Wednesday, February 20, 2008

This one's all over the map.

A Proud Moment in Parenting!

For the second day in a row I got a phone call from Thing 2 not long after I dropped him off at school.

Mom, I forgot my science binder and novel at home, and I need them for school.”

Today, unlike yesterday, I did not go back home to get them. Today I stood firm, and told Thing 1 that he’d just have to struggle, because I was halfway to work and wasn’t turning back.

I think he hung up on me. That’s a first.

Y’all think I was too hard on the boy? I turned that thought over and over in the 20 minutes it took me to get to work after he called, and I’m leaning toward thinking it was for his own good, because he IS 12 years old and in 7th grade and I shouldn’t have to tell him to pack his backpack with his HOMEWORK, should I? When do you reach the point where you can stop narrating your children’s lives for them, and expect that they’ll be able to anticipate necessities like having their schoolwork packed up and ready to go?


The Things did their homework by the light of a bonfire last night. Just like Abe Lincoln, if Abe had done his homework near the roaring blaze created by the immolation of a dozen cardboard boxes, some dead weeds, and a bunch of old wood scraps. Oh, and various magazines that were just lying around the house begging to be set on fire. And some old homework. And a few dead branches from the yard.

Yep – just like that.


My intestines are making noises like a bubbling mud pit. I fear that what may eventually come OUT of them might smell like a bubbling mud pit, all sulfurous and mustard-gassy.

My cubicle neighbor might be in big trubs. (not as big as THIS guy, but big nonetheless)

Being flatulent at work didn’t USED to be a big issue – I’d just close my office door and have at whatever it was that needed having at. But now my natural functions are being held to a much more polite standard, and it irks me. Man, there’s almost nothing more satisfying than letting a good one rip when you really need to, but now I can’t because it might be noisy or stinky and the noise and stink couldn’t HELP but be noticed by the person sitting a mere three feet from me.

Back in the old days (precube), if I had “issues” I could just put up the “in a telecon” sign on my door and close myself in, relishing the freedom that office provided. Now I have to reign in the greatness that the alimentary canal produces, training myself to emit only when the "all clear" is in effect, or when I’m alone in the ladies room. It’s TORTURE, people, especially since before cube life I had no idea I farted as often as I seem to need to now.

Man, I miss the good old days.


Ron was nice enough to e-mail me asking about my leg, and how my recovery is going. (Nice, yes, but I suspect he just wants more pictures and the niceness was a cover. If so, well done sir!)

Well Ron, the recovery is going great, if by great one means that one can FEEL the proximal bit of one’s greater saphenous vein practically ripping itself to smithereens inside one’s leg, which is accompanied by a sore stiffness that can be likened to what an old rubber band must feel like just prior to snapping apart. Shut up, rubber bands can TOO feel things.

It’s a terrifically odd sensation, and I’d love to get a peek inside the gam to see what’s happening in there. SOMETHING is going on, that much is for sure. Yesterday the pain from the healing/stretching/tugging was intense enough to break through a 4-hour-old dose of 800 mg of ibuprofen, which doesn’t usually happen. Today, however, things are much better, and so I have a feeling that the body is doing the right thing, and is breaking down that nasty ol’ vein into bits that can be dealt with by the tiny garbagemen that live in my bloodstream. Why, I can hear the back-up beeps of numerous infinitesimal trucks now, piling up the detritus of what used to be a very large blood vessel, carting it off to the liver or wherever bits of corporeal dross go to be cleared from the system.

There’s hardly even any more bruising. The great purple thigh stain of Saturday is no more. A shame, really, for it was a thing of great hue and beauty, wasn’t it? Ah well, all beauty must fade, and indeed the purple is now a light celery colored blotch that is also rapidly fading. Perhaps I’ll grab one last picture tonight just for old time’s sake, because even though the great bloom of bruise has dissipated, there’s still some rather disgusting scabbing going on which I’m sure should be captured for posterity.


Jeez, this is getting long. I’d better cut off here, so as not to go into much more blathering. Best to save that for tomorrow, when the price of blathering might have risen and therefore the resulting post will be that much more valuable to all concerned.

And hey! Look! I didn’t cuss ONCE in this post.

Have a great day y'all. See you tomorrow.

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