Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Day in the Life

***This is a journal entry from 3 years ago that made me laugh again... Thought it should be shared... ~RR)
Okay, so I have recently had a bit of surgery, and while it was minor, and I really am doing better, yesterday really seemed to be "just one of those days," that really qualify for blogging. I mean, who wants to read a blog with the content of a blank sheet of coffee-stained scrap paper?
You know what I am talking about, and if you have written one of those such blogs yourself, don't feel bad about it, just don't do it again... Seriously, nobody cares what time you got up, what you had for breakfast, or what a boring day at your job looks like.
Moving on...
My husband, James, and I have been blessed with a three-year-old bundle of joy and energy. Raising our son, Benjamin, (also known to us as "Grover," the cuddly-est of all monsters) has been a series of ups and downs, and many adventures!
I have recently had a bit of surgery on my arm, and while it was minor and I really am doing better, yesterday really seemed to be "just one of those days."
First, though, I have to say, that since the surgery, James and Benjamin have been good sports about helping to take care of me, and to pick up some of my duties that are difficult to do one-handed. Granted, there are considerably fewer glasses and cereal bowls in the cupboards, (they are apparently quite slippery) and our white socks and underthings are now pink, and, of course, my wool sweater is now just the right size for Grover... I digress.

I had to get my stitches out, and a get new cast on my arm, so I thought I would write (okay, type, and slowly, at that!) an account of yesterday, because this morning, as yesterday's pain medication wears off, I am able to see the humor in yesterday's events...
The doctor's appointment went okay; the wound looked not too bad considering my lawn-mowing incident the Friday before (I had gotten the itch to mow the grass, after all, I was feeling no pain, thanks to Mr. Pharmacist. I was chastised for my offense, and told that I ought not be mowing the lawn any time in the next 4 to 6 weeks).
I nearly fainted when they took the stitches out; it did too hurt! (the nurse said it would just feel like a little bit of a pinch; she was right about that, as long as the "pinch" to which she referred was administered by Mr. Gregorio, a man I knew as a child who had metal pincher-hooks for hands, and was notorious for disliking children).
While I fought nausea, and watched tiny lightening bugs that zoomed their way across my vision, Benjamin (he had to come with me because James was working and we don't seem to have enough of a social life to have, as yet, enlisted a sitter) watched the procedure in rapt fascination.
Benjamin had many questions for the nurse and me, like:
"You pull out the 'titches?", "You hurted, Mama?" and, "Mama, are you sad?". To which I replied (weaving back and forth, very white, and near enough to yarking up my breakfast that waves of saliva flooded my mouth almost faster than I could swallow them back):
"No, Honey, Mama's not sad, but it hurts a little." (yeah, a little like smashing your thumb against a cement block with a hammer).
Having done our best to raise a caring child, my little sprite, Grover, in the spirit of all that is good and kind, proceeded to hug me, causing the nurse to pull VERY hard on the stitch she was working with, to which, I responded by nearly fainting completely dead away... Fun times.
I took a fair dose of pain killers on the way home, which was fine, considering that James had my car, (his car was in the shop, so he drove mine to work) Benjamin and I had taken the bus to the doctor's office; I live in Seattle, by the way, and to complete the idea of "the joys of public transportation," it was, of course, raining. (On that note, my appointment was at 10:30am; we had to leave home at 8am, and we didn't finally get back until 2pm just in case you are thinking about a day out on the bus, by the way, the public transportation service in my town is NOT the way to get around if you have an appointment, or if you have a life, for that matter!)
By the time we got back home, Grover and I, it was clearly time to slip a video in the machine for him, and another pain pill in for me, and collapse together on the couch for some relaxation.
As soon as we are cozy together under a down throw, Benjamin turns his cute little, buttoned-nosed face to mine and says:
"We ride the bus again tomorrow, Mama?"
"We'll see, Grove," I say. Which, as anyone knows from their own childhood, is a phrase that roughly translates to: "Fat chance, kiddo!"

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