The mayo mystery
Yesterday Monkey and I went to the supermarket to start buying all of the things I’ll require for our upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, which meant that my cart was full of unfamiliar items (to him, though to be honest I am trying some new recipes and some of it was unfamiliar to me as well) amongst the regular milk and spinach and whatnot. [Note that I said it was the START of shopping for Thanksgiving; Otto will no doubt be sent out to the store at least twice more as I start prepping and discovering what all I’ve overlooked.]
Anyway. We shopped, we came home, Otto was arriving home from the office at the same time, and we all commenced unloading the groceries. We were almost done when I came across a large bottle of mayonnaise in the bottom of one of my bags. Except… I didn’t buy mayonnaise.
Otto and I discussed this matter in depth, even quizzing a deeply affronted Monkey (“I don’t even LIKE mayonnaise!”) as to whether he’d tossed it in the cart. He had not. I had not. I’d never seen it before. We concluded it must’ve been a “oh nevermind” item from someone ahead of me in line that ended up in my bag. But then Otto combed through my 3-foot-long receipt and discovered that I had, indeed, paid for it. (Full price! IT WASN’T EVEN ON SALE!!)
Where did it come from? How did I end up buying it? Can I return it? (“Excuse me, I appear to have inadvertently purchased this mayonnaise.”) Is it a SIGN that I should put deviled eggs back on the menu? I am SO confused.
Awkward fist bump
So. Physical therapy continues to be… a mixed bag. On the one hand (hand! HA!), I absolutely see where my mobility is improving and by all accounts, my hand is healing (even if it’s a lot slower than I would like). On the other hand, I kind of hate going there. It takes a lot of time out of my day and it often frustrates me and I always feel crummy afterward.
Plus, I don’t think of myself as particularly vain—I stopped coloring my hair, I rarely wear makeup—but spending an hour or two staring at the big nasty scar on the back of my hand (and the associated swelling which is STILL making it impossible to wear my wedding rings, boohoo) isn’t exactly making me feel pretty. Not that I don’t love evoking giggling compliance from Monkey when he’s being ornery by intoning, “YOU WILL OBEY THE ZOMBIE HAND!” and grabbing his face (what, like you wouldn’t?), you understand, but still.
Basically, it’s a necessary evil, and I do it, and I yearn for the day when my hand therapist checks me over, measures my fingers (she is forever measuring the angles between my knuckles, ostensibly to chart mobility progress, but I suspect she’s building a duplicate hand out of gerbils in a basement lab somewhere), and says, “Good work. You’re done.” read more…
Still learning
Today’s post over at Feel More Better is dedicated to Monkey, the child I never could’ve imagined, before he came into my life, but who has patiently taught me to be a better human being. Both of my kids have done this for me, of course, but Monkey brought Hippie School into our lives, and the lessons there ripple outward and touch our entire family.
So today, it’s for him, for me, for every non-round peg who ever tried to be something else. Square pegs are awesome. Other shapes, too. I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to figure it out. (I’m a slow learner… thank goodness my kid is patient with me.)
Spoiler: The ship sinks
A couple of years ago, Titanic Pigeon Forge opened and my darling husband said to me several dozen times, “We should totally go see that.” The only thing Otto likes better than cars is other big vehicles, like boats and subs and airplanes and stuff. Apparently a really big boat that hits an iceberg is WAY up on the list of Cool Things.
Being the loving, supportive partner than I am, I responded with, “Mmmmhmmm,” and went back to whatever it was I was doing.
But then one day we all got an email from Merry that said, “Hey, I was thinking it might be a really cool Hippie School trip for us all to go see the Titanic exhibit at Pigeon Forge. What do you all think?” Otto thought Christmas had come early; I thought something more along the lines of “Hmmmm, that’s kind of far away for a school trip, how is this going to work?” But I guess enough people said “let’s do it” and Merry began plotting.
Last week it was finally time. Merry rented a 12-bedroom house in Tennessee and bought the tickets and we all handed in our money and set up carpool arrangements and hit the road. We were going to have an ADVENTURE. read more…
Are all physical therapists sadists?
We’re three+ weeks out from the beginning of Zombiehandapalooza, and I can now definitively say that I am absolutely tired of this nonsense. Sure, sure, if it was a simple break, I’d still be a cast (probably poking pencils down in there to try to scratch it, because that’s the sort of difficult patient I tend to be), but my understanding of this whole bionic being-screwed-back-together thing was that I would be FINE in record time. And while it’s true that I can type again (hallelujah!), it’s also true that 1) my left hand still has a chronic case of The Stupid and 2) it huuuuuuuuurts.
That said, today I am prepared to add “and physical therapy will hasten your recovery” to the list of Dirty Lies Surgeons Tell You.
Listen, my physical therapist is a lovely woman. I’m sure she’s a good citizen and kind to kittens and all of that. But she’s trying to kill me and that just seems wrong, especially because it’s just my HAND, it’s not like I’m recovering from a spinal injury or anything. In fact, the entire ROOM I am now spending several hours in each week is the Hand And Arm Clinic, dedicated specifically to torturing those of us with compromised digits, probably because our hands are too weak to slap her. read more…
You know what to do
If you’re an American, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what today is, or what you need to go do. Instead, I’m over at Feel More Better revealing my embarrassment about how I wish I’d learned to love voting sooner. I can’t change the past, so I’ll just be deeply grateful that I figured it out (and was able to get out and vote today). You do it too, okay? Thanks.
Kibble eater, butt-sniffer, guest lecturer
Licorice was invited to come speak at Hippie School, today.
Well, okay. TECHNICALLY she was just invited to come in. I think the understanding was that she probably wasn’t going to talk. But part of the fun of Hippie School is that they do a lot of hands-on stuff, and that means that while they’re doing a unit on animals, the kids get to bring in their pets. Super fun, right?
[Sidebar: For this unit Monkey is doing a research project on badgers. I don’t know how he decided that this was the animal he wanted to research, but now I know more about badgers than I ever wanted to or thought necessary. He’s become a badgerholic. A total badger freak. (“Did you know they’ve recorded a 75 pound badger? That’s the heaviest weight for a terrestrial mustelid!” And to think I might’ve missed learning that.) I was tempted to dress the dog up like a badger, but I was afraid Monkey might get mad at me.]
The problem, of course, is that Licorice is a nervous car rider. read more…
Grace, via jump rope
I don’t know that I’ve really stopped to give proper thanks and praise when it comes to pretty much the ONE thing in our lives that hasn’t been worrisome or catastrophic this year. In the midst of the various Sturm und Drang, we have one shining beacon of progress: Monkey. You remember Monkey, right? Short goofy kid with the dimples that’ll melt your heart? I don’t know if you know this, but he’s kind of awesome.
We were warned that autistic kids often come in to a whole new set of hurdles as they enter adolescence, but I have to say that—so far, at least (knocking on wood…)—balancing-on-the-precipice-of-puberty Monkey is delightful. He is calmer, more flexible, and happier than he’s been in a long time. I honestly expected months of issues following Chickie’s move, so bereft was he over her departure. Instead, for the first time in many months, there is space for him to just… unfurl, and be himself. He lights up when his sister calls, and I know he really misses her, but he’s really exceeding any expectation we had of how this time would go.
Hippie School remains not just a wonderful experience for him, but such a great experience for all of us, really. Merry always emails to let me know when Monkey’s done something funny or fabulous or if she thinks he’s struggling, and lately the emails have been overwhelmingly positive. Even the one that came a couple of days ago started out with good news. read more…
Soon I can hire her to take over
We talked for close to an hour, last night, and then after we’d said our goodbyes and I had retired to the couch with Otto, my phone dinged. It was a picture of Chickadee in her Halloween getup, with the comment, “Looky mommy! I’m fantastical.” I complimented her on the ensemble, and a minute later received: “u should put a pumpkin on my head and put me on ur blog.” I said I would, but apparently I was not speedy enough. An hour later, another text: “Look at the pics I made for u!”
Because I am a kind and loving mama, I responded, “GO TO BED, YOU HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW. (Love you.)” She’s so lucky to have me.
Anyway, based on her Photoshop skills, I think she’s about ready to take over the blog for me. All of those years in the Witness Protection Program have served her well.
[In the interest of equal time: Hallelujah, I am finally the mother of children too old to dress up or go out trick-or-treating this year, and as a nearly-teenaged nod to the holiday, Monkey opted for this shirt this morning. Halloween, done.]
Uh, who likes candy?
It rhymes with Sandy, but it less depressing. See?
Today I’m over at Feel More Better, pondering Halloween candy and the politics therein. Maybe you don’t view this as the most candyful time of the year, but I sure do.
Come on over and check it out if you’re all hurricane-d out and need something a little more… chocolatey.