"No tricks, mom!!" little guy yelled at me.
Theory is that I got my blood clot from crazy, radical, obsessive-compulsive hula hoop practicing, right hand over-my-head, specifically.
"I'm using my left hand, babe." Surely that would excuse my behavior, right?
"You don't want to have a clot on that side, too, do you?" Little guy is sounding like the adult in this situation for sure.
So I stick to doing it at my waist. Still super groovy fun.
Dave walks in, "No hula hooping!"
"I'm allowed to do this." It's true, the doctor told me I could! So there!
I get a little wacky, dare devil vibe and let the hoop go down to my knees, and I'm workin' it.
"You don't want to get a knee clot, do you?" Dave points out.
OK, OK, I get it. My family LOVES me!!
But I can't help but picture Robby the Robot, arms all a wagglin'. "Danger, Danger..."