Tuesday, July 16, 2013

And then I broke my ass....

This weekend was a doozie. I had a terrible, no good, very bad, mess of a day on Friday, and then quite possibly the most epic day of parenting/adventuring/derbying ever the next. 
It was my favorite derby bout. Ever. 
Not for the fact that it was in the Toyota Town Center, a 10,000 seat venue, nor the fact that we came out victorious. Nope. My kids were there and they watched the whole damned bout. But it was more than that--they were completely engaged. After returning to the bench after every jam, my children, face full of smiles and blue sunscreen, yelled "Brass Chuckles!" at the top of their little lungs and gave me the approving don't-kill-this-gladiator thumbs up. 
They said they loved it. They said they were proud. I doubt I've ever been more happy. 
I showed them what a mom can do. They saw me fall and fall and fall again and constantly get up so that I might get to fall once more. I showed them what a strong body could do. After multiple hits and face plants and helmets to the nose, I was victorious with my kids....and all of my limbs strongly intact. 
Eff. Yes. 
The next day we walked out the front door and dropped our tubes into river and took a float into town. We relaxed in the freezing-ass water with the sun glistening on our wet legs and faces. We paddled as we meandered. It couldn't be more relaxing. 
Then it happened. 
The river (or rather a jagged rock forged in hell) sat there, eagerly awaiting my victorious ass to careen into its unforgiving mass. 
I did not breathe for an unknown amount of time. Stars invaded my vision. My stomach and its contents waged war and threated to cause spillover agression on my lap. It was very quiet. 
"Hey Mom! What are you doing falling over into the water like that?" My daughter asked. 
The mumblings I offered in response were akin to the Pentacostal tongues on Sunday, though I'm afraid they may have been a bit more accessible to the random sailor. I remember not these words, ergo, they must have been divine. Divine pain. In my ass. 
For the next hour and a half, I shook in the freezing water, thankful for its numbing effects. The river seemed to slow to a halt, and taunted me all the way. Rocks jutted out of the water in a threatening manner. Ducks, sitting idly on the bank, laughed cruely. My children laughed and sang and delighted in the most painful river float in my recorded history. 
The next day I filed for divorce and kissed my kids as they went to their father's for a whole effing fortnight. Oh yeah, and there was a huge-ass fire. 
But in all of this crazy and potentially emotionally disturbing chaos all I could think was, "man.....my ass hurts something fierce." Standing up, sitting down, standing up, yadda yadda (worse than Catholic mass, I tell ya) for the lawyer kept me focusing not on the actual sad thing that was going on but the standing up and sitting down bits. I have never been so in touch with my body as I was in those moments. 
Now I feel fragile. F-R-A-G-I-L-E. It's Italian. There are many opportunities for saddness right about now, but all I can think about is "get that foot forward without making your ass cramp and spasm out so that your face doesn't pucker up like you've just eaten 35 sourpatch kids and 86 lemon drops." 
So, in a way, I'm kind of glad for my tailbone's chronic reminder that I'm a broken woman who now walks like a constipated geriatric. It keeps me present in the moment. I guess that's all I can ask for. 

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