Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Hypocrite
Today, while driving my toddler son, I heard him saying "Yuck, Yuck" over and over. I have taught him this word for anything that is undesirable, like dirty diapers or food that falls on the floor. I kept asking him what was Yuck. No answer (as if he could verbalize it). So I drove on. There it was again, "Yuck, Yuck." It was then that I realized that I had been unwittingly picking my nose while driving and my son was letting me know that I was Yuck. I'm sure all the other drivers echoed his sentiments.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Going Postal
Christmas time is here and with it comes the post-office rush. Every year I vow not to fall victim to the frustrated line of people waiting for the postal price gouge. But alas, there I was today, one week before Christmas, standing in a line of 40+ people at 9:30 am. I had wisely left my young son in the care of his grandfather so my waiting would not be worsened by the whining of a toddler. After 35 minutes of line marching, I found myself second from the front. I had already sized up the postal workers and chosen the kindly-looking woman that I wanted to be helped by. There was just one man I wanted to avoid. He had already given a woman a tongue lashing for being unprepared. The timing seemed to be against me. It was like I was being pulled into the mouth of a dragon. He was short, red-faced, and very crabby. I looked down at my [previously used] box with green scratchy writing and a poorly removed label from the first mailing. In spite of my frantic search, there was no box tape to be found in my house, so I was at the mercy of the postal worker when it came to closing the goods.
Finally my turn came. I made eye-contact with the crabby postal man. He signaled me. Dang it! I put my over-sized, banged-up box on the counter and looked as bashful as someone who had just peed her pants. "I didn't tape it up," I told him. Big frown.
"We don't usually tape your boxes. You have to do it."
"I didn't have any box-tape," I said back.
"You should have bought some. We sell some on that back wall, though at a significantly higher price than at the store." I just stood like an idiot staring. But he continued, "I'll do it this time."
"Thank you so much! I usually do a great job taping, too much in fact, which is why I didn't have any more box-tape left." Nothing from him. Then he went on to point out that I had improperly written my return address and I would have to rewrite it and that I could have written the address in the right place if I would have taken off the old address stickers from the box. I was lectured on something about following convention when using the postal service. Apparently, he believed me to be disrespecting not only him, but the entire U.S. government. Geez! I took the verbal reproof that was offered. I hate going to the post office. He then decided to charge me $21 in shipping costs. I thought my trouble was over until it came time to pay. I was told that my credit card could not be accepted with the "See ID" on the back. I offered to show my license. No. What about if I sign it right now? When he didn't answer, I signed it and gave it back. He took it, but with disgust at my impertinence. I mistakenly told him that I remember being told the same thing last year at the post office. He glared at me and said, "So you only come to the post office once a year?"
"That's about right."
When everything was finally said and done, I apologized for my disorganization and problematic box-preparation. I told him, "I'm not usually this bad."
The only answer I got was a "Merry Christmas" that sounded more like "Screw You."
I hope I don't run into him again next Christmas when I go back to the post office with my unsigned credit card and poorly prepared, untaped box.
Finally my turn came. I made eye-contact with the crabby postal man. He signaled me. Dang it! I put my over-sized, banged-up box on the counter and looked as bashful as someone who had just peed her pants. "I didn't tape it up," I told him. Big frown.
"We don't usually tape your boxes. You have to do it."
"I didn't have any box-tape," I said back.
"You should have bought some. We sell some on that back wall, though at a significantly higher price than at the store." I just stood like an idiot staring. But he continued, "I'll do it this time."
"Thank you so much! I usually do a great job taping, too much in fact, which is why I didn't have any more box-tape left." Nothing from him. Then he went on to point out that I had improperly written my return address and I would have to rewrite it and that I could have written the address in the right place if I would have taken off the old address stickers from the box. I was lectured on something about following convention when using the postal service. Apparently, he believed me to be disrespecting not only him, but the entire U.S. government. Geez! I took the verbal reproof that was offered. I hate going to the post office. He then decided to charge me $21 in shipping costs. I thought my trouble was over until it came time to pay. I was told that my credit card could not be accepted with the "See ID" on the back. I offered to show my license. No. What about if I sign it right now? When he didn't answer, I signed it and gave it back. He took it, but with disgust at my impertinence. I mistakenly told him that I remember being told the same thing last year at the post office. He glared at me and said, "So you only come to the post office once a year?"
"That's about right."
When everything was finally said and done, I apologized for my disorganization and problematic box-preparation. I told him, "I'm not usually this bad."
The only answer I got was a "Merry Christmas" that sounded more like "Screw You."
I hope I don't run into him again next Christmas when I go back to the post office with my unsigned credit card and poorly prepared, untaped box.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
This boots belongs to...
"This boots belongs to" is the message on a label on the inside of my son's boots. Very poor grammar.
I went shopping the day after Thanksgiving. I stunk at it. I was pushed by people on all sides until I finally just took my cart and waited in an aisle where no one was. I waited for my shopping partner to fill the cart full of wonderful deals. We waited for 30 minutes in a line of 300 at 5:30 am in 20 degree weather without coats and only a baby blanket from my trunk to warm us. Maybe next year I will stay asleep.
Last night the smell of "someone's" repeated gas expulsions literally hurt my stomach.
My feet have been cold for 6 days straight.
I'm reading Pride and Prejudice and for once I can feel proud of one of my books in front of the literary world (better than the books on sale for $4.98 at the bookstore).
Everyone is getting really crappy presents for Christmas and no one will be pleased with them.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
In tune with nature
Earlier this morning, I was looking outside on my patio and I noticed an alarming red spider. His legs were bright red and his body was brown. I don't think I have ever seen such an insect. He was quite sizable. He wasn't moving very much and eventually a gust of wind blew him over on his back. He made a few feeble attempts at flipping back over with his very long legs, but seemed to just give up. How odd.
Much later, I looked back out the window and saw him still on his back with his legs straight up in the air. Upon closer observation, I noticed the slightest movement in his legs. What to do? I am the most ridiculous person, I don't mind all of the ants in my house being squashed and torn apart by predators, but I do mind watching a spider outside writhe and die. I had to act.
First, I googled the spider to make sure he wasn't going to jump up on my arm and inject his venom. Turns out he is harmless and only preys on sow insects (I don't know what those are, but I know I am not one of them). Then, I stepped out into the cold November afternoon with no shoes on and a piece of paper to act as a flipping agent. He watched me approach and flexed his legs, as if to say "Over here!" I lowered the paper and righted him and just like that, he was on his feet again. He certainly did run anywhere but he was happy to be on his way. He started off in the direction of the grass but soon turned back toward my house and walked with more strength. I lost sight of him as he crawled close to the house, presumably looking for a way in to thank me for my generosity and to tell me that he is going to live his life with fullness. He might also station himself outside of my door and protect me from sow bugs for the rest of his little life.
I see a lot of myself in this little spider. It reminds me of the time when I was swimming in the ocean with my family on a very tumultuous day. While we were being swept out to sea, we were thrown against some emergency tow ropes that could be used to pull oneself back to shore. The waves were pounding and I was in back. I decided this was it for me and I simply let go. Much to my surprise (and benefit), my sister saw what I had done and grabbed a hold of me and dragged me back with her. So, I didn't die in the ocean and the red spider didn't die at my patio door.
It reminds me of a Michael W. Smith song.
I am attaching a picture of the spider I found on google so you can also be moved visually by this story.
Much later, I looked back out the window and saw him still on his back with his legs straight up in the air. Upon closer observation, I noticed the slightest movement in his legs. What to do? I am the most ridiculous person, I don't mind all of the ants in my house being squashed and torn apart by predators, but I do mind watching a spider outside writhe and die. I had to act.
First, I googled the spider to make sure he wasn't going to jump up on my arm and inject his venom. Turns out he is harmless and only preys on sow insects (I don't know what those are, but I know I am not one of them). Then, I stepped out into the cold November afternoon with no shoes on and a piece of paper to act as a flipping agent. He watched me approach and flexed his legs, as if to say "Over here!" I lowered the paper and righted him and just like that, he was on his feet again. He certainly did run anywhere but he was happy to be on his way. He started off in the direction of the grass but soon turned back toward my house and walked with more strength. I lost sight of him as he crawled close to the house, presumably looking for a way in to thank me for my generosity and to tell me that he is going to live his life with fullness. He might also station himself outside of my door and protect me from sow bugs for the rest of his little life.
I see a lot of myself in this little spider. It reminds me of the time when I was swimming in the ocean with my family on a very tumultuous day. While we were being swept out to sea, we were thrown against some emergency tow ropes that could be used to pull oneself back to shore. The waves were pounding and I was in back. I decided this was it for me and I simply let go. Much to my surprise (and benefit), my sister saw what I had done and grabbed a hold of me and dragged me back with her. So, I didn't die in the ocean and the red spider didn't die at my patio door.
It reminds me of a Michael W. Smith song.
I am attaching a picture of the spider I found on google so you can also be moved visually by this story.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Nunchuck skills
There are certain skills that can be very helpful to people as they make their way through life. Some of these skills include, but are not limited to, cooking, decorating, organizing, tact, outdoor instincts, music, carrying ice trays without spilling the water, and being nice.
I have none of these skills.
Instead, my skill set includes, and is limited to, picking things up with my toes, strong hands, killing flies with towels, loud voice, hearing cell phones ring above the din, smelling natural gas leaks, eating large quantities without getting sick, and making up lies.
These impractical skills are not ones you would put on a resume. When you are in college, and have no practical skills, it makes sense to choose an impractical major, like English. That way, when you graduate, you have no direction. I will forever be pursuing a way to use what I learned when reading Bleak House or Emma. So far, writing a blog is as close as I can come. Too bad no one will pay me for such an action (if they did, I would not earn much).
I will likely always be doing the things that come unnaturally to me. Every time I clean my house, I have to give myself a pep talk before I start. I wish I would exercise, but no pep talk in the world seems to be able to accomplish that.
In the meantime, I will work hard to sharpen the skills I have, sniffing out gas leaks, and speaking loudly. Also, I forgot to mention, I can make a great grilled cheese with sandwich meat and sliced tomato. Maybe I can dream of selling those while following Bette Midler to Las Vegas (are you with me Adriane?).
I would also like to add a small list of my pet-peeves/dislikes: the sound of a dishwasher running, butterflies, lady bugs, dirty ears, using the microwave, and spaghetti.
I have none of these skills.
Instead, my skill set includes, and is limited to, picking things up with my toes, strong hands, killing flies with towels, loud voice, hearing cell phones ring above the din, smelling natural gas leaks, eating large quantities without getting sick, and making up lies.
These impractical skills are not ones you would put on a resume. When you are in college, and have no practical skills, it makes sense to choose an impractical major, like English. That way, when you graduate, you have no direction. I will forever be pursuing a way to use what I learned when reading Bleak House or Emma. So far, writing a blog is as close as I can come. Too bad no one will pay me for such an action (if they did, I would not earn much).
I will likely always be doing the things that come unnaturally to me. Every time I clean my house, I have to give myself a pep talk before I start. I wish I would exercise, but no pep talk in the world seems to be able to accomplish that.
In the meantime, I will work hard to sharpen the skills I have, sniffing out gas leaks, and speaking loudly. Also, I forgot to mention, I can make a great grilled cheese with sandwich meat and sliced tomato. Maybe I can dream of selling those while following Bette Midler to Las Vegas (are you with me Adriane?).
I would also like to add a small list of my pet-peeves/dislikes: the sound of a dishwasher running, butterflies, lady bugs, dirty ears, using the microwave, and spaghetti.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Flies in the buttermilk... shoo, shoo, shoo
This week, Mark had two of his students that live in the neighborhood come to visit. Mark invited them in and they talked for about 20 minutes. I, meanwhile, was in the kitchen feeding Eli his dinner. I noticed that the door was still open while they talked. I wanted to tell them to close it, but I didn't want to be that crabby wife that yells, "Close the door!" So, I let it slide.
This proved to be a grave mistake.
There must have been a bulletin that went out to the local flies saying, "New condo, great location, free food". I started to hear the annoying buzzing sound of an approaching swarm.
Here is the part that I must mention to you that I have an extreme talent. I can kill a fly anywhere, anytime. I have this method that rarely fails me. I take a towel and I stalk the fly. When he lands, I use my left hand as a decoy (distraction) for his million eyes to focus on and then I use my right hand to showcase my incredible fast-twitch muscles and whip him. This usually stuns or disfigures the fly. It is important that you are able to locate him on the floor and dispose of him before he gets his wits about him and attacks again.
With one or two flies in the house, the fight is quickly over - I win. But on this particular day (and the morning that followed), I was outnumbered. There were no fewer than eleven flies killed in the house that day. It was a gruesome scene with legs and thoraxes (do ants have a thorax) scattered. Just when I would declare myself the winner, a friend would fly by me. I couldn't believe it. I knew they weren't coming back to life because I flushed every one of them (a gross misuse of the gallons of water with each flush). The second to last fly (number 10) got the full extent of my rage poured on him. I slapped him so hard with my "super-towel" (as Ariana calls it), that his butt literally fell off. He was still able to crawl around on the floor. I flushed him and his butt down the toilet.
While I may have a soft spot for animals, this in no way reaches to insects in my house, least of all a fly.
Here lies the remains of eleven "good" flies that came to die due to blunt force trauma followed by a burial at sea.
This proved to be a grave mistake.
There must have been a bulletin that went out to the local flies saying, "New condo, great location, free food". I started to hear the annoying buzzing sound of an approaching swarm.
Here is the part that I must mention to you that I have an extreme talent. I can kill a fly anywhere, anytime. I have this method that rarely fails me. I take a towel and I stalk the fly. When he lands, I use my left hand as a decoy (distraction) for his million eyes to focus on and then I use my right hand to showcase my incredible fast-twitch muscles and whip him. This usually stuns or disfigures the fly. It is important that you are able to locate him on the floor and dispose of him before he gets his wits about him and attacks again.
With one or two flies in the house, the fight is quickly over - I win. But on this particular day (and the morning that followed), I was outnumbered. There were no fewer than eleven flies killed in the house that day. It was a gruesome scene with legs and thoraxes (do ants have a thorax) scattered. Just when I would declare myself the winner, a friend would fly by me. I couldn't believe it. I knew they weren't coming back to life because I flushed every one of them (a gross misuse of the gallons of water with each flush). The second to last fly (number 10) got the full extent of my rage poured on him. I slapped him so hard with my "super-towel" (as Ariana calls it), that his butt literally fell off. He was still able to crawl around on the floor. I flushed him and his butt down the toilet.
While I may have a soft spot for animals, this in no way reaches to insects in my house, least of all a fly.
Here lies the remains of eleven "good" flies that came to die due to blunt force trauma followed by a burial at sea.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Merciful
I just granted asylum to a small spider making a pilgrimage across my kitchen floor. I was hoping he was going to the corner where all the mini-ants come out and who piss me off. I certainly do not like spiders, but he was very small and pleasant-looking and I much prefer him to ants. Ants can eat the pieces of food off the floor and crawl on my feet. Spiders just want to eat ants and not broken cheerios that grow here abundantly. I hope he tells his friends of my mercy.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What gives?
Today, when trying to squeeze some hair product from the tube, it exploded out the top instead of the end. This is a new tube. I'm not pleased.
The 15 push-ups and 50 sit-ups I did yesterday did not cause me to wake up instantly skinny this morning.
I'm losing the battle against Eli's pacifier. It is essential to his sweet dreams.
I wish I got to eat out today.
I have learned that buying the clearance books at Barnes and Noble doesn't guarantee a good read.
I should read the book about how to discipline a little boy, but I would rather read the ridiculous book that makes me laugh.
I dusted this morning and I am doing laundry right now. I feel so domestic! Better get back to the beautification of my home...
The 15 push-ups and 50 sit-ups I did yesterday did not cause me to wake up instantly skinny this morning.
I'm losing the battle against Eli's pacifier. It is essential to his sweet dreams.
I wish I got to eat out today.
I have learned that buying the clearance books at Barnes and Noble doesn't guarantee a good read.
I should read the book about how to discipline a little boy, but I would rather read the ridiculous book that makes me laugh.
I dusted this morning and I am doing laundry right now. I feel so domestic! Better get back to the beautification of my home...
Monday, September 17, 2007
Mental illness
I've often wondered what stay-at-home moms do when they fall ill. Who takes care of the kids, who does the housework? Today, I found out. I have been desperately fighting a battle against a cold virus for weeks. I have been taking vitamins and mentally willing it away. Yesterday, I succumbed to the sickness. It is my belief that it is punishment from my body for eating so much chocolate cake over the weekend. Now, my nose is useless. I have two nostrils fully stuffed, and not with snot that I can blow out. They are closed off from within.
My house is once again in disarray and I have very little energy to combat it. I thought very seriously about summoning my cleaning lady to fix it, but then I realized that I am the cleaning lady. So that plan was poop.
This morning, I sat on the couch and Eli sat next to me reading a book and occasionally leaning his head on me. Then he got a burst of energy and began beating the cat with his book and laughing. Poor cat.
The problem with having very short hair is that you can't go out in public without taking a shower first. There are no ponytails to disguise your filthy hair. My hair sticks straight out to the side when I first wake up.
I better go fold laundry and blow my nose on dirty socks. Maybe I will feel better if I immerse myself in activity.
My house is once again in disarray and I have very little energy to combat it. I thought very seriously about summoning my cleaning lady to fix it, but then I realized that I am the cleaning lady. So that plan was poop.
This morning, I sat on the couch and Eli sat next to me reading a book and occasionally leaning his head on me. Then he got a burst of energy and began beating the cat with his book and laughing. Poor cat.
The problem with having very short hair is that you can't go out in public without taking a shower first. There are no ponytails to disguise your filthy hair. My hair sticks straight out to the side when I first wake up.
I better go fold laundry and blow my nose on dirty socks. Maybe I will feel better if I immerse myself in activity.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Injuries of Motherhood
There are certain injuries that come with motherhood. I was a really crappy pregnant woman. I complain all of the time about my symptoms and trials. I do, however, admit that the ends definitely justified the means. Here are some of the unpleasant things I went through to get Eli on the other end. I was sick everyday for 3 months. I mean vomiting daily at all times of day. I had unfortunate gas - need I say more. I had a very peculiar snot situation. I had a ton of snot in my nose that made one side clog at night. Then I would get up and blow my nose in the shower and for at least 10 blows, a full load would come out. I got bloody noses all the time. Nothing like a woman with blood stains down her maternity shirt. My legs and feet would cramp in the night, making me feel that my muscles were tearing. I got acne on my chest and back. The worst of all was my appendages swelled. I couldn't wear my watch or rings for 4 months and my feet look like they were from the Flintstones. I wore flip-flops in the winter. Then after 12 hours of labor, there was a child in my arms looking up at me. My first thought was - oh my gosh, why is his head in a point!?
As with any moment of overwhelming emotion, I shut down for the first few days of Eli's life. I went through the motions. It was all new and I didn't know what to do. Everyone was around and I had to lie in a hospital bed while they visited. Slowly, Eli started to seep in through the cracks of my armor.
When I title this injuries of motherhood, I mean some of the physical ones and non-physical. A few days ago, Eli through a board book at me and hit me in the mouth with it. He busted my lip and made me bleed. I was injured. This is classic Eli behavior. He sometimes whacks me with his head so hard, I think my teeth have broken out of my head. So far, they haven't.
I have always had an out-of-proportion soft spot in my heart for animals. I cry when I see dead animals on the side of the road. I can't watch movies with dying animals. I go crazy. I can't handle it. People think I'm crazy. Lately, I've noticed I have added a new entity to that list. Kids. I never liked them before. I always wanted them to leave me alone. Suddenly, when I see starving kids on TV or hear stories about kidnapped kids, I think my heart is going to tear. I was crying when I watch one of those Spike shows there other day that show disasters caught on tape. Some woman was trapped in a flood in a car with her 18-month-old baby. I was almost sobbing at the idea of it. What has happened to me!?
Here is a revealing confession. At one point, I turned to Mark and said, "If ever there is an accident, and we're drowning and we have a kid too, save me. We can always make more kids, but we can't make more Lilys." Isn't that the worst thing you have ever heard? Before I had a child, it was impossible to think I could love one more than myself. The other day, I told Mark, he better save Eli because I will throw myself back in before I let him drown.
Eli has conquered me. I have become soft with him, rocking him to sleep when he wakes up crying, kissing away Owwies, and loving crazy couch time. That little, bratty kid, is my favorite one in all the world and much better than any other child.
I have become as fierce as the mother moose. I know I would run into a burning house to get him. I would beat an intruder bloody if it meant saving him. I know Mark feels the same about this little person. I've lost my logic and my mind, but I've found my heart. And it's held by little, sticky fingers and a snotty nose.
How much this puts in perspective the sacrifice of Jesus... how could the Father watch his only son tortured and crucified...
As with any moment of overwhelming emotion, I shut down for the first few days of Eli's life. I went through the motions. It was all new and I didn't know what to do. Everyone was around and I had to lie in a hospital bed while they visited. Slowly, Eli started to seep in through the cracks of my armor.
When I title this injuries of motherhood, I mean some of the physical ones and non-physical. A few days ago, Eli through a board book at me and hit me in the mouth with it. He busted my lip and made me bleed. I was injured. This is classic Eli behavior. He sometimes whacks me with his head so hard, I think my teeth have broken out of my head. So far, they haven't.
I have always had an out-of-proportion soft spot in my heart for animals. I cry when I see dead animals on the side of the road. I can't watch movies with dying animals. I go crazy. I can't handle it. People think I'm crazy. Lately, I've noticed I have added a new entity to that list. Kids. I never liked them before. I always wanted them to leave me alone. Suddenly, when I see starving kids on TV or hear stories about kidnapped kids, I think my heart is going to tear. I was crying when I watch one of those Spike shows there other day that show disasters caught on tape. Some woman was trapped in a flood in a car with her 18-month-old baby. I was almost sobbing at the idea of it. What has happened to me!?
Here is a revealing confession. At one point, I turned to Mark and said, "If ever there is an accident, and we're drowning and we have a kid too, save me. We can always make more kids, but we can't make more Lilys." Isn't that the worst thing you have ever heard? Before I had a child, it was impossible to think I could love one more than myself. The other day, I told Mark, he better save Eli because I will throw myself back in before I let him drown.
Eli has conquered me. I have become soft with him, rocking him to sleep when he wakes up crying, kissing away Owwies, and loving crazy couch time. That little, bratty kid, is my favorite one in all the world and much better than any other child.
I have become as fierce as the mother moose. I know I would run into a burning house to get him. I would beat an intruder bloody if it meant saving him. I know Mark feels the same about this little person. I've lost my logic and my mind, but I've found my heart. And it's held by little, sticky fingers and a snotty nose.
How much this puts in perspective the sacrifice of Jesus... how could the Father watch his only son tortured and crucified...
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Emergency Room Trauma
On Monday, I received a call saying that the woman I care-take for has fallen down and will need me to take her to the emergency room that evening at 7 pm, when I would have gone into work. She hadn't lost consciousness, but needed to be checked out as a precaution - as would any 91-year-old. I got to the nursing home to pick her up 4 minutes late. She was sitting in the seat of her walker, looking miserable in the hallway. I walked her down to my Honda Civic and deposited her in the front seat. I had to fold her walker and fit it in the backseat, around the baby seat and miscellaneous junk that lives there. The task caused me to work up a sweat, trying not to hit her in the head with a wayward wheel. Finally we were on the way.
It took another 10 minutes to get her out of the seat and back on her feet. I signed her into the emergency room and we sat and waited to be called. This was an excellent opportunity to people-watch. The waiting room was particularly full that evening. At one point my lady leaned over to me and mumbled something. I had to ask her to repeat herself. She said, much louder this time, "There are an awful lot of fat people in this room." While she was right, I don't think many of them appreciated her comment.
While still waiting an hour later, I noticed a small bug on top of her white hair. Immediately I thought of lice. I edged away. She could have caught it at the nursing home! I couldn't stop staring at it. Then I thought it looked like a tiny little spider that was running around the strands of hair and making a web. I thought I should definitely take it out for her. But the nagging thought that it could be a louse kept me from doing that. I never took it out. I think it must have jumped out while she was getting a CT scan.
We finally got called in and they did tests on her. She was fine. Just after midnight, we walked out of the emergency room. She suggested we stop for a milkshake. The only option was to drive through a McDonald's and wait for 15 minutes for two kiddie size vanilla milkshakes.
When we got back to the nursing home, the task of getting out of my small, low car, was a much greater feat. As much as she tried and I pulled, she couldn't get out. I thought for a minute that I had dislocated her shoulder. I thought I better get some help. A nurse came out to help and we were finally inside. I dropped her off in her room and finally got to go home.
The next day, after riding around in the passenger side of my car, I got up and noticed that my right, back pocket was wet. What!? I couldn't figure out what it could be. I smelled the seat. ??? My sister and I concluded that it must have been some pee that came out during the effort to extract herself. Dang. I sat in it and it is in my car seat.
Last night, I gave her a French manicure. She said she felt like a rich person. (:
It took another 10 minutes to get her out of the seat and back on her feet. I signed her into the emergency room and we sat and waited to be called. This was an excellent opportunity to people-watch. The waiting room was particularly full that evening. At one point my lady leaned over to me and mumbled something. I had to ask her to repeat herself. She said, much louder this time, "There are an awful lot of fat people in this room." While she was right, I don't think many of them appreciated her comment.
While still waiting an hour later, I noticed a small bug on top of her white hair. Immediately I thought of lice. I edged away. She could have caught it at the nursing home! I couldn't stop staring at it. Then I thought it looked like a tiny little spider that was running around the strands of hair and making a web. I thought I should definitely take it out for her. But the nagging thought that it could be a louse kept me from doing that. I never took it out. I think it must have jumped out while she was getting a CT scan.
We finally got called in and they did tests on her. She was fine. Just after midnight, we walked out of the emergency room. She suggested we stop for a milkshake. The only option was to drive through a McDonald's and wait for 15 minutes for two kiddie size vanilla milkshakes.
When we got back to the nursing home, the task of getting out of my small, low car, was a much greater feat. As much as she tried and I pulled, she couldn't get out. I thought for a minute that I had dislocated her shoulder. I thought I better get some help. A nurse came out to help and we were finally inside. I dropped her off in her room and finally got to go home.
The next day, after riding around in the passenger side of my car, I got up and noticed that my right, back pocket was wet. What!? I couldn't figure out what it could be. I smelled the seat. ??? My sister and I concluded that it must have been some pee that came out during the effort to extract herself. Dang. I sat in it and it is in my car seat.
Last night, I gave her a French manicure. She said she felt like a rich person. (:
Friday, August 31, 2007
Friday morning in my house
It is Friday morning/afternoon. For a stay-at-home mom, Friday is just like any other day of the week. I never get that excitement I used to for the end of a week nor the dread of the start of a new one.
My house has taken on a life of it's own. It is quite filthy. We have a washer and dryer in our kitchen. Right now a basket of dirty laundry is on my kitchen table. When people come to visit, they have to eat their meals next to my dirty laundry. If I am lucky, Eli has just gone through the basket and has dropped them all over the kitchen, crotch side up.
My least favorite task in the world is to empty the dishwasher. I don't know why this brings me such displeasure. I especially hate the cups. There is always water and crap on the top that I have to wipe off or ruin my cabinets.
Today when I was changing a massive poopy diaper that Eli had saved up for two days and a sudden movement caused my three fingers to get poop all over them. I didn't even know what to do. I had to keep my wits about me. I had to change the rest of the diaper with traces of it on my fingers, which I thought was nasty. I had to give it a good scouring after the change. I still won't eat with my right hand all day.
My house has taken on a life of it's own. It is quite filthy. We have a washer and dryer in our kitchen. Right now a basket of dirty laundry is on my kitchen table. When people come to visit, they have to eat their meals next to my dirty laundry. If I am lucky, Eli has just gone through the basket and has dropped them all over the kitchen, crotch side up.
My least favorite task in the world is to empty the dishwasher. I don't know why this brings me such displeasure. I especially hate the cups. There is always water and crap on the top that I have to wipe off or ruin my cabinets.
Today when I was changing a massive poopy diaper that Eli had saved up for two days and a sudden movement caused my three fingers to get poop all over them. I didn't even know what to do. I had to keep my wits about me. I had to change the rest of the diaper with traces of it on my fingers, which I thought was nasty. I had to give it a good scouring after the change. I still won't eat with my right hand all day.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Nothing witty to write
I recently bought my first pair of sunglasses. I think I'm becoming an adult.
My house looks like someone broke in, trashed it and then left when they realized there was nothing to steal and it was overrun by insects.
I stopped smashing the spiders in the corner because I'm hoping they eat the little ants that run around under my carpet.
There is a mirror to the side of my computer in the bathroom. I just glanced over at it while I was typing and realized that as I sit here typing, my profile looks like Jabba the Hut.
My hair looks like I am wearing a mushroom-shaped wig.
I wish I had sugar cereal to eat.
I want to keep Eli in his pajamas all day because he looks so stinking cute in them. I will attach a picture.
I hope no one really wastes their time reading this post.
My house looks like someone broke in, trashed it and then left when they realized there was nothing to steal and it was overrun by insects.
I stopped smashing the spiders in the corner because I'm hoping they eat the little ants that run around under my carpet.
There is a mirror to the side of my computer in the bathroom. I just glanced over at it while I was typing and realized that as I sit here typing, my profile looks like Jabba the Hut.
My hair looks like I am wearing a mushroom-shaped wig.
I wish I had sugar cereal to eat.
I want to keep Eli in his pajamas all day because he looks so stinking cute in them. I will attach a picture.
I hope no one really wastes their time reading this post.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Saturday mornings
Another morning in the newly purchased Clinton home. So far, Lorenzo (cat) has stalked and eaten the head off a cricket that was hopping around my carpet. Eli chewed all the paint off the side of his crib. I drank rotten, bitter orange juice until I realized that was what was giving me a stomach ache.
In other news: I have been working for a woman in a nursing home while she is recovering from knee surgery. Every time I go there, I see such sad, elderly people pulling themselves along in their wheelchairs asking me to help them. They had a luau last week. The nurses were playing hot-potato with the residents using a beach ball and throwing it around the room. Since everyone in there is sick and rather uncoordinated, the ball kept hitting people in the heads but still the game went on.
My cat is looking out the window and trying to chirp with the birds. He is nuts. It is the weirdest thing any animal has ever done.
In other news: I have been working for a woman in a nursing home while she is recovering from knee surgery. Every time I go there, I see such sad, elderly people pulling themselves along in their wheelchairs asking me to help them. They had a luau last week. The nurses were playing hot-potato with the residents using a beach ball and throwing it around the room. Since everyone in there is sick and rather uncoordinated, the ball kept hitting people in the heads but still the game went on.
My cat is looking out the window and trying to chirp with the birds. He is nuts. It is the weirdest thing any animal has ever done.
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