This site is called iamwhaleshark thanks to my dear mother and her semi blind state and dry sense of humor.
When I was going through a very rough time in my life, I decided to get a ‘breathe’ tattoo on my wrist. I was hoping that I would see it in times of strife and it would help me remember to breathe. But when two child stars - that had just begun to implode - got ‘breathe’ tattooed on their bodies I came to the conclusion that 'breathe' wasn't helping them any and went with ‘inhalexhale’ instead. A logical person would have skipped the tattoo and gone for yoga or actual deep breathing but I am not logical.
Proudly, and somewhat defiantly, I showed my fresh tattoo to Mom who promptly asked me, “Why did you get Whale Shark tattooed on your wrist?"
“What?" I responded, totally shrilly. "Why in the hell would I get WHALE SHARK tattooed on my wrist???”
To which she calmly replied. “Well, it would be rather silly.”
To this day, Husband, Mom, random friends and family will tell me to "whaleshark" when I'm freaking out. While it may not calm me down, it is sure to make me laugh. And that's way better than yoga!
Hug yourself a Whale Shark today!
I don't know about you but I’m OVER Broken Ankle. This will be my last post blathering on about it. Unless, of course, something tragic and gross happens and I feel you need to hear and, of course, see all the gore and gook.
I broke the stupid thing twelve weeks ago yesterday. I'm now in a sexy Ankle Bustier for the foreseeable future and start physical therapy on Tuesday. Doc says the bone is healed and now it's time to work on the muscles and tendons, which, by the way, are PISSED OFF at me right now. Anyway, here are some things I've learned since June 9th:
I'm sure there are more bits of wisdom I've gained throughout this mess of an experience but I'm over it. I can't wait to define life as something other than Broken Ankle. With that in mind, below is a photo timeline of Broken Ankle in all its sexy purple wonder to close out this episode of my life. Enjoy.
UPDATE: Apparently this post got folks feeling guilty. This was not my intent. I was just trying to express my feelings - imperfect as they are. Ah well. This was Husband's response to the comments on my FB page. And why I love him so very much. He. Is. Awesome.
HUSBAND: It lools like there are a few folks that have read todays blog and are now feeling guilty......not sure why, we are big enough and ugly enough to ask for help. That being said, if you really really are stricken with overwhelming guilt, I have set up an Amazon Wish List "It's Never Too Late To Make It Up To ej" that has a few choice items on it ;) Included in this list are the following : Trip To Hawaii, Coffee Maker, Towel Set, Games Compendium, Cuddly Toy, TV, Boat, Private Jet, Butler (English not Gerard) and of course Leather Brief Case with $5,000,000.
It’s time for Husband’s Annual Violation as he calls it. The time of year when the man I’m married to - who subsists mainly on pizza and hamburgers and eggs goes the doctor and comes back with cholesterol numbers that are so low he can rub them in my face - has to drop his y-fronts and get "Violated by a woman!"
And what does that Annual Violation mean for me? Well, I get to hear about the drama and trauma of the whole experience for days and days and days.
And then, to add insult to his injury, his father comes into town tonight so we’re in for a lovely couple of weeks of Husband and his emotional roller coaster. Yay me!
But it’s not all bad because I’m driving again! Of course, I’m driving like an eighty year old man in a large boat car with bad reflexes and a grudge drives but I’m driving. Sadly driving means I have to put on Stupid Boot, clomp down to the car, take off Stupid Boot and put on the one very old big shoe that fits on Broken Ankle Foot, drive to wherever, take off very old big shoe and put Stupid Boot back on and repeat for every single errand. It’s exhausting! BUT, I’m driving.
And just when I’m free to wander the world outside of my window, suddenly things get exciting in the backyard at home. First Woodchuck moved in and we’ve spent the last week watching him dart around the yard and back into his hole at the bottom of our patio wall. Then yesterday, while I was sitting on the couch and Husband was looking out the window he spotted a Bobcat sitting right outside Mr. Woodchuck’s new home waiting for him to pop his head out and become dinner.
Because bobcats eat small animals occasionally - though not the damn chipmunk that is currently sitting right where Bobcat was yesterday - I sent the pic to the local news station that has its studio in our neighborhood and we made the news. This is us above a dead body found.
I’m so proud. Who knew fame would come in the form of a furry beast?
Maybe this will take distract Husband from the trauma of his Annual Violation. Who am I kidding? I can hear him whingeing already…
Because of Broken Ankle, the dogs getting let out the front door more often than the back door, an unusual amount of rain this summer, the usual amount of humidity, the lack of lawn care due to lawn guy getting fired for running over the light and generally making a mess of the yard, and my inability to do anything yard related, this guy has moved in to the patio wall.
Though we delight in yelling “Beaver” every time we see him, this is not a Beaver. This is a Woodchuck or Groundhog. (For size reference, that's Pepper the Wannabe Cat's chewed up frisbee bottom left.)
Right now Mr. Woodchuck is cute and shy and runs every time he sees our shadows watching him from the den window but one day soon, the dogs will find him and the digging will begin. And when the digging begins, the yelling starts and when the yelling starts the neighbors will hate us. Not to mention our wallets can't handle any encounter our dumbass dogs are likely to have with Mr. Woodchuck. Especially since we know dogs will not win. So, as entertaining as we find our shouts of “Beaver!” Mr. Woodchuck’s eviction notice will have to be served.
Since I am still incapacitated, I nominate Husband to do the evicting. He did such a nice job with the 5ft Rat Snake last summer. I’ll stand by with one hand on the video record button and the other on 911. Either way it goes, it’s sure to be a story worth telling – especially if any or all of us end up in the ER again.
Until that day, we will continue to entertain ourselves by yelling; “BEAVER!” at the top of our lungs and then watching the dogs go mental and Mr. Woodchuck scurry away.
We’re really just children in overgrown bodies…
Eleven weeks ago yesterday, I broke three bones in my ankle. Well, I didn't break all three. Dumbass Joseph broke the first one and I broke the other two step-cussing after. Anyway, this is finally happening...
I’m slow as the forty-year-old molasses Mom found in Grandma’s cupboard after she died - and then used. I now have the added benefit of being heard as I walk as both the front and the back of Broken Ankle crack - but I’ve always wanted to be musical. I'm only doing it in the house when I’m in dumbass dog-free zone because I'm still feeling fragile around them - oh and everything else. Broken Ankle vacillates between a lovely 'dusky rose' and not so lovely 'red purple'. And I haven't attempted stairs or anything more complicated than to and from the bed to the bathroom or the couch to the kitchen while holding a crutch or the wall or the couch but it is progress - I am technically walking
Small gentle dance of joy.
The next step (ha ha) will be driving. Now that Husband has replaced the tire on my Smart that he put a hole in last week. Likely on purpose so I wouldn't sneak out and try while he was out of the house. Whatever. I'm onto him.
Anyway, Doc told me I could drive once I could put 100% weight on my foot and I was to drive with a shoe on and put Boot on when I got out. Small tiny problem with that is that Broken Ankle is not small or tiny. In fact, not one of my shoes fit Broken Ankle anymore. I managed to get one on the other night but it felt like I was breaking a bone again getting it off.
So, unless the swelling goes down in the next day or two, I’m going to be pulling up to a handicap space in my Smart, swinging out my feet with one of my shoes on Good Foot and one of Husband’s on Bad Foot/Broken Ankle, removing that monster of a shoe and then slowly slapping the on dozen straps Velcro strips that tie me into Boot. I'm going to guess no one will challenge my handicap placard with that fashion disaster mess happening...
Little things! Little fat swollen dusky rose things!
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me