Oops.

We’re still rocking the crazy around these parts lately and I haven’t had much time or energy left.

 

But clearly it takes neither time nor energy to embarrass myself thoroughly.

 

I’m in my car (also known these days as the Rolling Trash Heap), on my way up to my sister’s, and I have my mp3 player plugged in and the volume cranked, just singing along at the top of my lungs to whatever comes up on shuffle.

 

I might have also been kind of lurching around in my seat in some pale imitation of dancing, except that I was seated so it probably just looked like a bad case of fleas.

 

But there I am! Loud! Probably offkey!  But I am belting it out!

 

And I glanced to my right at the stoplight, to see an elderly couple in the car next to me, staring at me with a look of combined horror and revulsion with just a dash of contempt.

 

 

 

I probably shouldn’t have had the window open if The Bloodhound Gang’s Bad Touch was playing at top volume.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s damned hard to slink away when you’re behind the wheel people.

 

remembrance

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

 

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD
Canadian Army

Oink.

Yup.  Swine flu.  Short Stuff went from being “completely fine” at midnight on Thursday night to a “Phone Calls to the Doc on Call” sort of sick just an hour later.  By the next morning, he was pretty much a fevered wreck.  He’s on Tamiflu and by 6pm Friday night, was actually up playing.  Today saw him sort of loopy but cheerful and playing well.  Tonight? Well, not so hot. 3am and we have fever and chills again.  Poor monkey.

Sounds

Recently heard after naptime.

I was helping a still-groggy Short Stuff down the stairs.  The sound of my husband doing dishes is echoing up the stairs… His Shortness remarks brightly “And I hear my DADDY!”   He paused on the stairs for a moment and looked up at me, puzzled.

“But… that do not SOUND like my DAD. That sound like YOU!”

*cries*

Now, my husband does do dishes.  But he usually does the night dishes, after Short Stuff has gone to bed.

Clearly I don’t DO grace.

Last week was one of those Teabag Weeks.   You know the saying “you don’t know how a strong a woman is until you put her in hot water”?  Yeah, something like that.  All I know is anyone’s as strong as they need to be when the situation demands, but in my case it does not mean unbreakable.

And by that, yes, I do mean that I fell down went boom.

So anyway, during one of the Daily Rounds of Drama that last week served up, all steaming hot and fresh, I drove up to see one of my sisters, who isn’t doing so well.   After I’d taken her to get a Starbucks, she really really wanted me to go to see this carved Christ monument at the cemetary right next to her house.  Foolishly, I consented.

Now, it was about 10:00 at night and to quote another ridiculous saying, it was “darker’n the inside of a black dog”.  We parked my car outside of the gate and we trot along to the monument she wanted to show me.   I guess at dusk, motion sensor lights kick on and suddenly this large head of Christ appears on a curved wall?  I’m not certain because no lights were working at the moment and I was lucky I could see the wall.  From what I understand, the appearance of a giant glowing Christ face can be a bit unnerving if you aren’t expecting it, but clearly Jesus wasn’t going to pop up and say Boo or anything tonight.

I have to admit, the idea of Jesus Christ suddenly appearing and scaring people was sort of  all right, because you know He might be thinking some of us need a little Old Testament kind of reminder.

And you know,  SOME of us just had to go and poke THAT bear, even if we weren’t thinking about it.

And yeah ok SOME of us might be just ONE of us.

And so my sister and I are walking back to the car and she’s telling me how she’s seen people jump a mile when those light kick on and how Christ’s eyes appear to follow you.  I was half listening as we trudged across the grass, wishing I could see in the dark.  Mildly frustrated with my inability to see, I admit I took the Lord’s name in vain, oh yes I did.  And I had not even finished the last consonant when I got the smackdown.  One minute I was walking, muttering “Oh Chr…” and the very next instant was a 5 star, full body flailing that resulted in a megaton impact – my face and the dirt.

It was an EPIC fall.

My sister turned just in time to see the Eagle landing .  And rolling.  And coming to a grass-covered stop at her feet. I will say this, it cheered her up IMMENSELY.  She hasn’t been able to look at me since without laughing so hard she has to sit down.  “That’s what I get,” she gasped between giggles “for taking a heathen to see Christ!”

“You didn’t get anything but a good laugh,” I pointed out as I attempted to limp on both feet  (not easy).

I’m recovering nicely from the sprains and the bruise on my butt is just about gone.   And I’m trying very hard not to require any more Old Testament kind of lessons, thank you very much.

Maurice Sendak got it wrong

Bedtime stories…. one of tonight’s selections was that childhood classic, Where the Wild Things Are.  Short Stuff can pretty much recite the entire thing in the fabulous little squeak of his.

“and now,” crows J, “Let the Wild Grumpus start!”

“Honey, it’s rumpus. Let the wild rumpus start.”

“No, its GRUMPUS.  They’re angry.”

Deja Bite Me.

So as if today wasn’t all sparkling hearts and rainbows and fluffy puppys crapping sunshine already… someone stops by my office and spies the photos on my desk.

They zero in on the one of Short Stuff.

“Oh!  Is this your grandson??”

Aaaaaaaand right about there the rest of the day went to hell.

To salt the stinging flesh wound…  I am fairly certain someone else did this to me LAST year, too.   I keep trying to be a People Person, but the People?  They keep on making it hard.

How We Roll

Husband is staring at a grocery list, one specifically written with the day’s goal in mind: vegetable beef soup with barley.  He frowns, and I know my selections are about to be critiqued again.

“You know, America’s Test Kitchen recommends…”

“No.”

“But…”

“Ah! You’re suggesting!  I don’t care about America’s Test Kitchen; leave my recipes alone!”

“But…”

“Those items.  Exactly.”

“But…”

“Nope.  You’re lucky I cook, you know.  AND that I’m a good cook. “

“The slow cooker beef thing is good…”

“I know, I’ve been making it for…”

“… but I don’t like the chicken.”

(withering look)  “I’m not making chicken soup.  And I really need to get this started, so if you could….”

“Rutabaga???”

“…. by noon if…”

“Rutabaga.  Rutabaga. …… rutabaga.”

“…….”

“Rutabaga.”

“You do that every time I make this soup, you know.”

“What?”

“Start repeating the word rutabaga, over and over.”

“Well, I will now that you put the word in my head!”

(Jacob pipes up with a puzzled “what is a rutabaga??”  A brief Google break is called to pull up images of rutabagas.  The child thinks we’re nuts.)

“You know, Amer…”

“Quit. trying. to.  change.  the.  recipe.  You’ve put up with me for nearly ten years now, you know I know what I’m doing.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘put up with’!  I’ve enjoyed every single waking minute of these ten y…”

And that’s when we both dissolved into fits of howling laughter, because neither one of us could say it with a straight face.  We both know we’re living in the Twilight Zone.   And we’re hopeless….  we can’t have a single conversation without it turning into some sort of weird “Who’s On First” routine.

But we’re having soup tonight.  With rutabagas.

America’s Test Kitchen be damned.

Unsettled

What do you do when you don’t want to witness the train wreck?  When you see it coming from miles away, and you try to stop it, you try and throw the switch to divert it, and that train just keeps doggedly on?  And it becomes clear to you that the engineer of this train is determined to stay the course?

And what if that’s not the only train on a collision course?

I mean, I know what the obvious answer is… get the hell out of the rail yards, for one.  But that’s easier said than done when people close to you are apparently taking leave of their wits and dynamiting those railroad tracks, blithely stating that it will let them see the path clearly…

Except the train is now heading for a massive derailment.

This has not been an easy week.   It’s hard to accept when you’ve got nothing in your tool bag, no superman cape, no magic wand.  Just your everyday, ordinary mortal who can’t do anything but witness the wreckage.

And hope I at least packed some bandaids for the aftermath.

Yeah, cryptic.   Could be about anything, could be about anyone.  Maybe.  But although I need to lessen some of this tight pressure in my chest by getting it out somewhere, I don’t feel comfortable naming specific details.  Forgive me.

Lemony fresh!

After another fun-filled night of trying not to launch my alveoli into low earth orbit with the violence of my coughing, I decided that perhaps it might be a wise idea to see a doctor today.   Clearly the cold that had become bronchitis had mutated again and lord knows what it had plans to be when it grew up.  I doubt it was going to be a Nobel Peace winner, whatever it was, so off I trotted to the urgent care clinic.  I’d been hoping to avoid that, but the progression from Friday evening to today said to me  “Bitch? Please.  Get in the car.”

As urgent care visits go, it was a relatively painless visit.  Got the doctor with the sense of humor, references to Bill the Cat were made and then we played a little game called “Identify An Effective Antiobiotic That Won’t Kill You.”   We determined that Bactrim was the winner and hey!  It was free!  Because the Giant pharmacy is still doing that “certain antiobiotics for free” campaign.   I was just having an afternoon full of win.

But you know that adage concerning getting what you pay for?  Well…  there’s one unusual side effect I’m experiencing.  Sort of an olfactory hallucination…  I am smelling phantom Lemon Pine Sol.   There is no Pine Sol in the house, lemon or otherwise, and I haven’t used any cleaners at all.  No, its definitely from the antibiotic.  I guess I should count my blessings that its Lemon Pine Sol I’m dealing with and not Feet.