As I frantically went about the day's happenings amidst my husband's mancold-turned-meningitis-scare that ended with him anxiously awaiting a lumbar puncture for hours in true emergency room fashion, I was plagued by a common runner's ailment that left me wincing in pain everywhere I went: the dreaded ingrown toenail.
I'll spare you a photo because... gross.
Of course, my better half's illness peaked on the same day as our daughters' school Christmas show. My day involved a therapy session followed by a hectic search for a sweater to match my 10-year-old's dress, holiday shopping for foster kids, picking the girls up from school, and carefully explaining that Dad was in the hospital but probably wasn't going to die. After gently dealing with the alligator tears, I sighed and gave up on healthy life choices and went through the psuedo-Mexican food drive-thru at Taco Time to appease the starving, teary-eyed minions in the backseat. After choking down a pathetic excuse of a bean burrito, I transformed into mom-the-stylist to curl and braid hair and help my kiddos into their dresses.
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| Yeah... about the sandals in freezing temps... #MomFail. |
The show went well, my older kiddo sang the harmony of her songs in her lovely bell-like voice beautifully, my younger peep smiled and showed off her dimples the entire time she was on stage, and my husband didn't croak.
My toenail, however, suffered being stepped on by kids while playing stylist, was jammed into a pair of tall boots to match last night's dress (which are roomy and normally one of the most comfortable pairs of shoes to wear with semi-formal wear), and angrily hissed at me while I soaked it in peroxide and smothered it in Neosporin before bed.
I woke up with it throbbing, and I didn't even go for my normal run last night. Darn this obnoxious toenail.
I'd like to give up and go back to bed today, but I am determined to make it a better set of daylight hours than yesterday.
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