So it's been what, 5 months since my last post? Yeah, well Shakespeare hasn't written in a while, either! My dear friend/family member by choice/go-to-person-when-I-need-a-good-recipe, Missy, posted on her blog and in doing so, inspired me to post.
5 things I'm thankful for today:
1. My Jeffrey comes home today! He's been gone for two weeks, has managed to circle the globe, and his body has absolutely no idea what time or day it is. I'm happy that he's going to be able to rest (and that there will be *two* coffee mugs to fill instead of just one, lonely, little mug.)
2. That my foot is no longer broken.
3. Trader Joes. Today's lunch was sponsored by that wonderful store.
4. That I don't live in Pakistan. For many reasons, but the one on the front burner is the flooding.
5. That the cleaning people are here. Yay for cleaning people!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
The hazards of walking upright
So about two weeks ago, I was walking out of my scrap room and I broke my foot. I was going to come up with some awesome bar-fight story or some yarn about rescuing orphaned puppies from a booby-trapped and burning building, or some glorious tale of how I was training for the Olympics. But no, this is all I have. I broke my foot while I was walking. On carpet. No obstacles to tip-toe around. Completely flat and level ground.
Luckily, Missy and Sue were at the house when it happened. Jeff took me to the emergency room and they stayed with the boys. The pain was blinding and nauseating and I sobbed from the time I felt and heard the crunching of bones to the few minutes after I was finally given a shot of morphine.
Oooooooh, morphine. Now that is some good stuff. Morphine doesn't just dull the pain, but it reveals a technicolor world blind to sober eyes. It also mutates one's hearing abilities. See, the ER doc told me I had an "Anne Frank fracture". Now, I was a big history buff in high school, and I could have sworn Miss Frank died of Typhus and not, as I'd just discovered, a bone fracture. I'm glad I didn't voice my confusion at that moment in time because it turns out that I had a "Lisfranc fracture". (Dr Lisfranc named the fracture after himself. The good doctor was also a gynecologist, so I should be glad he didn't name it something like "G-Spot Fracture" or "Vajayjay Fracture")
I was fitted with a bright purple cast the next day and told that I would most likely not need surgery. Liar liar, pants on fire! Just this past Friday I found myself waking up from anesthesia after having two screws installed into my foot. Jeff had to be out of town on business, so I had the most awesome team of friends and family taking shifts to make sure that my foot was iced, my kids were taken care of and that I was comfortable.
However, they absolutely failed when it came to keeping me from my passion for making telephone calls when I'm under the influence. There are now in existence anywhere from three to eight recorded messages on answering devices across the country from a very stoned woman, claiming to be me.
Percocet is not my friend! It makes me say silly things!
So now I must scoot myself from room to room on a Free Spirit and keep my foot off the ground for eight, yes EIGHT weeks. I am having a little fun with it, though. I figure if I have to transport myself on a scooter, it might as well have a plastic, woven basket with a neon-purple flower and a loud, ice-cream cart bell on it!
That's how I roll.
For the next two months, anyhow.
Luckily, Missy and Sue were at the house when it happened. Jeff took me to the emergency room and they stayed with the boys. The pain was blinding and nauseating and I sobbed from the time I felt and heard the crunching of bones to the few minutes after I was finally given a shot of morphine.
Oooooooh, morphine. Now that is some good stuff. Morphine doesn't just dull the pain, but it reveals a technicolor world blind to sober eyes. It also mutates one's hearing abilities. See, the ER doc told me I had an "Anne Frank fracture". Now, I was a big history buff in high school, and I could have sworn Miss Frank died of Typhus and not, as I'd just discovered, a bone fracture. I'm glad I didn't voice my confusion at that moment in time because it turns out that I had a "Lisfranc fracture". (Dr Lisfranc named the fracture after himself. The good doctor was also a gynecologist, so I should be glad he didn't name it something like "G-Spot Fracture" or "Vajayjay Fracture")
I was fitted with a bright purple cast the next day and told that I would most likely not need surgery. Liar liar, pants on fire! Just this past Friday I found myself waking up from anesthesia after having two screws installed into my foot. Jeff had to be out of town on business, so I had the most awesome team of friends and family taking shifts to make sure that my foot was iced, my kids were taken care of and that I was comfortable.However, they absolutely failed when it came to keeping me from my passion for making telephone calls when I'm under the influence. There are now in existence anywhere from three to eight recorded messages on answering devices across the country from a very stoned woman, claiming to be me.
Percocet is not my friend! It makes me say silly things!
So now I must scoot myself from room to room on a Free Spirit and keep my foot off the ground for eight, yes EIGHT weeks. I am having a little fun with it, though. I figure if I have to transport myself on a scooter, it might as well have a plastic, woven basket with a neon-purple flower and a loud, ice-cream cart bell on it!
That's how I roll.
For the next two months, anyhow.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Go hide and I'll come find you...no, really!
I am currently "counting" to 100 while Ben hides. And by "counting" I mean totally lying and making up numbers with no intention of finding the small beast.
Yes, I am mildly cruel.
Also, this is the quietest the house has been all day.
Yes, I am mildly cruel.
Also, this is the quietest the house has been all day.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Creative Outlet Company
So, I am going to come totally clean with my initial intentions in regards to this post. I wanted to enter a contest on a blog for a chance to win some cool scrap crap. One of the ways to enter the contest was to create a blog post about the company, on my blog. I was going to do it only to win something, but then I read the "About Us" page and was totally inspired and moved by her story! This company is run by a gal who loved playing with paper and stickers as a little girl (sound familiar???) and opened an online store with her mom and a friend.
She's done what I'm just entirely too lazy to do!
So now, even with as much as I'd love to win, this blog post is being published in hopes of sending all of my readers (um, like, all 4 of you) to their site and encourage you all to take a look at their stuff. Who knows, even a non-scrapper might get bit by the scrap bug!
Creative Outlet Company
She's done what I'm just entirely too lazy to do!
So now, even with as much as I'd love to win, this blog post is being published in hopes of sending all of my readers (um, like, all 4 of you) to their site and encourage you all to take a look at their stuff. Who knows, even a non-scrapper might get bit by the scrap bug!
Creative Outlet Company
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Script of dialogue from an event that just took place
Scene starts with a strange series of thumps and thuds coming from upstairs. Having just seen "Paranormal Activity", the mother's mind immediately goes to visions of evil mists rearranging the sock and underwear drawer. She shudders. The noises grow louder, but then are mingled with the sound of something far more malicious and wicked than anything the underworld has to offer: a three-year-old-boy. The mother rolls her eyes and, having dealt with the 36 inch offender already twice that night, she calls her husband.
Mom: Jeff...it is so your turn to deal with "it".
The father heads upstairs, an unintelligible conversation between father and evil-midget son takes place, both parties appear at the top of the stair.
Dad: Tell your mom what you were doing.
Bad Seed: Um, anyfing?
Dad: No, you weren't doing "nothing". Tell her what you were doing in your room, just now.
Bad Seed: Um, I fink I was sweeping in duh cwoset.
Mom: And why were you sleeping in the closet?
Bad Seed: Because I don't wanna sweep in my bed.
Mom: And why don't you want to sleep in your bed?
Bad Seed: Because I'm 'onna bwow outta my bed.
Mom: So let me get this straight. You are sleeping in the closet because you think you're going to blow out of your bed, right?
Bad Seed: Yup.
[The father feels a laugh coming on, but the daggers from the eyes of his wife quickly supress them.]
Dad: Let me ask you a question. Exactly how many times have you ever, "blown out of your bed"?
[Bad Seed pauses and recalls gales of bedtimes past]
Bad Seed: Fwee.
[The mother feels a laugh coming on, but can't shoot herself the same icy glare she bestowed upon her husband, so she turns and burries her snorts and laughs into her shoulder.]
End scene.
Mom: Jeff...it is so your turn to deal with "it".
The father heads upstairs, an unintelligible conversation between father and evil-midget son takes place, both parties appear at the top of the stair.
Dad: Tell your mom what you were doing.
Bad Seed: Um, anyfing?
Dad: No, you weren't doing "nothing". Tell her what you were doing in your room, just now.
Bad Seed: Um, I fink I was sweeping in duh cwoset.
Mom: And why were you sleeping in the closet?
Bad Seed: Because I don't wanna sweep in my bed.
Mom: And why don't you want to sleep in your bed?
Bad Seed: Because I'm 'onna bwow outta my bed.
Mom: So let me get this straight. You are sleeping in the closet because you think you're going to blow out of your bed, right?
Bad Seed: Yup.
[The father feels a laugh coming on, but the daggers from the eyes of his wife quickly supress them.]
Dad: Let me ask you a question. Exactly how many times have you ever, "blown out of your bed"?
[Bad Seed pauses and recalls gales of bedtimes past]
Bad Seed: Fwee.
[The mother feels a laugh coming on, but can't shoot herself the same icy glare she bestowed upon her husband, so she turns and burries her snorts and laughs into her shoulder.]
End scene.
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