Dear Kid,

I’m wearing KT tape. I’d take a photo and include it, but the tape the PTs used is just about the same color as my skin so all you’d see is a close up of mom-ankle. I thought you’d be pleased that I passed on the photo op.

The reason for this application of KT tape is that the Physical Therapists (you remember them) are hoping it will help encourage the bones in my foot (you remember them) to stay where they are supposed to stay rather than where they seem to want to migrate to. This is all somewhat incidental as the PTs (there’s a gaggle of them) have now concluded that the Big Issue is the tightness in the side of shin and the lack of cooperation from the nerves near my knee. Which led to dry needling (another topic for another day).

As you may or may not know, KT Tape was named by the Department of Redundancy Department Department because KT stands for Kinesio tape.

It was invented by a Japanese chiropractor named Kenzo Kase all the way back in the 1970s which just goes to show that some ideas leap to success (Apple watch) and others take 40 or so years to become popular.

From the company’s website:

KT TAPE is applied along muscles, ligaments, and tendons (soft tissue) to provide a lightweight, external support that helps you remain active while recovering from injuries. KT Tape creates neuromuscular feedback (called proprioception) that inhibits (relaxes) or facilitates stronger firing of muscles and tendons. This feedback creates support elements without the bulk and restriction commonly associated with wraps and heavy bracing. KT Tape gives you confidence to perform your best.

Translation: Better than a Band-Aid and mom kiss for boo-boo.

The reason KT tape works is unclear. And by “unclear” I mean there is more than one authority in the world who poo-poos KT tape’s efficacy entirely. There are more athletes and trainers who are busy ignoring the skeptics because DANG they look good in KT tape, and oh-by-the-way it works.

In my particular case, we are not going for the “confidence to perform at my best.” We are going for “All You Bones and Stuff, Get Back Where You Belong!”

This is not a medically recognized diagnosis.

Then again, more than one PT thinks I’m an alien based on the way my foot responds to treatment.

For the record, skin-colored KT tape is really not a good idea. You completely lose out on the sympathy vote (“Oh, my goodness! What happened to you?!”) and the martyr vote (“I can’t believe she’s able to stand and lecture for that long with her leg like that. Her ankle must be killing her!”). With skin-colored tape, pretty much no one even notices your heroic actions.

On the other hand, if you’re hoping to wear interesting shoes without incurring commentary from everyone and their brother (“Should you really be wearing those?”), flesh tone is the way to go.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I bruised my wrist yesterday, which is making typing dificu diffff difac hard. (Don’t ask. Let’s just say it was a Genius Move Typical of Your Mother and leave it at that.)

Pi: Do you want me to type for you?
Me: Don’t you have homework to do?
Pi: Yes, but I’m offering to help you
Me: Very kind, but I’m still trying to figure out what to write about
Pi: Fine, I’m just offering
Puppy: I can help
Me: That’s sweet, but I don’t think you know how to type
Pi: I know how to type. That’s why I offered to help
Me: Thank you. Homework
Puppy: I can type
Me: You can?
Puppy: Of course
Me: You got a nose print on my screen
Puppy: See? I am terrific at this
Me: You have to press the keys to type
Puppy: OK
Dad: What am you doing? Since when is the Puppy allowed to touch your computer?
Puppy: All done
Me: I don’t even want to know what “njkm” means…
Puppy: It means I pressed the keys.
Me: That it does
Pi: Should have let me help
Me: Fine. You’re right. Can you come help?
Pi: Nope. Doing homework.
Tal: What is all the noise?
Pi: Don’t look at me. I’m doing homework
Puppy: I typed!
Me: I’m trying to write a blog. It’s not going well
Tal: I think I will make coffee
Puppy: I will help because I love you
Tal: Good morning, Boo-ker
Puppy: I love you I love you I love you!!
Me: How did I lose control of the situation?
Dad: What makes you think you had control?
Me: I didn’t?
Dad: Not this morning, lady
Pi: I’m going to football practice
Puppy: I love Tal
Pi: And after practice we can go dress shopping
Puppy: Can I go dress shopping?
Pi: No baby, not today
Me: I still need a blog topic
Pi: And shoe shopping
Tal: I will like to go shopping too
Me: Perhaps I’ll go back to bed until then
Dad: I thought you had a blog to write
Puppy: I will write the blog! What’s a blog?
Me: Coffee. Maybe I just need more coffee

And another morning is off and running.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

If you were to take apart your ankle (which I don’t recommend) you would discover that it is make of three bones: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The reason you shouldn’t take your ankle apart (aside from it being harder to walk when your ankle is in pieces) is that we cut your tags off years ago and if you take it apart yourself (rather than calling a qualified professional) you void the warrantee. Also, there are lots of ligaments and tendons and cartilage in there. Generally, when you take your own ankle apart and try to put it back together you end up with extra pieces. This is generally considered a Mistake.

Some people don’t take this advice seriously and end up on crutches.

Ankles are useful for many things. They are an excellent place for ankle bracelets. They usually stay awake when your foot falls asleep. And they are critical for wearing shoes with ankle straps.

There are more than 250,000 sweat glands in your two feet which can excrete over half a pint of moisture daily. Ankles put up with a lot.

The average woman walks three miles more per day than the average man. Except when she breaks her ankle.

In 1324, England’s King Edward II (who apparently had a foot fetish [I love starting rumors]) decided that the diameter of one barley corn (roughly a third of an inch) would represent a full shoe size. Amazingly, that’s still how European shoe sizes are measured. I have no idea why royalty would bother getting involved in such things.

It is harder to wear shoes (of any size) when you have a broken ankle.

To anyone with a broken ankle: heal quickly.

Ton anyone without a broken ankle: let’s keep it that way.

Love, Mom

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by American writer and poet Eugene Field was published on March 9, 1889.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe —
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!”
Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea —
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish —
Never afeard are we”;
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam —
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
‘Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea —
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Dear Kid,

As promised, the Olympics have arrived. Ta Dah!

And the Fails continue (so sad). The hotel rooms still aren’t done which is making journalists grumpy. The snowflakes-turning-into-Olympic-rings was something less than it could have been given that one of the rings didn’t open (oops).

Gotta say, much as we love our US athletes (and we do) the costumes were as bad as promised. Worse since they didn’t have professional lighting, an outdated flag, and photoshop. Baggy sweats. Lovely impression to give the world. Ralph, your mother must be so proud.

And there’s the yogurt issue. Chobani wants to send a whole lot (and by “a whole lot” I mean 5,000 cups) of protein-carrying yogurt to the athletes in Sochi. The athletes think that’s a fine idea. The US thinks that’s a fine idea. Customs, the Department of Agriculture, and the entire House of Representatives (probably) think it’s a fine idea. Russia? Not so much.

The yogurt is stuck in Newark, NJ (and so far, no one is blaming Christie) because the Russians say the yogurt doesn’t have the right paperwork. The US says it is impossible to get “the right” paperwork. Russia is sticking with “na na na boo boo” for the moment and the yogurt is staying state-side.

Overall, the Opening Ceremony was Quite A Spectacle with lots of symbolism not all of us understood completely. Yeah, there was a random dog. Yeah, the Russians inadvertently invented a new look to the Olympic rings. Yeah, we didn’t quite get all of it. But that’s the Olympics. And if these are the worst conditions the journalists have had to endure then I say they’ve had some pretty cushy assignments.

So now it’s time to enjoy the competition, root for our favorite athletes, celebrate the world coming together in something other than war, and hope there are no injuries due to falls, crashes, or less than athletic terrorism.

Happy Olympics and may the odds be ever in your favor.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

There are happy, contented silences in the world. And there are times when the silence is troubling or unsettling.

There is the silence right after a creak when you’re all alone in a house for the first time. Movies add suspenseful music to heighten the anticipation, but in real life there’s no crescendo to tell you the bad guy is about to jump out. The silence builds.

There is the silence after a surprising trial verdict when disbelief hangs in the air. No one seems quite sure what the next step is. Even the jury members who debated the result sit in absolute silence.

There is the silence after you’ve asked a difficult question and your entire future seems to hang in the balance. When you have no option but to wait, and the terrifying silence reaches out toward eternity even if it is only a few seconds.

There is the silence of despair after bad news. The suspended time that absorbs all sound while you try to absorb a new reality. When you wish for time to fold back on itself and undo the present. When no words form in your mind and your very thoughts are silent.

There is the silence in the stadium after a particularly bad sports injury. The band stops playing, the spectators stop cheering, the players take a knee. The entire community holds its collective breath. The longer the silence, the more serious the injury. There is no rivalry. There is no score. There is no thought except for the player on the ground and the caregivers in attendance. The crowd waits. If the player gets up, the crowd cheers in relief. If the EMTs are brought to the field, the silence stretches. It seems there has never been a silence this loud.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the Tillman family and we wish AJ a full and speedy recover.

Love, Mom