Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Crabby

Yesterday afternoon was kind of crappy for a variety of reasons, the biggest reason being the kid who just couldn't get it together in the car on the way home from school then finally threatened to punch a brother, earning him a trip upstairs for homework immediately after dinner, do not pass go do not climb into the storm drain with your best friend from around the corner. He whined and yelled and came out of his room fourteen frillion times. He threw his homework folder down the stairs. He locked us out on the porch. He sprayed a brother with Windex (after cleaning off the back window of the van after I asked him not to write in the dust and he wrote in the dust anyway).

Then Ryan came home later than expected and by that time we were all stress eating cookies and watching Frozen (or, as Mary calls it, "Let Uh GO? Let Uh GOOOOO?").

I had a bottle of wine and a glass all ready to go that I never opened because *apparently* hot dogs are on the no no list post-gallbladder removal and I felt like ass.

I went upstairs and read for a while with the exiled kid, because his behavior turned out to be from some very hard things that had happened at school (which, I have a shitty day ALL THE TIME and I have never once SPRAYED YOU WITH WINDEX OR LOCKED YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE).

Bedtime was also kind of a disaster, as it can be sometimes.

Finally, it was quiet upstairs and Ryan and I were standing in the kitchen. It was after nine o'clock and we were both exhausted. I thought it might just be the kind of day where you go to bed early and hope for better things in the morning.

But then while we were standing there talking I happened to look over at Wes's hermit crab tank to see one of the crabs, THAT WE THOUGHT WAS DEAD A MONTH AGO, WALK OUT OF ITS LITTLE COCONUT HOUSE AND GET IN THE WATER DISH.

Now. We have not fed or watered this poor thing in a MONTH since we THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD. We bought Wes a fish tank and two goldfish because we felt so bad about his pets dying (one of the goldfish also died, but Fear is still hanging on. During the Children's Sermon the other day the minister asked the kids "What do you pray for?" and Wes responded, INTO THE MICROPHONE "That my pets will stop dying" OMG.).

Apparently it was HIBERNATING OR SOMETHING.

Ryan immediately filled up its water bowl and put the crab back in for a nice long drink because as far as I know, hermit crabs ARE NOT DESERT CREATURES.

I have not seen any sign of Harmless (the crab's name, the other crab, Destroy, is deader than a doornail, at least I THINK SO and hope so because he received a burial by city curbside pick up today) this morning, but I will be buying hermit crab food on my way home.

After that happy news I managed to finish the flower border on my cross stitch project, write my exam for class this week, and have a nice conversation with Ryan.

Moral of the story, don't count your chickens before they hatch. Or your dead hermit crabs until they flip upside down and start to grow fuzz.

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Harmless LIVES.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Lots of rain and lots of cake. A GREAT weekend.

Busy weekend over here you guys. I mean, it was supposed to be WAY busier, with a total of FOUR commitments on Saturday, beginning at eight o'clock in the morning with soccer, but since we had the giant Franken-Rainstorm that dropped more than seven inches of rain on us overnight and into the early morning hours (and because it KEPT RAINING ALL DAY) all but the most fun of those things got cancelled. SCORE!

So instead of rushing out the door to soccer, I took the only two awake kids to get donuts and drive around looking at flooded creeks. When we got home Wes had started his six-hour Star Wars marathon that lasted into the afternoon when he had to pause it so we could go to a birthday party. We also brought him a donut. Pretty much Wes's favorite day ever.

On the way to the birthday party we had to stop and admire what is normally a popular children's swimming/wading hole that had turned into a raging torrent from all the rain.

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The party was a ton of fun, with cute animal games for the kids, really absurdly delicious cake and lots of other yummy treats (Wes went a little bit nuts on treats, this information becomes important later), and wine for the grownups. It was cool and rainy outside and snug and cozy inside, just the way I like it. Near the end I noticed Charley and Wes were wrestling over an inflatable Sun on the floor while James and Mary sat at a table coloring and secretly wished I could go back in time and send all the kids to Montessori school. We went home after that to the beef stew and mashed potato dinner I had put into the crockpot. Turns out we shouldn't have encouraged them to eat anymore because by bedtime Charley had the dry heaves and Wes had a 102 fever THAT HE GOT FROM OVERINDULGING AT THE PARTY. I mean seriously. Thank goodness the piano party Charley and Wes had scheduled got moved to Friday due to the rain because I cannot imagine what would have happened in the back of my van had they been allowed an hour's worth of unsupervised candy access. UNSPEAKABLE THINGS.

After they both slept it off they woke up feeling better and we went to church. As usual, while we chatted with friends in the Narthex, the kids were outside doing who knows what in the rain (Oh, did I forget to mention that Charley and Wes had a stamp-fight in the back of the car Saturday night?)

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And then on the way to the car we gathered them into the pumpkin patch (the sign was folded a funny way so that to Charley and Wes it looked like it said "DUMP-KIN patch" which was so hilarious I was worried they might stop breathing.

There was a surprising amount of cooperation this year.

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And this was our keeper. Sorry that your face is only partly visible, Third Baby, everyone is looking the same direction and no one is picking his nose, so THIS IS IT.

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We had a relaxing couple of hours at home and then headed to another party with friends at a house in our neighborhood. The kids were having such a blast doing I have no idea what upstairs (all I know is that it was loud and that every once in a while a kid poked his head over the landing and yelled something nonsensical about BATTLESTATIONS which is pretty much the ONLY way they know how to party) that we decided not to interrupt them to eat chili with us and instead just give them sandwiches at home later on. When we got home I told them they were having PB&J for dinner and James piped up "I already had dinner at the party" and when we asked him what he'd eaten he said "I had some of the soup [chili]. Somebody helped me get it and take it to the table." HA!! IT TAKES A VILLAGE!!!!

(Wes helped himself to two pieces of pie, a pumpkin bar, and a large chocolate chip cookie at the party, but fortunately lost interest before finishing it so we did not end up with a reprisal of "I ate so much I got a 102 fever")

We left after a loud fight erupted upstairs between Charley and Wes that involved both hitting AND biting which means we maintain our streak with these particular friends of both A) Leaving an awkwardly long time after the rest of the guests and B) Leaving with at least one kid screaming. We are the BEST.

After PB&J and homework time everyone dropped off to sleep without a PEEP and I worked on my cross stitch project in my bed. It might have been the best weekend we've had in a long time.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Beast mode*

*I don't know why but I heart that expression. I used it on FB this morning along with a picture of the massive rain event that's a'comin for us. It's going to be EPIC, to quote the kids.

Well, APPARENTLY, once you talk about a shark biting someone right before your very eyes, it's really hard to pick up the blog after that and talk about, I don't know, how much fun I had singing along with Bruce Springsteen while I put chili in the crockpot this morning (true story).

I guess I could tell you about the time Charley and I were YELLED AT BY A CRAZY PERSON at the park yesterday.

I met up with two friends and a big pack o' kids at the park yesterday afternoon. It was a really gorgeous afternoon and the park wasn't crowded AND it had a fence all the way around it so the kids were free ranging and happy and I was talking to friends and happy and it was a really very nice afternoon.

It was nice until Charley came up to me on the verge of tears to tell me that some kids were mistreating a frog and some adult had told him "It's just a frog, it doesn't have any rights" and I was like "WUT?" and immediately got up and followed him back to where he had been on the other side of the playground.

He saw a bunch of kids walking after the frog, who was hopping on the ground. Some of the kids were friends who we had come to the park with. They weren't doing anything wrong, just following the frog. Charley walked over and calmly picked up the frog. He had just walked back over to me when this woman walked up and YELLED "You two need to MIND your OWN BUSINESS." Which, OK. I didn't realize we were on an episode of COPS so what the freaking hell.

The other kids gathered around and I tried to explain to the lady that these were his friends that we had come to the park with (because the MYOB comment was so totally bizarre I couldn't figure out what the hell she was talking about). She said "I don't care. He needs to mind his own business. These kids are just playing with the frog and he keeps trying to take it away."

Then she GRABBED THE FROG OUT OF CHARLEY'S HAND.

Then Charley started crying and the crazy asked loudly and with exasperation "WHY'S HE CRYING?!"

With every ounce of civility I could muster I said "He's worried the frog will get hurt."

The lady replied "NO. He was trying to hurt it. He was putting it underground and covering it up. It could die!!"

And I said (fake cheerful) "No, he was putting it in the water meter where he found it when we got here. He finds lots of frogs in water meters. They live there."

Then, while the crazy lady continued to bluster nonsensical bullshit about Charley trying to kill a frog (nope) I turned to the other kids (WHO WE HAD COME TO THE PARK WITH) and said "Where do you think a good place to let the frog go would be? What about in the woods? Should we take it to the woods?" And the crazy lady stomped off, STILL HOLDING THE FROG.

I assumed she had let it go, and by this time Charley was beside himself sobbing, so when I saw her coming back over to me I picked him up (all seventy three pounds and nearly five feet of him) and carried him back to our picnic table.

She FOLLOWED ME and I ignored her then put Charley down and said "You do not have to talk to that lady. If she approaches you again, you come find me. I will handle it."

I am pretty pretty sure she heard me because after that she gathered her two kids (who were the ones PUTTING THE FROG IN A BUCKET AND THROWING IT UP THE SLIDE) and left.

The friends I was with (who saw the whole thing, and one even held Mary, who was loudly crying the whole time a stranger was yelling at me at the park) immediately gathered Charley into huge hugs. Because they KNOW him and know how much he loves frogs and did not deserve a public dressing down by a stranger who doesn't know what the hell she is talking about.

We left shortly after that when he had calmed down, it was time to go anyway. After dinner Charley asked if he could write about what happened instead of doing homework. He wrote a two page reflection about what had happened and how we reacted and then asked Ryan and me to write responses at the bottom. And then I poured a glass of wine and exchanged texts with the friend who had been there with is because *WTAF WAS THAT?*. It hardly seems real. I really really really hope that woman got in her car COMPLETELY HORRIFIED by her behavior (among other things, MAKING ANOTHER PERSON'S CHILD CRY RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE MOTHER, HOLY HELL), but I'm guessing that's probably a bit of a charitable assessment.

Anyway, Charley woke up absolutely indignant. I am proud of him for trying to help the frog (he was trying to take it away from this woman's kids when they were throwing it up the slide in a bucket). I have absolutely no shred of doubt about his side of the story. People can be mean. We have to be the bigger people sometimes. Integrity, principles, blah blah blah, teachable moment. Still it SUCKED and I hope it never happens again. It better never happen again.

In other news, we are slated to have rain of Old Testament proportions this weekend and I could not be more excited. I have chili in the crockpot and a pan of pumpkin bars all made (and ingredients to make more if we run out). All I have to do is get Ryan some more beer and we will be READY. BRING IT ON.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

We're going to need a bigger boat

So our New Year's Resolution to put seventy-thousand miles on the gray van continues apace. Earlier this week, while I was still basking in the happy mood of having pulled off a sixteen-hundred mile road trip with four children in three and a half days, my sister texted to ask if I would be interested in sharing a beach cabin with her this coming weekend. I initially said no, because Wes had a soccer game on Saturday and Charley is in third grade Sunday School which is kind of a big deal and we had already missed last week, and of course we had JUST GOTTEN BACK FROM A ROAD TRIP. But then she told me later that day that the big cabin had been rented by someone else and that she had gotten a smaller one instead. And THEN I had the perfect answer: I would take James and Mary and Ryan could stay home and do all the home stuff with the kids.

When I approached Ryan about this idea he was enthusiastic, even going so far as to suggest I not take ANY kids with me. This was tempting, but my niece was going to be there and I thought James would freak out with excitement and do that muppet thing he does, so I decided to take them anyway (It was totally worth it, when I picked James up on Friday and told him we were going to the beach he squealed "BEACH!!" and ran into a wall).

We arrived just after dark and settled into our sweet little cabin then put on a movie for the kids, dug the cork out of a bottle of wine with a car key and a steak knife, and repaired to the swing on the front porch to drink wine out of coffee mugs and listen to the surf in the distance.

Ten minutes later it was clear that the kids weren't on board with quietly watching a movie. So we took them (and our coffee mugs) for a walk on the beach. That did the trick and an hour later we were all tucked into bed and ready for lights out. Everyone slept well (surprise!) and we were out on the beach by seven thirty the next morning. We had the place ALL TO OURSELVES(except for lots and lots of birds and a massive oil and gas tanker that was lumbering out of port not a quarter-mile away, hashtag Texas) .

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Fortunately due to a trick of the Continental Shelf, you can practically wade all the way to the Yucatan Peninsula from much of the Texas coast. The kids had tons of room to play and boogie board. They played together happily all morning long and then came in for snacks and another hour of sand time while Katie and I watched from our chairs.

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Later we went for a walk to a fishing pier a ways down the beach. Mary's hair was blowing in her face and she asked me for a "Headband, Mama" which cracked me up, so I gave her my bandana and now my life is complete.

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We climbed up on a fishing pier and walked out to the end where a couple had just CAUGHT A SHARK ON A FISHING POLE. He was standing there holding the shark up so the kids could see it and warned them not to get too close because if it started thrashing around someone could get hurt.

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This seemed dubious since the poor thing was just hanging there from the fishing pole. The wife encouraged the kids to gather around and get a picture with the shark before the man threw it back (it was STILL ALIVE, which was very important to me). So they got in an awkward line and my sister snapped this picture just SECONDS before the shark went crazy and started thrashing around.

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In SECONDS it had BITTEN THE MAN'S LEG and unhooked itself from the fishing line. We just stood there staring at the shark, lying on the deck, and the huge, long, bleeding scrapes on the man's leg, having NO CLUE what to say or do. The shark started thrashing around again. James shrieked and jumped up a flight of steps as if propelled by an unseen hand. Finally the man with the bloody leg grabbed the shark by the tail and flung it over the railing back into the water, where we watched it swim away.

"Are you OK?" one of us finally managed. He said he was fine, so we thanked him and walked back down the pier. James kept asking me why the man didn't cry when the shark bit him. Then he wanted to know if there were sharks on the beach where we had been swimming, which I now knew was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT LIKELY, not that I was going to tell him that. Instead I said "I don't think we're going out deep enough to be with the sharks." He did not believe me (with good reason) and wanted to know "How deep are the sharks? How far from shore? How long was the man's fishing line? Do the sharks like waves? If I stay in the waves will there be sharks? OMG YOU GUYS, I had NO ANSWERS FOR HIM. Especially not after we found ANOTHER SHARK dead on the beach between the pier and our swimming spot. YES THERE ARE SHARKS HERE AND YES THEY BITE WHO WANTS TO GO SWIMMING WITH ME?

We swam after that but not with quite as much reckless abandon as before. And then everyone was kind of tired and sunburned and ready to go in for a while anyway, so we packed it in for the day and happily traipsed back to the cabin.

Later I realized we had set up one of our instrumented towers for my hurricane project in grad school ON THE LAWN OF OUR CABIN like ten-ish years ago.

James and Mary and I came home tonight so we could see Ryan's men's chorus sing at church tomorrow and otherwise relax before everyone goes back to school (fall break was last week). Ryan and the big kids were out, so I gave James and Mary some dinner and a big bath and put them to bed.

I had just come downstairs and picked up my book when I started hearing the shark questions from the top of the stairs.

So many shark questions.

I think we can rule out "marine biology" from the list of "possible future careers for James." Or maybe it is now in the number one spot.

It was a(nother) great trip, though, and I'm already wondering how we can all go back as a family. Where we will swim with big sticks.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Four Days on the Road and I'm a Gonna Make it Home Tonight

A little more than a week ago Ryan texted me to ask if I wanted to take a last-minute trip to New Mexico. Since our weather is still stupid hot I immediately responded with a hearty "YES" and the decision was made. When we lived closer we used to always go to New Mexico in the fall when our weather was being stupid. I couldn't wait! The thirteen hour drive seemed like NBD at the time and we decided to leave Friday right after school and spend the night at a halfway point in Lubbock, where we met in college, graduated, got married, started grad school, had a baby, then graduated again.

The kids were SO FREAKING EXCITED. Every day last week they asked me if it was time to go to New Mexico. They also wanted to know whether people in New Mexico spoke English. And whether there would be a pinata.

Our first stop was about two hours in to our first leg to have dinner. The restaurant we chose had a secret tunnel for kids that led from right next to our table to the outdoor play area where the kids spent the whole time driving Tonka trucks and hula hooping under an oak tree. SCORE! We hoped all the activity and their full tummmies would make them sleep in the car for at least part of the next four hours, but NOPE. Not one wink of sleep between Brownwood and Lubbock where we made it to the hotel around midnight. The kids got out of the van and immediately wanted to know why it was so freezing and why it smelled so weird. Ryan and I inhaled deeply. We were home!

James and Mary and I laid on the sofabed while Charley and Wes watched TV in the other side of the suite and Ryan went to the car to get our luggage (Later Mary loudly and affirmatively kicked James out of bed. He had to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor). When Ryan got back he found Charley and Wes watching a movie they had BOUGHT WITH PAY PER VIEW. It was an exciting moment when the bill arrived the next morning under our door for twenty dollars. Exciting because I didn't know whether Ryan's head would literally explode or if he would just have a heart attack. Luckily when we explained the part about the sneaky kids the hotel canceled the charge and Ryan hid the remote on top of the closet.

Before we left on Saturday we gave the kids the Tour of Things They Don't Remember because most of them did not exist. No one understood our enthusiasm for staring at the outside of buildings while standing in the wind.

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Ryan and I spent a LOT OF TIME in this classroom back in the late nineties/early 2000s. Lots of time and money and stress hormones.

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We saw the house where we brought Charley home from the hospital, where Ryan finished his dissertation, and where Charley and I were once awakened at three o'clock in the morning by a Chevy Tahoe crashing into the apartment building at the end of the street.

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And then we had lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant even though we now have a location in the town where we live now. It was still special because it was fifty degrees outside and felt like home.

And then it was time to get back on the road on the way to New Mexico. Spirits were high as we crossed the border an hour and a half into our trip. Little did we know that was JUST THE BEGINNING. After an hour we discovered that the DVD player wasn't working. Kids started to freak the freak out until, in a moment of inspiration, I suggested they think of a potty word for every letter of the alphabet. They killed an entertaining and inappropriate ninety minutes calling out "B is for BALLS" (hee hee hee ho ho ho) and "T is for TENTACLES" (HILARITY FROM ALL PARTIES, mostly Ryan and me). We made it to Albuquerque in about five hours and stopped for supplies at a Trader Joe's.

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This is what thirty-six hours worth of food and booze looks like.

Our take-it-easy travel approach broke down after that because ENOUGH ALREADY and for dinner instead of an interesting cultural experience we threw a bunch of Sonic dollar menu hamburgers into the back seat and started our drive up into the mountains (after seeing not a single Breaking Bad landmark, which was sad at the time but less sad now that we're making our way towards the series finale in abject horror at Walt's behavior).

We drove through some amazing scenery (and one road that looked suspiciously like one I saw on an episode of Dateline) after dark, greeted Ryan's friend, and settled everyone in for the night in her cozy cabin. Everyone slept well and we woke up the next morning to temperatures in the low fifties, coffee brewing and a fire in the wood stove.

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The kids bundled up and spent the morning playing in the woods.

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Then we went for a hike by a stream in the mountains. It was chilly and foggy and PERFECT (except for the lingering hole in my foot and slightly grouchy children (whose attitudes improved considerably after half of them started crying over NOTHING and I had a mommy meltdown and then made everyone a guilt-snack that seemed to help more than anything). And the roving bands of cows whose loud MOOING was echoing through the canyon. Between the mooing and the fog it was quite the ominous scene.).

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James took a picture for Ryan and me.

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A few hundred yards later (hiking is not very strenuous or fast for us) a BULL WITH HORNS emerged from the fog and started approaching us from across the stream. Charley freaked out because James was wearing a red jacket. "JAMES! TAKE OFF YOUR COAT! TAKE IT OFF TAKE IT OFF TAKEITOFF!!!" Ryan assured him that if it wasn't safe to be on the trail because of the cows we wouldn't be there la la la. I climbed up on a rock and turned around to reassure him and was greeted by the sight of FIVE OTHER COWS WALKING SHOULDER TO SHOULDER DOWN THE PATH just FEET behind Charley and Ryan. WE WERE BOXED IN BY COWS.

"EVERYONE CLIMB THE HILL!" I shrieked in a slightly less than reassuring maternal tone. We headed up on top of some rocks and the cows disinterestedly crossed the stream and walked away to find some other tourists to scare. Too late I thought to take a picture of the scary, scary cows.

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Look kids! That's where burgers come from!

After the hike we drove a little ways up the mountain to see the prehistoric volcanic caldera. It was breathtaking.

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Also, holy cow (heh) it was freezing.

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Back at the cabin Mary napped and I read a book by the fire with our hostess. Ryan and the boys all disappeared somewhere outside. Several hours later Ryan came back alone and when I asked him where the kids were he responded "They're at their battlestations" as he casually made himself a cup of coffee. He pointed them out to me, several hundred yards away on a hillside in the forest. I could barely make out part of James's arm. Sounds legit! I returned to my spot on the couch. Hashtag realvacation.

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There were other pressing activities, like going for walks.

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Stopping to pick up everysinglething while attempting to go on a walk.

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Being adorable in the woods.

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Playing with puppies.

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And sharing a LOAF of truffle white cheddar cheese for dinner. The kids enjoyed hot dog pennies and yogurt because we were too busy eating our delicious delicious cheese to make them a proper dinner at a reasonable hour.

The little kids went to bed and Charley joined us for a couple hours of fire time.

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Sadly, we had to say goodbye the next morning because we had to make it back here in time for my 1:00 Tuesday class. Instead of staying in a hotel halfway back this time we decided to go for it in one shot, with a long-ish stop in Lubbock for dinner at a favorite Italian place. We took a different route out of the mountains that included hairpin turns (only one puking kid!), fascinating cliff dwellings, Los Alamos National Labs, and Santa Fe. We nibbled the leftover cheese and crackers, the kids passed around the bagels and pumpkin Joe Joes and peanut butter sandwiches. We stopped at a McDonald's in Muleshoe to use the bathroom and happened upon Farmer Happy Hour, where men in boots and Wranglers gather every afternoon for discounted coffee and Fox News, which sort of makes me sound like I'm mocking it, but I really love that part of the state and it really just made me nostalgic for our time there). We watched ONE MOVIE on the entire fifteen hour trip and the rest of the time the kids chatted happily in the back or slept (it was the Twilight Zone). Dinner was happy and fun and very very messy.

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Ryan and I sang camp songs for the final three hours both to keep ourselves awake and to distract Mary from bellowing "SHUT UP AND DANCE" at the top of her lungs.

And at midnight we were carrying four comatose children up the stairs to their beds. I really want to go back right now.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

There's a hole in my foot

Somehow while I was outside putting the kids into Ryan's car for school yesterday I stepped on a piece of glass the size of a toast crumb that managed to create a two millimeter hole in the bottom of my foot that immediately started bleeding profusely.

Since almost the same thing had happened to me in New York this summer, I knew that the only thing to do was to get a needle and dig that little jerk out of my foot.  So I found a package of sewing machine needles from the eighties that I had come across while moving some furniture the other day, pulled one out, got an ice pack to numb the area, and set to work, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the kitchen floor.

I located the culprit fairly quickly (and painfully), a tiny shard of brown glass that I suspected originated from an art installation Charley created several weeks ago in which he wrote "Stop underage drinking" on the driveway in sidewalk chalk and then accidentally (?) smashed a beer bottle on it so that it was covered in shards of glass.  He said he wanted to put the beer bottle next to the message, but that he had accidentally dropped it. At any rate, the exhibit added a certain je ne sais quoi to the curb appeal of our house until I swept up the glass and let the sprinkler take care of the chalk.

So, I had located the piece of glass but was not able to coax it out of my foot using just the needle or my fingernails, so I carefully tip toed up the stairs and into my bathroom, where I had a pair of tweezers.  Several minutes later, I had arranged a halogen desk lamp to shine on the affected area and was ready for action.  Only when I started looking around again the glass was GONE.  I (painfully) squeezed and poked the area with both the needle and the tweezers, but could see no sign of it.  Satisfied that it had either A) fallen out of my foot as I walked up the stairs or B) migrated further inside my foot, outside of my reach with the tweezers, I iced the area and dressed the wound with neosporin and a Star Wars bandaid.

Then I treated myself to a breakfast taco (Walking VERY gingerly slash dragging my stupid sore foot behind me like Quasimodo) and settled in to work on a proposal that was due yesterday at five o'clock.  I complained about my stupid morning to my friend C.  She immediately consulted her podiatrist husband who enjoined me to STOP WALKING ON IT AND SEE A DOCTOR FTLOG.

I calmly replied that I didn't have time to see a doctor because I was working, but that I planned to go the following morning.  But they were insistent, so I made an appointment with one of the urgent-care doctors at our regular clinic, noting the irony that I could EITHER, SIT and work and NOT WALK, or WALK to my car, WALK into the clinic.  But since I knew I'd be worried about it all day and Ryan would have choir that night, which meant I couldn't go to after-hours with no kids, it seemed the right thing to do.

After the usual vital sign checks the doctor appeared bearing an instrument of torture, seven inch long pointed metal salad tongs carefully sanitized and wrapped in plastic.  He told me it would hurt the same as the numbing shot, so they were just gonna skip that and dive right in (paraphrasing), then he asked me to lie on the table and then spent the next several minutes digging around in (and I can only assume ENLARGING) the hole with the pointy death tongs.

I helped by using the muscles in my face to resist screaming and kicking the tongs right out of his hand.  The digging stabbing feeling stopped and I opened my eyes.  The bottom half-inch of the death tongs were COVERED IN MY BLOOD.  The doctor said "I don't see anything in there yet.  Let me TAKE ANOTHER LOOK [emphasis mine]."

The digging continued for what felt like several more hours before he stood up, took off his gloves, and said "Whelp, didn't see the glass.  Usually your body will take care of it.  If it's not getting better you can go to a podiatrist.  Give us a call if you notice and redness, swelling, or puss."

WILL DO, DOC!!

And then he gave me some neosporin and a new bandaid.  A normal, not-Star Wars one.

And I hippity hopped back to my car to resume my day of grocery shopping, school gardening, proposal finishing (Which I did together with Charley and Wes at the coffee shop.  They did homework while I worked and when they got restless I gave them cash and they bought cookies.  It was actually very cozy.), kid-picking up, dinner making, and finally lying on the couch with an ice pack like LEAVE ME ALONE ALL OF YOUS, MAH FOOT HURTS.

Because ow, ow, ow, OOOWWWWW.

The kids helped me by being so out of control after bedtime that I had to hobble up the stairs approximately every fifteen minutes while Ryan was at choir.  SO RESTFUL.

This morning I am forcing myself to walk as normally as possible (since I have a lot of ground to cover on campus) but it still huuuuurts and is really stupid.  Can't imagine it will be a problem this weekend when we are HIKING IN THE MOUNTAINS.  Lesson learned: Either wear shoes outside or don't help Ryan get the kids in the car.