Turning Cartwheels

I had big plans for this week. As it was the last full week before my children start school, I had earnest intentions to overschedule my entire family. We would see friends! We would spend full days outside! We would delay bedtime! We would check experiences off our bucket list! By today, we probably would’ve been exhausted, a little punch-drunk, and far too wired to sleep. But the familiar end-of-summer fatigue would’ve been worth it because of the memories we’d made together.

And also because of ice cream. There would’ve been lots and lots of ice cream.

Instead, the Fates had other plans for me. I tripped in a hole in my yard (excavated by my boys’ construction toys - I promise I’m not bitter) which resulted in a badly sprained ankle. Aside from the brief, existential worry that no one would find me lying in the grass, my worst moment came later in the hospital. I give you our exchange:

ER Doctor: You said you fell in a hole?

Me: It’s more of a faux construction site - yes, fine. A hole.

ER Doctor: Has it always been there?

Me: Sort of.

ER Doctor: In broad daylight?

Me: (Turning pink) Yes.

My embarrassing fall occurred last Saturday, and I’m still not quite walking properly. Instead of a week saturated with memories, I’ve been relegated to the couch. My ankle has been elevated and iced. My mood has oscillated between grumpiness and resignation. Most of us know that planners don’t make the best patients. Personally, I’ve always struggled with letting people help me. Even as I know I’m fortunate to be married to someone who immediately pivots to meet whatever unexpected needs arise in our family, I still try to do it all myself.

Him: Liz, let me bring you your coffee.

Me: But I’ve created a sort of leapfrog system where I swivel, and then I pass the coffee from table to chair to countertop-

Him: (Sigh) Please sit down.

Whenever I'm sick or feel off, I’m grateful that my work is sedentary. That was one of my first thoughts in the hospital: at least I can still write. But I quickly found that, just as I couldn’t walk properly, I couldn’t think properly while I was in pain. I kept rereading sentences, trying my best not to wince or fall asleep. After a day or so, I gave in to a new rhythm.

Instead of rushing around in the sunshine, I told my children that we would spend the day snuggling. They joined me on the couch in a pile of blankets. We watched movies and read books. They performed magic tricks and brought me their LEGOs. Because I parked myself in the center of the house, I made myself available at all times. We had some good talks about back-to-school jitters, and I had ample time to comb social media, sleuthing for friends in their classes.

At one point, while I was fully invested in playing Stormtrooper LEGOs, something amazing happened. I’ve been stuck on a scene in my current work-in-progress. I should say first that I write by envisioning scenes like they’re my own internal movies, and then I do my best to write them down. Suddenly, I saw the sticky scene play out differently, with an additional character in a new setting - and it worked.

With my Type A tendencies, I forget that rest and play are intertwined. Our bodies are not designed for constant sprinting. (Or, for that matter, stomping through faux construction sites.) And I’ve often found that when I haven’t set aside enough time to rest or play or breathe, an unexpected event will force the issue. I wasn’t even able to play well (with voices and edgy LEGO character names) until I’d had a good night’s sleep, until the pain had lessened. After few days of rest, I started moving around again - and my mind began turning its familiar cartwheels, flowing freely.

Rest and dreaming are essential to making. All of our needs are interwoven this way.

At one early point, I told one of my sons that I felt guilty for not being able to do fun activities this week. He looked at me steadily, handed me a LEGO plane, and said, “Don’t worry, Mommy. If you’re stuck here, I’ll bring the fun to you.”

Out of the mouths of babes, right? Rest well, and in time, the fun will find you.