New knees please

All I want for Christmas is two new knees. I’m not kidding. I recently participated in a holiday basketball game for charity (which, for those of you who still think of me as an anti-PTO mom who never volunteers, does count as using my free time for good instead of evil!) and two days later, I can barely move without hearing the pops and crackling of bone-on-bone action from my aforementioned leg joints. I may be 40, but I’m way too young to go bionic (“we can rebuild her!”)

The funniest part of my pain is that, heading into the big game, I harbored some crazy notion that I was still pretty good. Like I ever was! When I played in high school (many, many years ago) the only positive comment the coach could come up with was “she’s strong defensively.” I never controlled the ball particularly well, and preferred to pass rather than shoot, even when given a wide-open opportunity. On the rare occasion that I did find myself under the basket with nary an opponent in sight, I’d become so excited about my impending goal that I’d end up chucking the ball up over the backboard. I could play all positions though, and even started at center a few times. The point is, in my mind, I was confident I would impress a few coworkers. I was also fairly certain that despite my advanced age, I could easily run up and down the court.

Fast-forward to the second quarter. I subbed in, the only female in the game, and quickly swapped out my goal of “high-scorer” for “sole survivor.” In just five minutes, I quite literally considered vomiting, having a heart attack, and stroking out. I couldn’t catch my breath, my stomach felt like I’d been punched, and my leg muscles seized up as soon as I took the bench at the half. And yet, come fourth quarter, I headed back in to the fray! God help me, I don’t know how I managed to stay upright. With Doo and the kids looking on though, I hobbled off that court with dignity and headed straight for the nearest bottle of Advil.

My stats totaled one rebound and one turnover. I’m still downing Motrin like candy. I’ve had to wear flats all this week because I can’t safely walk in heels and forget about taking the stairs. So, Santa, since I already received the gift of humility, could I please just have some new knees?  Peace out.

Danielle Wilson

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, the same year Dick Nixon was elected. Along with my twin sister and three younger sisters, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years. (Holy Mother, pray for me.) I spent two years as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado until I wised up and transferred to a more normal school, Indiana University, where I received a B.A. in history and a teaching license just for funsies. In 2001, I officially entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms to care for my two-year old son and newborn twins. I have mentally blocked all of 2002 and most of 2003. In 2004, I received a Master’s degree in U.S. History from I.U.P.U.I. and a fourth child from my should-have-had-that-vasectomy-sooner husband. From 2005 until mid-2010, I played Super Mom in the yet-to-be released indie film "Provide Daycare for Your Sister-in-Law's Children Because You Don't Have Enough to Do Already." I returned to teaching this fall at an undisclosed Indianapolis school where thankfully very few parents know who I am. I am considering developing a bad habit.

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