Scattered Sundays and Meal Plan for November 7th-13th

So, last month I was at the podiatrist, because I thought I had a few plantar warts on my right foot.

Right now you’re thinking to yourself “Sarah, I know you always vow to be honest with us, but I’m totally ok with you glossing over this stuff”. Well too damn bad. We’re talking about FEET right now.

I’d been suffering through them for years, because my family is a bit leery of foot doctors. Feet doctor? My dad had plantar warts removed from his right foot when he was a teen, and they used a process called “pinpoint radiation”, which they now know essentially kills the nerves in your foot and destroys the circulation. It pretty much turned my dad’s foot in to the foot of a diabetic, and that is how he lost his right leg below the knee.

So, of course when I discovered the spots on my foot, I’m like “nah, I’m fine, I’ll be cool”, and just dealt with them for a long time. Finally, it got to the point where I was hobbling around, and could not be barefoot in my own house due to the pain. I threw up the white flag, and called Dr. FootsMcGee.

As I’m sitting in the waiting room, with my new friends the two 85-year-old ladies in their sensible walking shoes, I realized that I am pretty hip and cool. When Dr. Toe Jam called me back, I was like “peace” to my buds. It felt good knowing I was likely in the top five of awesome people they knew.

Physician HammerToe was examining my feet, and was like “yo, these aren’t plantar warts. They’re callouses. Pretty much the deepest ones I have ever seen”. So, I have that going for me. I should have tweeted that to my buddies sitting out in the waiting room, but they had never seen a smartphone before, and were not so plugged into the social media.

The doctor proceeded to grab this scalpel, and start digging in to my callouses. “Barf, Sarah, please stop”. NO. We have come this far. Stick with me.

So the scalpel seemed worrisome to me, but the freaky part she was touching my foot without gloves on. I was thinking “you don’t know where those have been”, and she probably would have said “um, in your shoes”. That’s why she is the one with the medical license. She then said “you have abnormally sweaty feet. Did you know that”? I did not know that, but you bet your ass I added it to my resume the second I got home.

She asked me what I did for a living, and I got flushed (as always) and stammered “um, I’m a writer I guess. I own a small business ish”. We got to talking about our lives, as one does when a scalpel is digging away at your hooves, and it came up that my parents live with us (or we live with them. Have never narrowed down those particulars), and that I help them with day to day activities. I told her my mom had MS, and my dad is an amputee and his real leg is all kinds of effed up and in a brace. And that he had been managing to help with my mom a bit, until he had shoulder surgery in July. She asked how my mom was feeling, and I was like “oh well, um, we just found out yesterday that she has liver cancer. It was on my birthday”. She looked at me and said “well, I was going to recommend you soak your sweaty feet in epsom salts every night to dry them out, but I’m thinking you don’t really have the time”.

You want me to shut up, so hard right now, don’t you?

I always assume people think I am making half the crap up when I tell them about my family situation. Well, hold on to your britches, cause here comes another “you are shitting me” brain explosion…

…my dad…

…just tore the rotator cuff on the shoulder that wasn’t operated on this summer. Seriously. That happened. So now, we need to schedule another surgery for him, all the while his operated shoulder is still not at 100%.

So that job I was talking about turning down a few weeks ago? Yeah, that was probably a good move.  Also? My feet are not getting soaked any time soon.

Jack recently took over the bottom part of our linen closet. He was using our emergency LED lantern (hell of a deal at Costco last year), and spending hours in there reading. On the toilet paper. Yesterday, while Jack and Troy were at soccer, Bennett and I cleaned out his closet and reorganized all his Nerf guns (I hate them so much), and found a little space for a bean bag pouff in there. When Troy got home, he rearranged it a bit more, and moved the pouff in to the back corner, and strung up some lights, making it much cooler than I had ever dreamed.

Seriously, check out the feet on this kid. He looks like the letter “L”.

We pretty much haven’t seen Jack in 24 hours. Bennett now just slides himself down the wood floor hallway like a wounded dog, and heads straight for the closet whenever he wants to see his big brother. And I got my linen closet back.

If you were ever interested in what Jack looked like as a girl in the 80’s, well here you go. Also? My dad and I have always been in to fashion.

On Friday, I was group texting with a gang of ladies I chat with about 400 times a day, and I asked for dinner ideas. My friend Mary said “please tell me you serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches once a week, just to keep me from feeling like a crappy mom”. I really do love to cook, and even when I worked and commuted 50+ hours a week, I almost always made dinner nightly. It was a stress reliever for me, and I just enjoyed it. But no, I don’t cook every single night. I reminded her I serve my family popcorn once a week to get out of making dinner. And family dinner is a potluck with my dad usually contributing the main dish, so that is another night I don’t cook.  Just to make her feel even better about the whole situation, I sent her this photo:

It is of me, feeding Bennett like a dog in the basement. He’s eating breadsticks from Papa Murphy’s, because he had been a dick all day due his Lil Man cold, and it was finally something that was making him happy. Oh, and the remote on the floor behind him was a desperate attempt by me to make him stop fussing for just five minutes.

In true Seattle fashion, it poured on Halloween. But we rallied, and the boys had a great time. One house was giving out king sized candy bars, and Jack was so excited, the woman told him to take another one. And then to pick one out for me. So basically, she is our new favorite neighbor that I never knew we had.

So tired he is.

Meal plan time! It’s all PB&J sandwiches. No need to read on.

Monday:: Beef stew, no knead dutch oven bread, and salad.

Tuesday:: My new favorite pizza! I’m making it again (twice in two weeks), so I can get all the ingredients locked down and share it with you! Served with roasted broccoli and salad.

Wednesday:: Breakfast for dinner.

Thursday:: Greek chicken stuffed sweet potatoes (another recipe I am making again to share with you), pesto pasta salad, and roasted broccoli.

Friday:: Popcorn dinner.

Saturday:: TBD. Will depend on how much leftovers are in the fridge.

Sunday:: Family dinner

What are you having this week?