Recipe Friday

October 12, 2012

Another week in the books, another trip to the doctor, another set of instructions on what to do with this busted up ankle.  I have to admit, I was feeling pretty good early on.  My appointment was on Tuesday morning and I had gotten the girls all squared away so that everyone was where they needed to be when they needed to be there.  So confident was I that I was going to get that cast off and just waltz (well maybe crip walk) out of there in just a boot, I went by myself to the office, carrying the boot between two fingers while I crutched my way across the parking deck.

The nurse sawed off the cast and my leg was looking malnourished and very, very hairy.  The incision was, as I had been told, bigger than the original laceration, but my doctor said it was healing nicely.  It was kind of crusty and extremely itchy, though those are good signs of healing. Te doc said I was looking good and  I should wear the boot round the clock, even to sleep.  Sure, I can do that.  Then, he handed me the crutches and said, “I’ll see you in three weeks, but for now, I want you to use these in addition to the boot.”

Uh. . .what? I thought this was going to be a crutch-free situation.

He goes on to assure me that while the boot is fine to use,  I’m not quite ready to put my full weight on my leg.  He demonstrated how to get around with the crutches and walking using minimal weight; sure, it looked easy, but there were still crutches involved.  I was counting getting my hands back. I’ve got stuff to do! I’ve always got stuff to do.  No dice; me and the crutches are in it for the long haul.

I wanted to beat the doc about the head with the crutch, but I refrained.  Truth be told, I wanted to burst into tears, I was so angry.  I felt very Bruce Banner like.  On the inside, I was like this. . .

Somehow, I kept my composure, crutched my way to the car where I had a good old fashioned sob-fest before heading home.  You know how you get some bad news and then nothing else goes right for the rest of the day? It was one of those situations; I get home, I get tangled up in the seat belt and my messenger bag. I get out of the car and I drop my keys.  I get to the gate and I can’t open it. I crutch around to the side door and almost lose my balance on some acorns. I get up the steps, unlock the side door, but can’t open it because the girls slippers are piled up against the doorjamb.  I’m standing there, thinking about all the things that I had planned to do when I tossed the crutches, and yet here I was banging them against the door in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the slippers so I could get in the house. Let’s just say, the bubble burst and the tears caught up with me.

Thankfully, the hubs was home.  I’m sure my intermittent thwacking against the door drew piqued his curiosity.  He helped me into the house, made me a cup of coffee, and let me snot up his shoulder while I filled him in on how the next three weeks, I was going to have my constant companions.  Once the pity party was over, I jumped back into the fray and got busy coordinating and organizing carpools, play dates and babysitters to help me make sure everyone was taken care of.  It really does take a village and I have such an exception support system in my friends, family and neighbors.

I know that one bum ankle doesn’t mean the world is crashing down, but it’s hard for me be so limited.  As I’ve mentioned before, there’s quite a bit of pride involved that needs to be overcome.  Case in point, I was going upstairs the other evening, trying to give my butt a break and use the step-crutch-step method.  It’s very precarious and you really have to think in order do it right without toppling over and hurting anything else.  I made it to the very last step and my brain just shut off.  I mean, I didn’t know how to navigate the last step. So I found myself having an out of body experience as I watched my booted left foot raise up to plant itself (and my weight) on the tread.  My brain clicked on like, “Uh, no, that’s not right!!!” but I couldn’t get my leg to stop. So, in an effort to prevent myself from landing fully on my bad leg, I just let go of the crutches and face planted onto the landing. The crutches went flying as I absorbed the impact with my hands and arms. And the hubs came flying out the girls’ room where he had been tucking them in. I just raised my hand to stop him and said, “I’m fine. I’m fine.  I’m just re-grouping.”  Needless to say, I’m not allowed to go up the stairs like that any more.

In any event, I’m making the best of my situation. I’m still fully engrossed with Twitter, Tumblr and Pinterest.  My fondness for pumpkin has finally surfaced, so I’ve been having pumpkin coffee in the afternoons as I thumb through pumpkin recipes that I hope to get to before the season is over.  My dad took Vivi and me grocery shopping yesterday and I was able to throw a few supplies in the cart to make this 4-ingredient pumpkin frozen yogurt.

(image)

It was easy to do, didn’t take very long, but in ended up being quite an epic fail.

On Pinterest, it said “1 C. Greek Yogurt, 1 C. Pumpkin Puree, 1 tbs. Honey, 1 tsp. Cinnamon”, which is what I did.  I don’t have an ice cream maker, but you can still make it by stirring the mixture every 30 minutes.  I did that, too.  Yeah, it tasted like I has scraped the guts out of a pumpkin and waved some honey over it.  Nasty.  Seriously. . .it was gross.

The website, from where the recipe came, says the following (and I would suggest trying that).

Happy Friday, y’all!

Homemade Pumpkin Frozen Yogurt
recipe found here.
1 cup nonfat vanilla yogurt, strained
1 cup pumpkin puree
1 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
Mix everything together in a large mixing bowl until completely combined. Churn the mixture in an ice cream maker for a few minutes until it is a smooth, cool consistency. Alternatively, place the bowl in the freezer and stir mixture every half hour until it reaches desired consistency.

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