So I've been getting these recurring sinus infections for the last several years, causing me increasingly painful and debilitating headaches. Suck. I first went to my family doctor about this in late 2000, and I was misdiagnosed as having cluster headaches, given some Vicodin, and sent on my way. A couple years later, after many headaches and lost days of work, I was near collapse when I got in my car to go to work one morning, and decided to go to the ER instead.
Demerol.
When I came to on my couch with a remote control in my hand some 4 hours later, I vaguely remembered someone having done a CT Scan on me at the hospital. It came back as a massive sinus infection, and I was referred to an ENT specialist, who has been my antibiotic supplier for the last two years. When the infections came on more frequently, and a second CT scan showed that back-to-back rounds of antibiotics didn't kill the infection, he recommended surgery. I said yes.
So I had a septoplasty and sinus procedure done, suffered a mildly irritating couple days of nosebleeds, a week of having a plastic appliance up my nose, and two weeks before I felt like myself again. I've only just recently been able to start exercising again with full effort, and I put off joining my mates on the soccer field when the season started a couple weeks ago in favor of giving myself some extra training time to get my wind back.
Now I'm back to full strength, doing as many push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups as I was before the surgery, as long a hold in the dolphin plank yoga pose, as many reps with 50 pounds on curls, Arnold presses, and bent rows. Everything back to where it was, except the running. I haven't run much at all over the winter, and when I was out practicing soccer with Stacey, I felt pretty clumsy, and tripped over my own feet once. Not a good sign.
That was practice with the kid, though. This Sunday was a different story. After one whiff which resulted in us getting scored on, I settled down and started playing well. On the sidelines watching the game were my daughters, wife, and in-laws, who all seemed to enjoy the spectacle. Stacey's old teammate Rachel was there with her father, and she and Stacey had a good time horsing around.
Stacey came pretty close to getting scored on for the first time this season as goalie last week. She let the striker get the ball between her legs, but turned and fell on it before it rolled in. Awesome reaction.
Her dance classes just had their pictures taken in their spring recital outfits, trey cute. I did Stacey's hair in a ballet bun for the first time in years, and it came out pretty good. Thankfully, Liberty was around to help with the make-up, where she vetoed the bad color choices the school suggested, and did Stacey up in something more appropriate to her skin tone... or so they tell me.
Little Scout, Liberty, and I have been having fun with sidewalk chalk lately. It turns out Liberty is the superior chalk artist. I found out that ants don't like to cross chalk lines when I, on a whim, drew a circle around one to see what would happen. It was odd, she (the ant, I'm not actually sure of the gender, but I'm saying "she") ran around furiously, bounding in random directions, and turning suddenly when she touched chalk. Eventually she found a section of the circle that had small gaps in the chalk line, and managed to run across it. Scout watched what must have been serious science to her three year old eyes.
Stacey, Liberty, and I went down to the Earth Day celebration at Goodale Park this Saturday, where we listened to some live music, watched hippies dance, played with dogs wandering around off their leashes, and watched another instance of Liberty's superior artistry. There were several booths advertising political groups, green businesses, nature reserves, etc., and one was asking everyone to draw something in a square of a giant tablecloth that will later be used as some art project or other. Stacey and I threw down some quick doodles, Liberty took about 10 minutes painstakingly drawing a flower pattern. It was gorgeous. In fact, here it is:
Friday was Stacey's 6th grade informal orchestra concert. The theme was the 60s, and the kids were encouraged to dress in 60s style clothes. A few nights before, me and the girls hit a vintage clothing store down in the Short North, and bought Stacey some simple bellbottoms and a hippy-ish shirt with clouds and a smiling sun on it. She looked cool in 60s clothes, with her long blonde hair hanging down loose. When I walked her over to the school for the concert, a number of girls greeted her cheerfully, which I'm not used to seeing. They seemed almost eager to see her, and she was one of the gang. I was elated, and beat a hasty retreat before my presence ruined everything, as I am very repellant to "the gang" in most cases, and didn't want any of that to rub off on Stacey.
At work today, there was an "Operation Feed" bake sale on my floor. Of the 5 or so items brought to the sale, only one of them, cupcakes, was homemade. The rest were storebought, and presumably flavorless, sweets. I made a comment to the people setting up that this was not a bake sale, but a resale. Why don't people like to cook anymore? I've seen the same problem in Girl Scouts and soccer, Stacey and I will cook up something fancy, have fun doing it, and make everyone happy with our creation, and other parents just go to the store and buy potato chips, missing great bonding time with their children - the moments that life is all about, the times you reflect on in your rocking chair when you're old. Liberty suggested Stacey was more fond of me than most pre-teens are of their parents, and most kids that age just don't want to spend time with mom and dad cooking something.
Their loss.
And while we're on a down note, Stacey's soccer game this evening was an atrocious nightmare of testosterone induced madness. Our assistant coach, loud and obnoxious in general (who another parent posed the question "is he for real?" about), got into a sideline shouting match with the other team's coach. Kids on both teams were pushing each other until one of our girls started crying. Some parents were making snide comments to the referee and some of the other players. I was so taken aback by all the anger that I walked away from the field to clear my head -- and missed Stacey taking a shot on goal. The shot was blocked, and followed up by our smallest player, the one who was crying earlier, for a score. Stacey, the tallest kid on either team, managed to avoid any rough play, using her legs to play instead of her hands. Just like I taught her.
Aside from the anger management class waiting to happen, life is good.
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