Okay, then.

I was going to write a poignant post about how this is the three-month anniversary of the date I brought my children to New York to live. I was all set to tell you that it seems like both a YEAR has gone by and also just two weeks or so. I was going to remind myself that ninety days is really too short of a time to expect to have everything unpacked and our routine down pat and to know the schools and stores... It's just not a very long time and maybe I should stop putting so much pressure on us to be settled and maybe I should find a way to enjoy the settling process. I think my kids are brave for taking on this new world. Maybe I should tell them so.

Only, um, I just checked and the anniversary was Friday, June 20th. It was March 20th that I picked them up from their grandparents' house in Dallas and brought them home to New York to live.

Sorry 'bout that.

In other news, I had my first steroid shot into my foot last night and I am cautiously optimistic that it is helping. (This despite the fact that the scar tissue in my sinus tarsi cavity is so thick that the doctor had to use three different size needles to get the medication into the cavity. He finally did so with a size 18 gauge needle, which is roughly the same size around as a drinking straw. Not that I'm bitter.) The doctor felt that I should be getting about 30-40% relief from the first shot if we're lucky and the steroids do indeed help. They might not, which would mean further surgery.

Which would just be... The. Worst. Thing. Ever.

My husband went with me to my appointment because we are so desperate for a date night that even going to a doctor in Queens seemed like a good time. (Queens does have the funniest traffic sign I've ever seen, though. Look at this:

In case you can't read it (cellphone picture), it says, "Wait For Green Light." Because, you know, they had to tell people that. And then they had to turn around three times and sprinkle themselves with magic fairy dust and just hope, hope, hope that people would do it.


And THEN, woohoo! We went return some stuff to Ikea! Do we know how to live or what?


Oh, dear, you're having a not-so-good week; and here I go and make fun of you on my blog today (sort of).

Jealousy made me do it.
Ei said…
LOL...I finally clicked on a picture to make it bigger and it didn't work! Darn.

Now I'll remember forever the day you brought the girls to New York because it is Elyas' birthday. When I celebrate his birthday, I'll have cause to send you a note that says "You made it another year in your 'new' home! Yay!

I really really hope the steroid shots work hon, you deserve better. And I love that you and Coop take adventure where you can find it. It's a good thing.
LaDonna said…
The funny thing about signs like this is that if there was a need for the sign, that means there was a problem before. Hmmm...interesting! Like when I was in TX last time, I saw a sign going into my office building stating that "firearms on the premises are prohibited". I guess there must have been a flood of office workers packing heat at one time or another, huh?
TheOneTrueSue said…
OW. Big needles in feet = not good. GACK.
Unknown said…
oooh, you have Ikea???jealous.
Katie said…
Man I would SO take a date night to the Dr. in Queens....cuz the last time my darling and I had a date was ummmm Sept. 24 1993, not that I am keeping track or anything.;P
ckh said…
In a funny coincidence, I went to my acupuncturist today (needles too!) and her name is Ming.

I'm glad you might finally know that the end is sight for your foot pain.
Miri said…
"Sweetheart, let's plan a date night... how about the podiatrist and then the return lane at Ikea?"

Didja get any Swedish meatballs with that?

Now for my earnest comment:
I hope hope hope the steroids work for you.
DK said…
See, maybe it's because I used to be a surgeon type, but I have this funny idea that surgery would, in fact, NOT be the worst thing ever, but might, in fact, offer a more permanent fix.

However, I'm totally in favor of miraculous, glorious, steroid-induced recovery.

And, dude, I'm SO JEALOUS that you have an IKEA.
Karen said…
I was just driving home from Chicago, and while in Wisconsin there was a "STOP" sign - the usual red, 8-sided sign like we have everywhere in this country.

Directly underneath the stop sign, on the same pole, was a sign which read:


So apparently the Wisconsonian drivers need extra help, too.