea Pig Phase of our Experiment...

Soooo...remember that Elimination Diet (From Hell--not part of the official title, but should be) that's had me doing my best to operate as a sugar-free, gluten-free vegan for the past 3 weeks? Yeah, that's still going to continue. But wait! It's not ALL bad news: I've been authorized to begin the Reintroduction phase, where I'll be "challenging" one food at a time and see how my body reacts. (Sounds like some kind of... Culinary Duel, right? Hey...you there, pepper...you wanna piece a' me? Go for it--I'll mess you up! Um...I mean..."eat you up"...whew, I think this nutritional plan is affecting my mental state, yeah?) Anyway, stay tuned for more on that shortly...

I went back for check-in with the naturopath yesterday, and we discussed what's been happening since I cut all the potentially-offending food groups from my life. (Wheat: pffft, you are dead to me. Chocolate: oh, how I miss you! And so on...) During our discussion, she revisited the questions she'd asked last time, to compare with my more recent responses. What was totally illuminating to me is that, while I went in feeling like not much has changed, with her access to the Big Picture, she noted that I'm reporting quite a bit of difference in terms of how my hand feels and functions. Along with the information I shared with her--that I lost several pounds of belly bloat while not counting calories or going hungry in the slightest--this seems to signify that the whole shebang (difficult as it may be to maintain) is working. That is, there was something, or several things, causing inflammation in my system, and now it's time to try and narrow down exactly what the culprit (or culprits) actually is (or are).

Okey-dokey, I'm on board. Let's do this thing! Er...what, exactly is involved? She initiated the conversation by asking what I've been craving, and what's been the hardest to avoid. I was going to tell her I don't like not being able to make sandwiches, but she preempted that comment by leading off with, "The most important items to stay off of are...gluten and nightshade vegetables." DANG IT! So much for my avocado/tomato toast. She tried to smooth it over by reminding me that she'd provided several gluten-free bread options...but I flatly told her that to me, they taste approximately the same as eating, say, cardboard. However, I'm holding out hope that once some of the OTHER banned ingredients (such as eggs), are permitted to creep back into my meals, I'll be able to find an alternative that actually is worth...acting as a vehicle for the guacamole.

Speaking of which, the first thing she recommended we test are those lovely products of the chicken, those versatile, healthy eggs. However...she wants me to experiment with the whites first. Then, in a few days, barring any unpleasant side effects, I can have yolks (Hmmm...egg yolk omelet...never done that one before...) After that, if nothing bad happens from the previous consumption, I'm clear to have the whole darn egg. And unlike every other food on the checklist--which must be tried and then removed again, to keep the process regulated and the results clear--she advises that I keep eggs in the rotation from here on out, to make my life infinitely easier. (After which, Imagine That gluten-free bread, from a bakery in Durham...I'm all over it!)

Next I can give corn a whirl...but only if it's in its most natural state (i.e."on the cob") and...organic. (Oy. Fine, add "trip to the farmer's market" to my Saturday tasks.) Then a few days later it's time for dairy...which the only thing I've really been noticing since it's been gone is the goat cheese I sprinkle on my salads, so that'll be an easy one.  Moving forward, I get...peanut butter. Lately I've been buying the powdered kind, which seems to be the new trendy thing these days, and you can't beat it for convenience and portion/calorie control...besides which, it makes bananas so much more interesting, am I right?

Aaannnd finally, last but not most definitely not least, I cautiously broached the touchy subject of...chocolate. After hesitating for a suspicious moment, Dr. D conceded the following: "Okay...but buy it (are you ready for this?) UNSWEETENED." I sat there staring at her blankly, shocked into speechlessness, but in my head, this: "I'm sorry, perhaps I misheard you, because it sounded like you suggested that in order to satisfy the need for a chocolate fix, you'd like me to choke down a delightful spoonful of...sugarless cocoa powder? Lady, no offense, but AREYOUOUTOFYOURMIND?" I mean, c'mon, what's the point of that?

But then I remembered something; I'd "cheated" last weekend when I stopped by one of our independent coffee shops in town for a beverage and saw these locally-made, all-natural....chocolate balls, for lack of a better description, by the register. The only ingredients were ground almonds (check), ground walnuts (check), cocoa powder (not allowed, but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, yeah?) and dates (check). I had my doubts, and the first bite honestly tasted a little...weird. But after that, my taste buds adjusted, and accepted the unusual goodies as a fair substitute for, say, a Hershey bar. When I confessed all this to the doc, she nodded sagely and proclaimed, "That'll work. You can even make them yourself; I'll send you a recipe." Score!

But first: egg whites. Looks like tomorrow morning I'll be scrambling some up for breakfast...and perhaps lunch (you're supposed to eat several servings during the day, to make it a real trial). Keep your fingers crossed that it goes well. And if so, in a couple of days, watch out yolks, I'm coming for you next!

A Snake Story

One of the things we here at Team WestEnders LOVE about the area we now live in is the abundance of nature we get to enjoy. For example, our neighborhood sits adjacent to the Carolina North Forest, where we all spend many happy hours meandering through the trees and communing with the Great Outdoors. Most of the time these excursions go off without incident...but this evening...I just miiiiight have experienced my very first face-to-face encounter with....a copperhead.

Yep, there I was, strolling along the dirt-and-gravel trail at dusk (I know, I know, Memo to Me: stay on the streets when the sun's going down...who knew?) when I suddenly noticed a stationary reptile stretched across my path. After abruptly and forcefully ceasing all forward motion, maybe 5 yards away, my immediate reaction was "Dang it! I don't have a camera!" (My supportive family interrupted here when I was retelling the story and yelled, "OF COURSE that was your first thought!" Yeah....and.....what's your point?) This was followed by "Hmm....I think that's a copperhead." Finally I came around to "Hey, how am I going to get past that sucker?" Granted, he/she/it was fairly small, but still didn't leave any room to squeeze around, without traipsing off into the underbrush...which just seemed like a monumentally bad idea (SEE? I CAN exercise common sense...when absolutely necessary...).

I made a feeble attempt to scare him away by jumping up and down a few times...to no avail. (Aren't these creatures supposed to sensitive to vibrations? Maybe this one was...defective...or something...) Having failed that, I stood there pondering my options (funny--it never even occurred to me to turn around and go back the way I'd come...apparently, that's just not how I roll...) Then I heard a group approaching me from the other direction...with a dog...who began barking (whether at me, or the slithery guy, I have no idea). When the canine paused its racket for a second, I called out to warn the people--3 teenage-ish girls--about the situation. They came to a collective screeching halt, waaaayyyy up the path, and one of them asked, "Is it alive?" Huh. I hadn't considered that, either; I'd just been assuming all along that it was.

Well, it certainly wasn't going anywhere fast, so I informed the young ladies of the brilliant idea I'd just formulated: I'd decided to...throw something at it. Yeeeeaaaah, that seems like a solid plan--let's try to make it move out of the way...by antagonizing it (It seemed quite rational at the time, what can I say?). Without wasting any more time thinking through my alternatives...or consequences...I chose a nearby fallen branch and heaved it in the snake's general vicinity. Yep, I hit it...causing NO RESPONSE whatsoever. Once the trial segment of Reptile Torture had concluded successfully (that is, without anyone being bitten) the newly-brave chicas came closer to join in the...fun. Bolstered--I can only assume--by my brazen disregard for self-preservation...I mean "courage: and also...non-lethal outcome--they proceeded to also fling objects toward Mr. Copperhead.

So, since he'd taken several shots and not budged even a millimeter, I revised my opinion and announced that perhaps he was deceased, after all. But then...he evidently reached his tolerance for abuse...did a 180 (Why? Heck if I know...stupid prehistoric brain...) and exited back the way he'd come (and might I add, in no particular hurry, either. He was one defiant dude, I swear...) Meanwhile, as soon as he showed signs of locomotion, all of us female types performed a delightfully orchestrated Squeal-and-Leap routine while watching him vacate the premises. (It was such a stereotypical girly moment...for people who just seconds before had been recklessly taunting a venomous animal...)

Then the girls--or "My New Snake Vanquishing Posse", as I like to call them--about-faced and headed back from whence they'd come, declaring that would be quite enough of the woods for them, thankyouverymuch. I was going that direction anyway, so I chatted with them until we were safely back in civilization...um "on the sidewalk" and out of harm's way. Then I finished the trip back to my house, making a note of what I'd learned: 1) jaunts in the forest are best finished by the late afternoon and 2) always, ALWAYS bring my phone, to capture my....brushes with wildlife!

Update on the patient patient

Today was a bit of a wild one, featuring a happy surprise, a measure of good news, and some...well, not "bad news", exactly...let's call it "less-terrific tidings". But let's start at the beginning, shall we? You might recall that 2 weeks ago, this happened:
So since then, our little trouper's been keeping a stiff upper lip, while facing a Summer vacation on crutches. As you would imagine, he's done a TON of reading. We've pieced together one new and two old jigsaw puzzles. He hangs out with his brother when the older teenager isn't off with his posse. And his own friends--who have been wonderful and supportive during this ordeal, I've gotta say--have stopped by for visits or invited him over to their houses for some bonding time. (Fortunately the card game Riley and I picked out from the cool toy store in Carrboro has turned out to be a HUGE hit amongst the 12-and-13-year olds....yay, us!)

Of course, we've also tried to get him out of the house every day for a change of scenery...even if this is only to, you know, the super-exciting world of...Target. But mostly, however many times a day he needs to, he clomps down the stairs for meals, then he clatters back up to relax, elevate his leg, inspect the color and circulation of his toes (which he keeps a close eye on, as it worries him when the digits turn purple and swell...I can't imagine why...) and ice his cast.

The orthopedist wanted to see him back after 2 weeks to gauge his progress, and that appointment was this afternoon. Husband happened to have time in his work schedule to take him, so he offered to kill two birds with one stone: letting Derek get in some practice by chauffeuring the male trio to the doctor's office. This being our first broken bone and cast situation, we didn't really know what to expect at the checkup. We thought it was likely that she'd ask questions about how the leg has been feeling and how he's been getting around...she'd probably poke around a little bit...maybe take some x-rays...tell us the next steps in the treatment plan. So Husband texts me this from the examination room (with the ever-so-clever caption "Look, it's a foot!"):

My response was naturally intelligent and thoughtful, something along the lines of "Whaaaaat?" Evidently Dr. C was both A) extremely pleased by the evidence to date of the bone knitting itself back together and B) equally concerned about the lack of flexibility she was able to coax out of his ankle after its 2-week confinement. Thus she decided to put him back in the boot and prescribe some exercises that he can start doing immediately, to promote movement and minimize atrophy.

Obviously, that's some positive stuff, right there--he can take the device off for showering, resting with his leg propped up on a pillow, and (best of all) sleeping. However...he still isn't allowed to put any weight on it, so the crutches stay with him. Next, he goes back in 3-1/2 more weeks, at which point she may (hopefully) allow him to begin using the boot for walking. We're keeping our fingers firmly crossed for this, as the date falls literally right before Team WestEnders goes to Atlanta for a long weekend o'fun...and being able to stroll--however slowly--will make the experience easier and more enjoyable for sure.

After that, if all is still moving along in the right direction, it'll still be 2 MORE weeks in the fabulous footwear before he's cleared to go free and unfettered once and for all. Then there'll be physical therapy, which they told us is a program specially tailored for "preparing to return to sports" and includes supervised running and such. It isn't until all that is completed to the doctor's satisfaction that Riley will be able to join his new team (already in full swing) on the soccer field....in late August, at the very earliest. (Siiiighhhh...)

So there you have it: the unexpected reward of cast removal...heaps of glowing praise from the physician about how he's recovering...tempered by the unpleasant reality of how loooooong it's actually going to take to completely return to normal function and activity. I think I'll leave the parting words to Riley, who very succinctly stated, "The moral is: DON'T BREAK YOUR TIBIA!" You heard it here first, folks....let's all be careful out there!

How about next time, I'M leaving town

Well, Husband’s out of town for another business trip, leaving the rest of Team WestEnders to hold down the proverbial fort. He had the nerve to pseudo-whine about the fact that it was going to be “120 degrees in San Antonio this week!” (Yeah, he might have been exaggerating…I checked, and it was ONLY supposed to hit 96…the big baby…) but the way it looks from where I’m standing (metaphorically speaking) he’s getting a great deal. I mean, he’ll have his own hotel room all to himself…yummy meals (that someone else cooks for him)…no laundry…let’s face it: it’s pretty much MY idea of Nirvana. Oh, sure, he has to work a little bit, but the whole thing still sounds pretty doggone fabulous to me (except for maybe the blazing temps, but they have air conditioning in the Southwest, so it’s all good…)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch—um “home”—we’re muddling along on our own. School’s out, and soccer is in hiatus for a while, so right now our schedule is actually the least chaotic it ever gets. Of course, I do have to show up at the office Monday through Thursday--and with the teeny little speedbump known as “Riley’s broken leg” this means I asked Derek to stay with his brother every day until I return in the afternoon. The last thing we need is our already-wounded dude falling down, or slipping…or any number of dire accidents a mother can imagine befalling her child when she’s not there to keep a watchful eye on…stuff.

Other than that, it’s more or less business as usual around here…except that when the Man of the House is away, I get stuck doing things that are usually classified as waaaaay outside my job description. Such as: unclogging a toilet. Trust me, this is automatically Husband’s chore…Every. Single. Time. Yes, I know I’m perfectly capable of wielding a plunger….I just refuse…on principle…or whatever. Then there’s the occasional…insect issue. Last time Husband wasn’t around, I had to deal with a 3 Bug Night—and trust me when I tell you, chasing...stomping on…and disposing of many-legged creatures is NOT my forte. (The process involves a great deal of…squealing…I’m not gonna lie.)

We are trying diligently to do our part to rack up some behind-the-wheel time for Derek, since Husband left his car with us for this very reason when he departed. Thus after Derek spent the first, oh, 20 hours or so in a vehicle with his father, it’s now my turn to experience the…thrill?...that is Teenage Driving. And I have to say, it’s mostly been good. Besides, of course, the aforementioned gentle reminders to watch his speed. And once when he was approaching a traffic light that had turned yellow, and I advised him to stop, but he opted to go through it anyway, and it was most DEFINITELY red by that point. “I thought I had more time,” he protested when I kind of said, “I told you so.” Which led to a very short-but-pointed lecture: “When someone who’s been doing this for 30 YEARS offers you advice, you’d best listen. (Did you catch the implied “or else”? Hopefully he did, too…)

Oh, and that one last thing: in Chapel Hill there are certain crosswalks, not at intersections, that have their own signals pedestrians can activate when they want to stop traffic and safely meander to the other side. When someone pushes the button, lights start blinking on the bright yellow caution signs at eye level on either side of the street. Apparently, Derek had never encountered this phenomenon, since he blew right through the crosswalk, with the walkers looking nervously on from the curb, but thankfully waiting for the non-yielding car to pass, and me anxiously going “Stop stop STOP…never mind.” (Siiiighhhh…chalk that one up to a Learning Experience…)

All in all, I like to think we run a fairly tight ship around Casa WestEnders, even when half of the Management is absent. However, there is one thing that is noticeably different: Husband typically cooks dinner for the 3 male carnivores, saving me from a task that I don’t enjoy very much. But when he’s gone, the food prep falls to me…which is fine, in the short-term. I always make sure to serve breakfast one night, which the boys love, but Husband doesn’t. One evening is a planned “takeout” meal, so no one has to plan or concoct a menu.

And often, one night is a standard and easy choice…like pasta, for example. This time, in an attempt to make something I could actually, you know, EAT on my very strict diet, I decided to try gluten-free noodles made of brown rice. They boil exactly the same…they appear very similar to whole wheat when finished…and we were going to slather them with homemade pesto anyway, so who’d be the wiser? Um…that would be Derek…who came into the kitchen before his bowl had been sauced, peered at the penne and exclaimed, very loudly and on one breath(doing his most awesome “picky toddler” impression) “Heywhat’sthis? This doesn’t look like when Dad makes it! Why is it different? I FEAR CHANGE!

Oh. Good. Grief. I might have smacked him with a dish towel…and warned him to “put a sock in it, son”. (One of Husband’s favorite expressions…it seemed appropriate…) As he sat down at the table, his fake hysterics concluded and a big grin on his face, he had one parting shot, “Dad better hurry up and come back from Texas…before you kill me!” Ahhh….with any luck we’ll be able to avoid that, as his father does, in fact, return tomorrow…in time for dinner…which will once again become NOT MY PROBLEM. As for tonight, we’re headed out for our daily constitutional—taking the longest possible route I can figure out, to Whole Foods, to raid their plethora of café selections. Hopefully stopping for all red lights, and watching carefully for people on foot. Wish us luck…

Ya Gotta Have Goals...

So, I realize we're oh, about 3 whole days into the boys' Summer Break, but already I can see some patterns emerging. In years past, the daily agenda has gone something like this: after first having spent some quality "waking up time" goofing around on their phones, they emerge from their lairs--um "bedrooms"--around 9:00 for breakfast. They eat in front of the TV, catching up on the highlights ESPN has to offer from the previous night's sporting events. A short while later, they head outdoors for their first activity of the day, be it throwing a baseball, shooting hoops, or tossing a lacrosse ball around. They retreat back inside to cool off eventually, and hang out for a while before lunch. The post-noon-meal slot is typically devoted to video games in the Bonus Room, followed by a snack. (If it seems like they carve out time to frequently raid the kitchen...yep, that's absolutely true...). Finally they spend another several hours or so outside again, doing...energetic guy stuff...before dinner and hitting the showers.

Yeeeaaaah...it's not gonna go down quite like that this Summer. First of all, of course, is Riley's broken leg. The whole "run around outside every time I'm the slightest bit bored" thing that he tends to do? Not an option right now. Fortunately, he's a kid who LOVES to read, so he can occupy himself with books for hours at a time. And in an effort to enhance the variety of his...entertainment?...we've taken to offering him excuses to get the heck out of the house. "Hey, buddy, wanna go to Target?" I asked this morning. "Oh, sure!" he replied enthusiastically. Uh-huh...he must be desperate. Therefore, part of the New Routine has been to--rather than my standard procedure of combining errands in the interest of efficiency--space them out so that we can take the crutched one for his airing every day.

Which incidentally helps us to accomplish another Very Important Goal of June and July: Earning. Derek's. License. You see, he's had his permit for nearly a year, which means theoretically he could take his test soon....if it weren't for those pesky 60 HOURS of practice he needs to accumulate first. "Well, how many does he have?" you might wonder. Around...20. Honestly, during the academic year, between soccer and homework he just didn't have much spare time to devote to driving--and none of us was all that pressed about it. But when both of our soccer players were selected this Spring for traveling teams for the first time, Husband and I caught a glimpse of the future...and it could perhaps best be titled "too many practices, too few chauffeurs". The teenager reeealllly needs to be able to take some of the burden--at least for running himself around--by the time official workouts begin for everyone in August.

Thus we have very special Mother/Son Bonding Experiences like...journeying to Costco together. (Little brother got to stay home for that one, since we figured clomping around the warehouse wouldn't be all that amusing, free samples notwithstanding....) When he first started his behind-the-wheel training, Derek navigated...hmmm, how shall I put this?...kind of like a little old lady. Nice and slow. Super-cautious. Tentative, even. However, now that he's gained some confidence, I noticed he appears to be developing a bit of a....lead foot. (Hey, Pot, it's Kettle! Shhhhhhhhh!!!! Just go with it, 'kay?) So yesterday's excursion involved a smidge more lecturing than has previously been necessary, mostly to the tune of "You know, the speed limit's 35, here. And I have seen speed traps set up on occasion. Plus, keep in mind--as expensive as your insurance is already going to be--if you get a ticket, you can forget about getting back into the car until you, yourself, can pay it off." (So, yeah, THAT was a fun conversation...)

And that just about sums up the season's aspirations for Team WestEnders: keep Riley happily occupied, and fill in Derek's Driving Log...one shopping trip at a time. Speaking of which, a brilliant thought just struck me! Maybe tomorrow we can arrange a lovely jaunt to Dunkin' Donuts--Derek can be the pilot...Riley escapes the house....I get coffee (mmmmm)...the boys get treats...EVERYONE WINS! (Yessssss...)

Eating...differently...

Soooo, you might remember the naturopathic doctor I visited a few weeks ago, to get started on some alternative treatments for the pesky "thumb arthritis"? Well, I had my first follow-up with her, to go over the lab work and discuss some concrete suggestions for addressing the issue. In a nutshell, the good news was that the levels of...everything...she had them test my blood for, fell in the range where you'd like to see them. (I won't bore you with the details. You're welcome.)

The...other info...as expected, was that she wanted me to try the much-feared (by ME, at least) Elimination Diet. Now, she tries to sugarcoat it by re-christening it the "Discovery Diet" (picture me waving my hands airily and saying this in a lilting tone...of utter sarcasm), but don't be fooled--this sucker calls for some serious...deprivation. (But if they went ahead and put that out there, "Hey, folks, step right up and give the Deprivation Diet a whirl!" how many people do you think would actually stick around to hear the next sentence? Right...)

Anyway, the list of...Stuff You Can't Have (nyah nyah nyah...okay, okay, that last part MAY have been implied...) is downright daunting. For example: no corn, wheat, barley, rye, oats, bulgur, couscous, citrus fruits, dairy, soy, eggs, tomatoes, peppers, white potatoes, peanuts, white sugar, brown sugar, corn syrup. Um...hold on just a cotton pickin' minute, lady...you've just pretty much rejected...MY ENTIRE MENU.

And then...she began speaking in tongues. Well, maybe not, but it sounded crazy to me when she--with a completely straight face, mind you--informed me that coffee, tea, and (wait for it...) chocolate were also restricted during this trial period. Nope. Nuh-uh. Clearly, some negotiation was in order. She might have gotten the idea about what was coming when I became extremely quiet and just sat there staring at her, my face probably reflecting a mixture of disbelief...and horror.

I decided to tackle the ridiculous banned items one at a time. "Coffee?" I asked, "What about decaf?" She quickly conceded, "I'll let you have decaf." Score! Let us continue: "Tea?" She was probably sighing inwardly about her difficult, argumentative patient at this point, but she maintained her professional demeanor and replied, "Yes, you can have green tea." Then, considering that I'd won two very important battles, I opted to just suck it up and live without chocolate for a few weeks. (I know, I know, it'll be hellish...but I want to figure this stupid "inflammation thing" out, so I'm committed to making it work...for a very brief, temporary period of time, anyway....)

So, I got right down to business the next day...and immediately realized just how...challenging...this regime could be. I stood in front of the pantry at breakfast time and stared into its depths...and realized there was virtually NOTHING there that I could eat. I ended up with a banana and a pack of almonds--before making an extensive shopping list and heading for the grocery store to stock up on....non-swell-inducing foods.

Even in the packed aisles of edibles, I found myself picking up packages, scanning labels, and returning things to the shelves when I stumbled upon sneaky ingredients such as "corn flour" or "3 grams of sugar" or even "egg whites". It was exhausting, I tell ya--I mean, even more so than usual, when I'm simply looking for partially hydrogenated oil. Fortunately, I'm allowed some staples that I actually eat quite often, like rice, quinoa, beans, sweet potatoes, fruits other than citrus, and most salad vegetables (although I'll be making my own dressing....sigh...). Honey is also okay, which is what I already use in my tea, as is almond milk, which I use for my protein smoothies.

Whew! This is obviously not going to be your proverbial walk in the park, by any means, but I think I can do it. I had a verrrry bad headache on the second or third day--which the doctor warned me could happen. Many people experience a drop in energy or an increase in symptoms during the initial stages of the body detoxing, before they eventually rebound. But I'm now only on Day 5, and I think things are progressing in a positive direction. My pants fit a little bit better this morning when I got dressed for work--less belly bloat going on there. And my hand? Definitely less achy.

I don't know if it's the supplements, or the meal plan, or a combination of the two, but it's absolutely motivating me to stick with the program...at least for a few more weeks. Then, let's be honest here, it'll likely be "Hand over the chocolate, and get out of the way!"

That Was a Tough Thursday

As the mother of two sporting sons, I steel myself to deal with my share of bumps and bruises. But I have to say, up to now I've been verrrry fortunate that the injuries have mostly fallen in the "minor" category as they've grown up, with no broken bones or traumatic events occurring over the years. (Pausing to tap on wood and offer up a silent "thank you" to the Patron Saint of Active Boys...whoever that might be...) That being said, last night we had a scary incident involving Riley...and a pack of rowdy adolescent boys known as "his teammates".

You see, we were attending the first Team Meeting called by his new coach, to get acquainted with the man who'd be leading our players for the next year, learn about his philosophies and policies, hear important information regarding the season, blah blah blah. After he'd finished addressing the points that related directly to the kids, he released them to run amok on the adjacent field in whatever sort of chaotic pick-up game they could devise to amuse themselves while he continued chatting with the parents.

It was as the gathering was just breaking up and I was walking over to retrieve Riley that I noticed him...on the ground...sobbing. Uh...oh. That in itself was troubling enough, since this is a kid who rarely sheds a tear, and tends toward stoicism when suffering any kind of pain. He managed to gasp that he'd fallen while trying to take the ball from a friend, catching his ankle underneath his body and twisting it as he went down. (Owwwwww...) One of the other parents, I quickly found out, is a physician of some kind, so he hustled over to do an impromptu on-site examination of the ankle and shin. The immediate, obvious good news was that there was no bone sticking out...nothing misshapen...and no blood. All positive things, right?

But as he gently probed the area and directed questions to Riley questions about where it hurt, he looked up and me and apologetically murmured, "He's gonna need a picture, to make sure it's not broken. It could just be a high ankle sprain, but you won't know for sure until it's x-rayed." Ay yi yi. Meanwhile, Riley had not stopped crying, and seemed to be in the same amount of agony he'd been in since it happened. So it was decided that Urgent Care was our next logical step, (or, you know, "hobble"...sorry, I'm still a little stressed, can you tell?) and UNC happens to have one a couple of minutes away (open until 8). With the assistance of several of his taller teammates, we managed to carry/drag Riley to the car...where he collapsed in a heap, grimacing and sniffling.

I then drove my sweaty, grass-and-dirt-covered child to the clinic, where we arrived in the nick of time, at 7:45. The very kind staff took excellent care of him--offering a wheelchair, water, and acetaminophen to try and take the edge off, before whisking him off to the imaging room. The doctor then came in to share the results, and his opinion agreed with initial diagnosis of a sprain. He fitted Riley with a space-age-looking pneumatic boot that fits snugly almost up to the knee, and can be pumped up with air to provide support and compression. He further recommended that we follow-up with an orthopedist (conveniently, there was one right next door) in a couple of days, to make sure everything was moving in the right direction, healing-wise. With Riley having calmed down by now, and saying he already felt somewhat more comfortable in the extra-special footwear, we took a deep breath and headed home to update the rest of Team WestEnders on the evening's...excitement.

As we were driving, however, I apparently missed a call from our doctor, who left a voicemail indicating he wanted to share something additional about the x-ray. Hmmm...this was worrisome (as if I weren't already spazzed and frazzled enough) but it was now well past after-hours, and no one answered when I attempted to return the call, so I was forced to postpone the discussion until the morning. In the meantime, Riley ate a long-overdue dinner, settled in as much as possible, and got ready for (hopefully) a good night of sleep.

So, today a couple of things happened right away: I contacted the clinic again and inquired about the "new details", and the orthopedic practice reached out to me, having received the referral the Urgent Care doc had already sent over. Regarding the first part, it turned out that the M.D. had changed his mind...and was now calling the injury a "non-dislocated fracture". YIKES. Yes, I realize that means the parts of the bone haven't separated, which is obviously preferable...but my brain also immediately translated the last part to "broken". Well, whoop de doo, Riley--congratulations on being the very first member of our family to incur a broken bone (with the exception of my baby toe a few years ago, which I mostly ignored anyway, so it doesn't reaaaalllly count)! Um...you....win?

Yet...the orthopedic receptionist (I'm guessing) tried to briskly relay that they'd already set up an appointment for--get this--NEXT WEDNESDAY. I'm sorry...WHAT? Did you hear the part about the "fracture" and the "12-year old boy", and can you possibly imagine all the many, many things that could go wrong between now and then to make this situation infinitely WORSE? She stuck to the party line, which evidently was "the doctors and nurses think that's appropriate". Riiiighhht. Somehow I find that impossible to believe--or else they don't have all the facts at hand. In either case, we're on our way, like, NOW, for your walk-in hours, thankyouverymuchseeyousoon.

So once more I assisted Riley in hopping to the car, and we headed out on the familiar route to Orthopedia Land. Incidentally, he was feeling a bit better and the pain had lessened a little...but we still wanted this sucker treated sooner rather than later, to allow the getting-well to begin. We saw a very nice Physician's Assistant who scrutinized and manipulated the leg once more, pronounced it an even more specific "non dislocated fracture to the distal end of the tibia" (Hey, I've never heard those words in Real Life...only on episodes of Bones). Then she made the expected-but-dreaded proclamation: "I'll send someone in to cast you now." Siiiiighhhhhhh.

I didn't catch the guy's name who did the actual application of the cool purple casing, but he was awesome. Riley nervously asked, "Is this gonna hurt?" To which he cheerfully he replied, "Nah, I won't feel a thing!" Even Riley thought that was pretty funny, which is saying something, given his anxious state. Fortunately, Mr. Hilarious kept up the distracting banter as he was pressing Riley's foot back into a normal position in order to wrap it properly--a process that appeared utterly excruciating based on Riley's facial expressions. When it was all over, though, Riley declared that the cast actually seemed to help...which is lovely, since he'll be wearing it for 6-8 weeks. That's right, school ends next week, and there'll be no pool, no beach....no running around...no playing, really...until sometime in July. Oh, and our vacation to Seattle just got waaaay more...challenging, yeah?

But, you know, it could've been MUCH worse. And Riley took all of it soooo well; I think honestly I was more upset FOR him than he was. Besides, we stopped and picked up a sympathy Slushy on the way home, which never fails to improve matters. So yeah, here goes Day 1 of Operation Tibia Rehab (aka "lots of sitting around")...and, let the countdown begin...