Driving Miss Daisy

My wife broke her ankle while I was on the boat a few weeks ago.
Just let me say this.
Her ankle is killing me!!

My mornings at home, before her ankle injury, were usually spent with a cup of coffee and a 1/2 hour of "Sports Center", as I watch my wife tear around the house feeding the animals, throwing in a load of laundry and generally organizing her space for the day, before heading out to the gym for her workout before work.
I thought I was making a huge contribution when I would say, "I'll empty the dishwasher honey."
I thought it was just her and her always keeping busy mentality.

So as she mends, with a foot wrapped in a green fashionable cast and crutches propped under her armpits, I find the feeding and the cloths and the dishwasher and the vacuuming a bit more time consuming than I had previously thought.
HER ANKLE IS KILLING ME!

The doctors orders are for her to take it easy, but that's like telling a racehorse to go for a walk around the track, or like driving a Corvette 55 MPH. Those things just don't happen.

I remind her hourly that I am here to help her, but I repeatedly catch her walking on crutches kicking a used cat food bowl across the floor with a crutch like a puck handling hockey player, toward the dish washer.
I kiddingly told her I was going to tie a basket around her neck so she could carry things around the house.
She was all for it.

I will be in a different room when I'll hear the unmistakable sound of her crutching her way on our hard wood floors to god knows where.
Clump-click......clump-click....clump-click.
When I hear that, the theme of the movie "Jaws" plays in my head.
Where is she going now?

Now my days begin with the morning feeding.
Animals and humans.
And then I drive her to the gym for her morning workout. Talk about dedication.
I use clouds in the sky as an excuse not to workout, but she does not let a broken ankle stop her from hitting the free weights.
Crazy woman.

It's like Driving Miss Daisy.
She can't drive, so I'm the driver.
Everywhere.
The gym, the store, the bank, the local antique barn.

A previously planned move into a new apartment by my daughter went as scheduled.
Here is my wife and 2 other daughters helping put the kitchen together.

The question that begs to be asked is, why is youngest daughter in chair and injured mom standing on crutches?
Just saying.

I took her to our favorite garden spot, Longwood Gardens and plopped her butt in a wheelchair and pushed her around the miles of garden paths. It seemed like miles anyway.
I swear our rented wheel chair had a bad front end.
I never before realized Longwood Gardens was so hilly.



As I huffed and puffed, pushing our out of align wheelchair up the hills, I was at a loss as to why my wife found great joy in the fact that I had broke out in a full sweat.
She hadn't laughed that hard in weeks.