A Sunday Rescue Mission

I have a Lily-scale that measures my level of psychosis.  Zero would be my normal, pleasant, even-keel  self.  I run at a three while I am in food preparation mode (this can be observed about 5pm every night).  Herding children before school can occasionally shoot me to a five.  Then there are those isolated incidents that run me immediately red.  The highest level on the Lily-scale would be an arbitrary 14.  Fourteen means I'm about to break my foot off in someone's royal A (see "Coming To America" for the source of this quote).  

Mark has been out of town this weekend, so I have been playing the single parent role for a few days.  I've actually been managing pretty well, if you don't count the shocking mess in my house.  I started another load of laundry before we left the house for church (on time!) and patted myself on the back.  After our weekly Sam's visit, I carried a sleeping Marina from the car into the house, passing through the laundry room.  That's when I saw something that sent sparks flying from my ears.  The spin cycle on the washing machine jostled my in-progress puzzle until parts of it fell off the back, into the lint-filled depths below.  Since I was carrying Marina, I could only let out an inward scream, which broke blood vessels in my nose.  

If you are not someone who enjoys a good 1000 piece puzzle, you may not fully grasp the enormity of this situation.  

Since I had a trunk filled with perishable Sam's Club items, I had to put off the puzzle dilemma and attend to the demands of Sunday life.  Putting away groceries on a Sunday is no small task.  I have to  regularly throw away all the aging food from the week to make room for the mammoth size cheeses, egg cartons of 98 eggs, and 20 cans of tuna.    

Finally it was time to start the puzzle rescue operation.  I changed into my gymnast clothing and went to work.  Since I had a feeling this would be blog-worthy, I grabbed my camera and captured the situation.  I also thought this would come in handy if I died in the process; Mark could use the documentation for my life insurance policy.  Eli joined my party and asked if he could take pictures too.  He snapped some award-winning shots of my unflattering "leggins".

The scene that caused my brain to incinerate.  

Here is what I had to work with.  After searching for a point of entry and wringing my hands, I finally pulled out the machine on the left for a few inches of maneuver room.

My observations from above.  Notice the tiny puzzle pieces screaming for help.  There were several more hidden under that exhaust tube.  Also found: a pair of socks that have been missing since winter.  

The excavating tool.  

Kitchen pincers and a dislocated shoulder worked together to remove the socks.

Thank you Eli for capturing this.  I inadvertently turned the machine on with my wild flailings.  

Attempting another position while shoving my head arms down.  I needed to rescue my rescue tool.  Pardon the "leggins"... they are part of my Sunday uniform and I needed unrestricted movement.

Notice the wardrobe change.  This was a second rescue mission.  After I reconstructed my puzzle end-pieces, I realized there was still one or two missing.  I had to go back in.  We never leave a man (or puzzle piece) behind.     

 

This is where my head got caught behind the machine and fell off. 

This is about the time my allergies started acting up from the dust wonderland. 

Victory.  Notice the many hazardous chemicals above my head.  This heightened the tension.  Watch out for falling starch and the puke bucket, Lily!

Look at the scrapes I get myself in when Mark leaves me to my own devices for several days.  I'm actually surprised I didn't manage to get trapped back there.  Fat Linda would eat parts of my legs and I would be powerless to stop her.

Now if I get to the end of my puzzle and find there are missing pieces... I pity the butt that is standing closest to me.