Cross It Off The Bucket List

Having a crying meltdown on a complete stranger in Rack Room. Check.


Brooklyn got her leg braces today, and it turned out to be quite an ordeal. She was fitted for them exactly one month ago, and we've been rather impatiently anticipating the day that they would arrive. Because they are important for important things, such as walking safely.


In my head, I pictured us walking into the appointment at 2:00 and picking up the braces, and being done by 2:20 or so.


Hahahahahahahaha. This is me laughing hysterically as I reflect on how I thought things would go.


As it turns out, we arrived for our 2:00 appointment at approximately 2:03pm, and then waited about 10 minutes to see the practioner. Being the planner that I am, I had gone out the night before and bought her a new pair of tennis shoes that were one size bigger than what she already wore, because I figured these braces would take up some space, even though the practitioner informed me that was unnecessary. Let me just tell you that the practitioner don't know what he is talking about. But more about that later.


While we waited in the waiting room, Savannah proceeded to interview everyone with an artificial limb. Taking a curious talkative blunt child into that kind of place is just asking for it, I suppose.


We were called back to a room and then the practitioner came in with not the pink camo braces that we ordered, because apparently they weren't available, but purple and green ones. Like Barney. Super.


He proceeded to try them on, trim them, try them on again, etc. It was naptime. Savannah was laying in the floor singing a Taylor Swift song at the top of her lungs, Brooklyn was arching her back and informing everyone that she was "all done." I thought we were almost finished until it came time to wedge her foot with the brace on into her shoe. The one that was already a size bigger than necessary.


No amount of pushing, pulling, removing insoles, twisting, or praying would get those shoes on. I assure the man that I will just go buy shoes one more size bigger, and he tells me that he cannot sign off on the brace order until he has seen her walk in them, with shoes on. So I have to go get shoes. Right now.


So I bit my tongue, because I really wanted to inform him that he was the one who told me that bigger shoes weren't even necessary in the first place, but I smiled with all of the southern charm I could muster and told him I would be right back.


I drug the screaming toddlers from the building, piled them into the car, drove to Rack Room, went through 100 pairs of shoes, and finally the manager, seeing the big pile of shoes and probably hearing the screaming toddlers, asked if he could help me. I proceeded to tell him that there were no shoes on God's green earth that I could cram those braces into. There were tears and sniffling and some major awkward moments. Let it be known that Rack Room managers have no idea what to do with women who burst into tears over shoes... apparently that isn't covered in their training.


We finally emerged with what I refer to as clown shoes. Extra-wide, in 4 sizes bigger than what she used to wear. But they were the only thing we got those braces into. And we weren't going home without those braces.


We went back to the prosthetics place, waited another 45 minutes to see the practitioner, had him approve a sign off on the shoes, and emerged successful... three and a half hours after our original appointment time.


Three and a half hours in a prosthetics place with two toddlers and crying in Rack Room all in the same day. Cross it off the bucket list.