On December 6th, on a stretch of downhill singletrack trail two miles from the parking lot, disaster struck. I heard three loud pops and what sounded like somebody else's voice screaming every profanity I knew. I dragged myself the two miles back, mostly alternating hopping and cursing, and after a long day of avoiding the emergency room I gave into Seth's insistence and confirmed what I already knew: I had broken my ankle and torn though all of the ligaments. I was going to include a photo, but I'll spare you. It looked pretty gruesome.
The holidays (and the National Security Council, it turns out) don't make allowances for mobility, so I spent the next week miserable and dejected and with very sore arms from commuting on crutches. Eventually, I secured parking under the building and figured out how to drive with an ice pack on, but the first few days were wild. There were still elf duties to be performed, after all, and we had great seats we couldn't lose at the Kennedy Center's Annual Holiday Pops.
Like all Moms exhausted from creating
allthe the annual holiday magic, I was (eventually) not completely immune to the holiday spirit that grew by the day in December, measurable in elf costumes;
winter concerts and silly hats and spontaneous dance parties;
and Christmas cookies. The annual baking event which makes me, if possible, more grateful than usual for Grandma Jayne (who makes beautiful cookies and has endless patience for the job.)
I was also slightly cheered (and also, humiliated) by the discovery of the shopping scooters at Wegman's.
I somehow forgot (maybe blocked out?) that I had agreed to let the kids host a holiday party for their friends until it was too late to cancel, so motrin and ice packs and Grandma Jayne also got me through that wild Friday,
and then the hooligans celebrated the start of their (one week) Winter Break with mini golf and stolen shopping carts. If you're wondering whether 1) I hit the ball
with my crutch, thereby improving my score, and 2) F+F own any items of clothing other than elf pajamas, the answers are "definitely" and "we think so but are not certain," respectively.
By now, if I wasn't exactly hitting my stride on non-weight-bearing crutches I was at least navigating deftly, and we managed
The Nutcracker (Finley got to see her friends perform, and the Governor of Maryland and his wife made a cameo!) and the Christmas Eve service
(which has outsmarted miniature candle enthusiasts, unlike the churchs of my youth, and replaced them with glow sticks.) We were also treated to quite the retelling of the Christmas story, inexplicably involving this dog sled situation.
Christmas dawned warm and sunny enough to enjoy mimosas on the deck and ride the new bikes,
before the arrival of everyone's favorite Christmas present: Aunt Missy!
The ultimate team player, she was spending Christmas week visiting both the Maryland and Colorado cousins, so she only had a few days with us. We knew just what to do: pack them full.
We went to New York City to see the decorations,
check out the sights,
and see the Rockettes at Radio City, as per tradition. Naturally, all that walking required pizza (and margaritas!) The traditional holiday NYC meal.
The next day tailgated at the Military Bowl and became Green Wave fans for the day, and wrapped up a whirlwind visit with a real Maryland crab feast.
Then, we relaxed. Just kidding. We all got sick,
although we somehow still wound up throwing a kid rager, since DJ and crew were in town. Both things seem to be tradition.
I am telling myself that the holidays are always exhausting, even if you don't have RSV and a broken ankle, sand am determined to just be grateful that we made it. I'm getting around OK in a walking boot now, and everybody has the First Week Back under our belts (and we're working on the second!) This weekend, to cheer ourselves up after bidding a sad farewell to the Texas-bound Tony and Jayne, Seth and Ford scored last minute tickets to the Ravens game in the pouring rain
and Finley and I congratulated ourselves for choosing the "sushi in a warm restaurant" option instead.
And then Ford attended a Taylor Swift party, like a real gem of a little brother, in a Travis Kelce jersey which his indulgent father searched for at every sports store in Virginia. The
Eras move lasts three. hours. Ford lasted one.
Speaking of Handsome Ford, we sure are glad he's an athlete.
But his spelling game needs work. We have been laughing about these incredible slip-ups all month. (There was a war. And Santa requires help wrapping. Or at least we hope that is what's going on here.)
Cheers to surviving another holiday season! And here's hoping you can approach the new year the way Ford approaches spelling tests: with apparent reckless abandon.
