Southern gothic.

I've had a Steel Magnolias kind of week.

On Tuesday, I thanked the fabulous parent and teacher volunteers at Peachtree Charter Middle School during a "transition" party at Dunwoody North Driving Club AND sent the school's charter petition to the staff for distribution to the County and State for approval.  I ended the evening with a deep sense of relief that this responsibility is now OVER.

On Thursday, I fell on a slippery slope covered in pine straw and busted my ankle. Thought it was broken. My friend Lisa took me to St. Joe's, xrays proved it was "just badly sprained," and kind Wayne brought me home. (T was in Baltimore.)

On Friday, I came down with a really bad cold.

On Saturday, Big A went to the prom. I barely focused long enough to see him looking amazing in his very ultra cool tuxedo. And I missed seeing his date in her gorgeous green dress and the parent gathering after the prom-goers departed in their stretch limo. (He had a very good time, the girls looked beautiful, and the threatening tornado watch stayed north of the city. Relief.)

On Sunday, my shingles came back with a vengeance. Little A's Odyssey of the Mind team had their first fundraiser, a carwash at Burger King. They raised $600+ for their Big Trip to World Finals. Big A had a work day for his Eagle Project here at the house - Scouts tested the handheld game systems to see if they worked and determine what accessories they needed.

Isn't it all fairly ridiculous? This trifecta of plagues, all visiting at the same time?

When I'm not completely exasperated with the pain and feeling out of sorts, I have to laugh. Because this is just like me. I can't just take a little break when things are too busy and stressful. Nope - I have to get completely incapacitated.

I've slept around the clock, kept my ankle elevated and on ice, taken my meds on schedule, eaten lightly when my stomach wasn't protesting, and stayed thoroughly hydrated. I've also watched a plethora of old movies, knitted a few gifts, and caught up on a tall stack of magazines. Four days of bedrest and I'm hobbling pretty well, the shingles have resided, and my cold is mellowing to the sniffle stage.

Okay, I get it. Just because "I'm The Mom" doesn't mean I'm really indispensable to the kids, the school, my job, my church, my parents, and the host of other people and institutions I like to believe count on me.  For the four days I've been out of synch, things have proceeded just fine without me.

It's humbling.

And freeing.