Weekly Bruise Update

Last week it was, and still is, a big purple-black-green whopper on the bottom of my foot from planting my big honkin' self on top of a sharp edged toy. I'd like to tell you what toy, like it was a block or Lego or train, but I was too blinded by pain when I stooped down to pick it up and hurl it at the wall while screaming, "DAMN KIDS!". They were all upstairs sleeping like angels, so I sat on the train table and whimpered while I held my foot. I would have kissed it, but I spend too much time with my foot in my mouth as it is.

This week, in fact just moments ago, I inflicted what could be several bruises to my left side while falling off the driveway. Do you see my banner? Yeah, it's still icy, snowy and freakin' cold here. I tried to take my daughter to school, but then realized no fool is going to take their kids to classes in this. So, I went to the store to stock up on things like milk, bread and hair products. Ellen begged me not to go down the driveway. I parked at the top and we unloaded most of the groceries and started our treacherous descent. I made Ellen promise to carry me to the house if I fell and broke my leg. I was starting to slide just a bit to much on the black top and thought a wiser choice would be to walk in the ditch where the leaves and sticks could at least give a bit of traction. I immediately fell down in the ditch. "Did you break your leg?" asked my daughter. "No, but thanks for your concern. I think I killed the bread."

I pulled myself back onto the driveway and equalized the weight of my grocery sacks. "Okay, here we go, baby steps, baby steps...ahhhhhh, ahhhhhh,(breath) ahhhhh,ahhhhhh!!!" When I stopped sliding, skiing and screaming all I could hear was my daughter's laughter behind me. I made it down the hill, but she was still inching herself along the slope.

We made it into the house and my son greeted me with the news that all classes had been canceled. Now, as I sit and defrost I can feel some stinging on my left leg and my shoulder feels a bit sore. I wonder how much damage I inflicted to myself? I didn't buy any Advil, so I might need to drink the entire bottle of infant Motrin.

Only six?

Jesse tagged me. I'm supposed to list six quirky things about me. Good grief, where do I start. I like how Jesse was so sweet at the beginning of her post by saying how quirky is all in the eye of the beholder, but I have to disagree wholeheartedly. I know that I do some really quirky stuff and I know others that do even more. But, I'll stick to me.

1. I flush all public toilets with my foot. Then I get out of the stall as fast as possible while holding my breath because I'm afraid I'll inhale the toilette vapors. This gets a little tricky when you 're holding a baby because you didn't want to bring the car seat into the bathroom and set it on the floor.

2. I think chemical hair treatments are some form of cheating. This was ingrained in my head from my beautician mother. She would never let me get a perm or color my albino white hair when I was young. I finally had my hair foiled for the first time last year and I felt so guilty that I openly admitted what I did to anyone that would listen. Even if the conversation had nothing to do with my hair.

My neighbor- "Hi April, how are you?"

Me- "I foiled my hair, see? My sister made me do it. She said I wasn't blond enough anymore. It took a really long time and I didn't know what to expect, but I think it's okay and maybe I'll do it again, except it kinda dried it out a bit, but that's okay, and I think it's sorta natural and I'm older now and need a little help so it's okay. Really, how are you?"

3. I sent my kids to public school, then I sent my kids to private school, then I threw in the towel and homeschooled my kids. And aren't most homeschoolers just a bit quirky...just a bit?

4. I like to sing in a very loud operatic voice to give instructions to my children. Sometimes, my husband joins in and adds harmony. One friend told me that being at my house is like watching a musical. My oldest son has picked up on this quirky habit, and I must say it's quite charming and can turn a bad day into a funny day very quickly.

5. Even as outgoing and loud and funny as I am; I get really uncomfortable in large groups. I even get panicky about going into unfamiliar territory like an office party or large get together with people I only know sorta well. I'm terrible at small talk, just awful. I know I'm supposed to ask people all sorts of questions about themselves, but I just draw a blank or ask really stupid questions. And the worst is I'll just start blurting out stories, I know, that's not hard to believe, but then I'll laugh inappropriately too loud, too long and too hard. Good grief!

6. I can imitate a lot of people I've known in my life. I pick up on details like the way they walk, their hand gestures, the pronunciation of certain words. I even remember stupidly small details about people like the color of their teeth, skin texture, if they have a mole on their arm, the shape of their feet and on and on. It's like a way of placing a person in my memory that I want to remember. I'm usually one of the first people to complement or comment on a new hair cut, a tan, an injury or even *gasp* an enhancement or two.

I know you all want more, but it said six, so that's all I'm givin' ya. I bet you all thought I was gonna to start talking about bodily functions and fluids, didn' cha? I held back.

Awaiting Thy Spring

I've said to myself that when the view out my window no longer matches the snowy scene (minus the rockin'-rad red barn) on my header that I will change it. I'm still waiting. Good God enough of the cold already! I'm ready for some outdoors.

I've received my seed catalogs. I look at every variety of vegetable and flower and then I spend a few moments daydreaming about where I will plant. This year my darling husband is going to build four square raised beds for me. He's excited about it, which means it may actually get done. He likes the construction and I love the planting. I want to make a big square with 3x3 and 4x4 squares, then I'll put three foot mulched paths between the squares. The real kicker will be a picket fence around the whole thing. Ooh, I get all giddy just thinking about it.

I also received the catalog from The Cackle Hatchery. Lordy, how I do love some poultry. This year I'm going to order two turkeys! Gobble gobble! I kind of want a peacock, but I can't get a consensus on that, so I'll wait. I'd like to order some different varieties of chickens this time. We've been very fortunate that our flock has remained disease free. We still have 21 hens and that gawd awful rooster. Oh, and on that note, yesterday we watched a flock of 13 wild turkeys peck around in our back yard. Ed, our rooster, was having a fit. The turkeys didn't seem to be effected by his carrying on.

I read the most delightful book The Land of Milk and Omlettes, by Ken Kraft. It's a biographical account about the author and his wife, Pat. They bought a farm 43 miles west of St. Louis and taught themselves how to be small acreage farmers. I was so sad when it ended. If you like reading books about farm life, gardening, house renovations and funny country folk, this book will not fail you. I don't even know if it's in publication now, my sister gave it to me. The pages are yellowed and brittle, even more reason to love it.

And lastly, we are still sporting runny noses and coughs around here. We've used four boxes of Kleenex, toilette paper, napkins, the inside of t-shirts and of course the back of our hands to stem the tide of mucus.....yummy.

The Man and Woman in My House

I hab a code...... a code, you dow a code in my node and my node is ready sore.

Sorta what we said.....with some author's embellishments.

Me- I'm sick.
Him- I know. We all know.
Me-hmph! I need you to feel sorry for me.
Him- You don't mess around when you get a cold, it just comes gushing out.
Me- Oh, I'm so glad you noticed. Maybe I'll gush on you.



Me-Did you know my New Year's resolution was to make up the bed everyday? Have you noticed?
Him- I did notice. Good job.
Me- What was your New Year's resolution? Oh, wait, I remember, it was to never hurt my feelings? Right?
Him- Yes, but that only lasted a few minutes. So, now my new one is to be nicer to you.
Me-Even when I'm a giant pain in the batutsky?
Him-Your always a giant pain.....I mean yes sweetheart, even then.
Me-You have your work cut out for you. I wish you luck. I plan on seeing your resolutions demise by the end of the day.
Him- Oh honey, I'm stronger and more patient than you. You're only going to hurt yourself.
Me- Does bringing me to exploding frustration count as being mean to me?
Him- But frustrating you is so fun, I can't give that up.

Take out the papers and the trash.....

We hall our trash cans to a dumpster in our subdivision. It's not a big deal, until the cans are over flowing and we all start chucking trash bags out the door to land near the cans in the garage. The chucking of trash bags really gets my husband into "lecture mood", which he rarely does. I have to remind him that the barrels do have to be emptied in order for the "chucking" culprits to obey his demand of stuffing and compacting the trash in the barrels to the point that no air pockets remain and never leaving the lid ajar or trash in the garage for the raccoons, chickens and whatever other woodland creatures that invade the garage to rip to shreds. We attain maximum capacity of trash about every four days. However, my husband only halls the trash when our garage resembles a land fill.

Last night I calmly stated, "Hon, the trash cans are full, so don't lecture anyone about the bags out there."

The next thing I see is my husband preparing to head out the door in the freezing cold to take the trash. Moments later my daughter peered out the window and asked what her dad was doing. I explained with exasperation that he was taking the trash,. Why do they have to ask me so many questions about obvious things? Then she said,"I think he's stuck. The back of his truck is in the creek."

I looked out and sure enough there was the truck with one back wheel in the creek. My reaction was subdued. This is the third time this has happened. I took the old van for a couple swims that amounted to an ungodly amount of repair that left the oil pan jammed back into the nether regions of the undercarriage. I was relieved it wasn't me this time.

I put the kids to bed and then stepped out in the cold to yell if he was okay.....no answer. What was he doing? I put on my coat, gloves, cowboy boots and headed out in the snowy night to see if he was still alive. I stepped carefully off the driveway and into the icy creek to see him jacking up the truck and shoving logs under the tire, to raise it up enough to get the differential of the driveway. Our conversation was reminiscent of an old Clint Eastwood western. We spoke in quiet monotone without any facial expressions.

Me- Did you back off or slide off?
Him- Slid off. Couldn't get any traction.
Me- *#! driveway. Need more logs?
Him- Yeah.

I hauled logs while he hammered them under the tire with the blunt end of his ax. I poured salt across the creek so the truck would get some traction and held the jack while he drove the truck a couple feet closer to the driveway and then had to start the process all over.

He eventually got the truck back on the driveway and we sat in front of the space heater watching David Letterman.

Him- I need a four wheel drive.
Me- No you don't.
Him- We need a normal driveway.
Me- Yep. So, did you get the trash taken out?
Him- Funny.