Friday, August 15, 2014

New Digs

Thomas moved into his new apartment a few weeks ago, after spending some weeks visiting our fold out in the sunroom.  OK, so I all it an apartment, and he calls it a house.  It's actually a duplex, so let's split the difference.  In either event, it's on the southern end of SoBro, which is the southern portion of South Broad Ripple, so he is now one of the cool kids.  Or not.  Oh well, he's close the the library, the police station and the fire station, all within a few blocks radius of his house.

He's living with one of his buddies, Ben, and my fourth child, Chris, who is in his element in his very first apartment.  Ben, not so much, since he had a good job at Lockheed Martin as an engineer or, as he called it, The Restroom Grand Tour, since he basically spent his whole day wandering around the building with the excuse of looking for a restroom..  After a few years of the grand tour, he ditched it all and came to Indiana, and is now tutoring some Indian kid up north, making more money than I do as a nurse.  But I digress.  Chris has the small, corner room and seems to be as happy as a clam.  Thomas got the big room and is still wondering why, since he really doesn't care.

Thomas' biggest complaint was that they needed a table.  Jim tried to give him our smaller kitchen table, but he declined, saying that they didn't have room for it.  Jim doubted this, and I just shrugged, till I was told by the heir to the throne that he couldn't believe that I hadn't seen his new digs yet.  "I mean, Dad has been here, and you haven't.  What's wrong with that picture?"  I went over, and his dog promptly bit me (see previous post), but before I toddled off to Medcheck, The Heir told me that it wasn't that they didn't have room for a table, it was that they needed a bigger table than what Jim had offered.

That afternoon, they followed my advice, went to the furniture store up the block and pad $50 for a dining room table, which was promptly taken home by the four of them, carrying it he-man style down College Avenue.  I wish I had pictures.  Or video.

They needed a bigger table because they like to play games, and the card table they were using wasn't big enough.  Seth spends lots of time over there, hanging out (it's closer to his internship than we are), or just hanging out with his bros.  I suppose when school starts, they will still hang out, because it's only a few minutes from Butler, where Seth will be living on campus.  And so it was that Thomas gave Seth a key to the house:

And Seth loves it.  I thought at first it was plastic, but Seth told me today, as we were waiting to pick up his car from Walmart's automotive department, that it's not only metal, but it has some weight to it, "so when I swing my lanyard around, I thought that maybe it would kill someone if I hit them with it."  This digressed into a conversation about how perhaps this is why Goths love Hello Kitty, because of the danger element.

Who knows.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

OK, so this happened today.

This is her new favorite position which proves, of course, that she's a terrorist, because she completely holds me hostage every time this happens.

And I'm ok with that.

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

The Tiniest Terrorist

We've been discussing the possibility of having a baby.  We've been married for almost five months now, so it's about time, I suppose.  I've taken care of a lot of babies over the course of time, having been a nurse and mom for all these years, but still, it's not a decision to make lightly.

It all started one day when Jim said that we needed a companion.  Something to liven the place up, dontcha know, because his child bride apparently isn't enough.  And so it was that we ended up with this, our new baby girl:

Is she not the CUTEST baby you've ever seen?  I wasn't too sure about this, because I haven't gone the puppy route since Rocky showed up, some almost six years ago.  He's living the beach life with Jill and Michael now, which means he is a well discplined, non-spinning version of his former self.  We have Mickey, who is also six, spoiled rotten, and a lover of everyone.  But Jim mentioned something about getting him a girlfriend (he's neutered -- she's just a FRIEND), and I went off to search.

Mickey is a Cavachon, rescued from an abusive home, whose tongue constantly lolls out the right side of his mouth.  It doesn't affect anything about him -- it just makes me look goofy, which fits him well.  Jim wanted another Cavachon, because they are hypoallergenic and sweet as can be.  It's not easy to find a rescue Cavachon, because there are no Cavachon rescues, and Petfinder doesn't list them as a breed.   I found one in Cleveland -- serendipity, since Jim is from Cleveland -- but they wouldn't adopt it out of state.  I found another in Ohio, but it was already being adopted.  At one point, I found one in Austin, Texas, who, believe it or not, had been injured, resulting in a tongue that lolled out the RIGHT side of his mouth.  Alas, Jim thought Austin was too far to go, and he wanted a girl.  And so we found Leeloo.

This little beast has taken over the house.  She is a ball of fire: cute as heck, always moving, and always underfoot.  It's something of a miracle that I haven't fallen, given the fact that I had knee surgery three days after we got her.  She's a wiggleworm who never sits still.  She's been pummelled by the very annoyed cat, who looks at her like "oh for heaven's sake, not AGAIN."  I mean, it's not like Bandit hasn't been down this path a time or two.  I think that's why he expends so little energy on her.  He knows the score.  Mickey alternately growls, then lets her curl up near him.  He draws the line at her grabbing his bear.  He's definitely not having any of that!

She likes to chew on toes, shoes and cords.  This morning, she dragged the bathroom rug out into our bedroom -- and it's easily several times her size.  She got closed in the screen door once, and stepped on twice today, and she still bounces around here like a bunny.  And right now, she is curled up asleep in her nest -- something that surely will only last for a few minutes before she's up and nibbling on our toes again.  Hint:  if you want to see a Marine melt, bring him a puppy.  He sat in his recliner on Sunday, watching Too Cute  with her "because she likes it."  Oh brother............

She's our little Leeloo, and we love her.

Monday, August 04, 2014


In my last post, I said I would say how karma came around and bit me.  I actually said "tomorrow."  Well, it's the day after the day after the day after the day after tomorrow (or so), so I guess I'm technially still posting "tomorrow."

The hubby is healing quite nicely.  I actually went in to Walmart with him the other day, as we had the need for more Bandaids.  He was out of his camo Bandaids, so I went hunting and bought what I thought were camo.  Turned out there were some kind of shark instead -- I know it's a military symbol, but he thinks they are too kiddie and won't use them.  Maybe if I'd gotten Transformers ones.........oh well, good thing I bought some plain ones for me because yeah.  Retribution.

A perfect storm of bad decisions turned into a Med Check visit for me, the day after Jim's mandolin accident.  Thomas had been giving me some guff because "geez Mom, DAD has seen my new house, and YOU haven't."  Doesn't matter how old they are, they still can play the guilt card.  Well, I've been dealinig with a bum knee, and have been laying low (actuallly had surgery on it today, but that's a different story -- I'm fine), so yes, It took me two weeks to get to his new house.  I told him that I'd be over on Tuesday, but he was tired, so I suggested Wednesday instead.

I got up and went to PT (pinched nerve in my neck.  Geez, I'm falling apart.) and decided to head over to SoBro to his house.  I realized that Thomas' roommate had some mail back at my house, so I turned back and went and got it. Mickey let it be known that his Mama was not being nice in leaving him behind.  I mean, who can resist this face?

I caved, and he rode along with me.  I mean, he goes everywhere with me, but given Thomas' dog Penny's feelings about Mickey, which are reciprocated in triplicate, I figured I would let him ride along, but he'd have to stay in the car while I visited.  Mickey, not knowing whose house we were at, bailed out of the car when we arrived, so I just let him come.  I knocked on the door.  It wasn't latched, so it opened a little bit, and suddenly Mickey was nose to nose with Penny.  She was not amused, and not only blocked the door, but growled.  A lot.  Thomas grabbed her, and Mickey and I went in.  Mickey jumped on the couch, and Penny came over to see what was what.

They got nose to nose.  Penny growled.  Mickey growled.  Suddenly, it was on like Donkey Kong.  I'm not sure if I grabbed him to get him on my lap, or if Mickey was trying to get onto my lap, but I ended up with my arms wrapped around him, trying to push Penny away, because they were both going nuts.  Remember all those times you told your kids not to try to break up a dog fight?  Well, I remember, and despite my warnings to the kids since they were born, I did it anyway, and Penny sunk her teeth into my forearm.  As in, DEEPLY sunk her teeth into my forearm.

Thomas finally was able to wrestle Penny away and was able to hear me say "she bit me.  I need a paper towel."  I'd actually said it several times, but no one had understood that it wasn't a small bite -- it was a deep, ugly one.  Thomas threw Penny into the scary basement and grabbed some paper towels.  It didn't hurt, so I got the grand tour of the house whilst holding pressure.  Yeah, it was gaping enough that I knew it would need stitches.  Thomas would alternately open the basement door and tell Penny how bad she was, then ask me if he needed to drive me to get it looked at.  Heck no.  I drove myself to the hospital when I was in labor -- twice.  I drove myself to the ER with a broken arm, in the midst of an asthma attack.  A little blood isn't that big of a deal.  I told him the real bummer was that I had planned to take him to lunch, but that now he probably didn't want to go, what with my bloody arm and all.

Say free food to Thomas, and everything changes.  He's not particularly worried about wounds, though he was pretty unhappy about Penny, as he told her multiple times "you bit my Mama.  NO ONE hurts my mama."  He's had stitches himself, so he knew it's not that big of a deal.  He said if I was truly ok to wait, he'd go to lunch with me.  I wanted to go with him, because he felt so bad that I needed to make sure he understood that it wasn't the dogs' fault before I left.  It was 100% my fault.  He dug out his first aid kit, we covered it up, and had a really nice lunch at O'Charleys before I headed off to Medcheck, where I found out that they preferred to leave it open instead of stitching, to help prevent infection.  They couldn't even give me a tetanus shot because I'm immunosuppressed, so they gave me a script for antibiotics and had me go home after filling out an Animal Bite form for the health department.  I made sure that it said on that form that I was DUMB and that it was all MY fault.  Can't blame dogs for being dogs, ya know.  It was just bad decisions from me from beginning to end.

So here we are, Jim missing a chunka thumb, and me with a mooshy, gushy wound on my arm ,and now ice packs on the incision on my knee.  In short, we are a hot mess here.  Moral to the story:  before one gives one's spouse a hard time about not following safety procedures, make sure that you follow the safety rules too.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Fleshy Vegetables

As is well known, I don't cook.  I can cook.  I just don't.  My dear husband, on the other hand, cooks up a storm.  I sometimes am his sous chef, which means we get to spend some quality time together chatting and chopping.

Last night was a bit different.  I'd had a rather busy day.  The hubby had spent a good portion of his afternoon making chicken pot pies.  My assignment was to make the salad to go along with them.  Salad, I can handle.  It doesn't count as cooking in the hubby's book, but he does like my salads.  Truthfully, I just throw in whatever he says to put into it, so t's not so much "making" a salad as it is "assembling" the salad.  It was too early for dinner when we sat down to chat -- we usually eat around 7 or so -- but the hubby told me to make the salad.  "Nah, it's too early," I said.  "When are you gonna make it," he said.  "In a while."

He was restless.  He realized that he had some tomatoes that he wanted to use before they went bad, so he set to making tomato/cucumber/sweet onion salad.  For the record, I consider both tomatoes and cucumbers to be yucky.  As in, they are at the top of my Yucky List.  He understands this, so when he makes the salad, he fixes mine first and adds the yucky stuff later.  Sweet man, he is.  Well, he decided to try slicing the cucumbers with his newest kitchen gadget:  a mandolin.

For those of you who are less informed, a mandolin is a device that scares me to death.  It looks like some sort of medieval torture device.  I tend to stay away from these types of things.  Jim sat in his chair studying it and saying "I sure wish I had the instruction manual."  Torture device without instruction manual?  Double scary.  I mentioned that he could probably find it online, but also asked where it had gone to, because he'd just taken the darned thing out of the box.  I heard him mutter something about having found the manual while I headed off to put clothes in the dryer.

I swear I wasn't gone more than three minutes, but I came back and heard him saying something about slicing part of his finger off.  WHAT?  I ran up to the kitchen to find him with his hand under the faucet, with blood red water running down the drain.  "Oh my God," I said.  "Let me see it."  Well, let me tell you, it was only a flesh wound, but it was an impressive flesh wound, because he now was missing a fair chunk of the side of his thumb.  And oh, did I mention that it was bleeding profusely?  "We need to go to the ER," I said.  "They aren't gonna be able to stitch it, but they're gonna have to stop the bleeding."  At this point, the Marine in him kicked in and he said "getthehellouttahere" (always said as one word).  "I don't need to go to the ER.  It would've been fine but I didn't use the safety shield.  It'll be ok."

I handed him a paper towel, then sat down and waited.

He ran it under the sink for a while, then finally took my advice to put pressure on it.  "Put pressure on it for ten minutes solid, and then we'll go to the ER when the bleeding doesn't stop."  Now, imagine telling a stubborn Marine with ADHD to sit still for ten minutes.  In short:  it ain't gonna happen.  He'd hold pressure for a minute, then check.  Drip.........drip............drip.  "We need to go to ER."  "Getthehellouttahere.  It's gonna stop."  Drip........drip........drip.  "Why don't you make the salad?"  "I'll make it when we get back from the ER."  "We aren't going to the ER.  It's fine."  Drip............drip............drip.  "You know you're on Plavix and aspirin, right?  You know those are blood thinners, right?"  "Getthehellouttahere.  It's fine.


"You know, it's been a half an hour and it hasn't even slowed down, right?"  "It'll be fine."   I raised an eyebrow, poured myself a glass of water, sat back and waited.  "Make the salad," he said.  "Nope, if I make it now, it'll wilt before we get back from the ER."  "I don't need to go to the ER."  He changed the paper towel, because the second one was now soaked, and he needed a third.  "It'll stop."  I sat back and waited.  Drip...........drip...........drip.  It was running down his hand and wrist, and soaking into the placemat in front of him.  Drip............drip........drip.

An hour went by.  Drip..........drip.........drip.  "Wow," he said.  "It really isn't stopping."  "You're right dear." "Make the salad."  "Nope.  Not till we get back from the ER."  He glared momentarily, then looked down at his thumb.  "Wow, I really did a job on it, didn't I?"  "Yep."  Drip.........drip........drip.  "Give me another paper towel."  Silence as I handed it to him.

Finally, ten minutes later, a revelation:  "You know what, I think we are gonna have to go to the ER."  "Ya think?"  He laughed.  "OK, OK, you're right.  I'm gonna have to go.  And yes, I know you'll say I told you so."  "No dear, I just want you to take care of yourself.  So off we went to the ER.  He mused "I wonder where the missing skin is.  Did you see it in the cucumbers?"  "Nope,"  I said.  "It's probably on the mandolin."  We were there for an hour; they popped some Gelfoam on it, wrapped it up like a cartoon character's thumb after a mishap with a hammer, and we were ready to go.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and murmured into his ear, "now do you believe that I just wanted to take care of you?"  "Yes," he said.  "Oh," I said, "one more thing.  I told you so."

They could hear us laughing in the lobby.

We were still laughing when we left, because I kept asking him my typical questions like "do you need a wheelchair?"  "Are you dizzy?"  "Do you need an ambulance transport home?"  All were met with "getthehellouttahere."  Can't blame a girl for trying.  I got him home safely and he, of course, told me to make the salad.  I followed him into the kitchen a minute later, and he pointed.  "Look."  "What?"  "There's the missing skin."  And I'll be darned, there it was.  A nice little fileted piece of Jim-flesh, about the size of a fingernail, sitting right there on the counter.  "Well, are you gonna eat it or what?  Why's it on the counter?  Do you want me to add it to the salad?"

He mentioned something about me being disgusting as he threw it away, but hey, I'm not the one who put it on the counter.  And hey, don't joke about stuff like that with a nurse, because our sense of humor is totally different than other, more normal peoples'.There may or may not have been a joke or two about it being "only a flesh wound."  I did, however, get my comeuppance.  More on that tomorrow.

Monday, June 30, 2014


My sweet hubby and I went away for the weekend last weekend.  It was just a nice overnighter, but it's nice to get away once in a while.  Plus, when you do an overnighter, the prep is pretty simple.  It's the emotional prep that's hard.

Jim was pretty darned sure that the dog was either going to a) starve to death or b) be mauled by Thomas' dog.  See, Penny (Thomas' dog) has this in-your-face-play-with-me personality which knows no personal space, and Mickey, our little prince, just ain't havin it.  Mickey loves his humans and no one shall put them asunder.  He sees Penny as a threat to his firm entrenchment as Dog of the House.  Penny doesn't care.  She just blunders through life with no regard to anyone.  This does not always work out well, as Mickey doesn't want her near his humans, and although he's a third of her size, he will have his say withi Penny.  Penny, on the other hand, has been known to pin Mickey to the ground, teeth bared, should he make her mad.

So the conversations went like this:
Jim: "Who's watching the prince while we're gone?"
Me: "The boys."
Jim: "No way.  They will kill my dog.  They'll forget to feed him.  Those boys can't even remember to feed themselves. How will they remember to feed the dog?"
Me:  "Penny is five.  She has lived with Thomas her whole life.  She hasn't died yet.  They'll be fine."
Jim:  "I'm telling you, he's gonna starve to death.  Maybe I'll have David (his son) watch him"

::pause while he checks with David, who had plans and wasn't available::

Jim: " They're gonna kill each other.  I don't want that dog killing my fuzzy dog."
Me:  "They'll be fine."
Jim:  "We're gonna come home to a dead dog.  You just watch."

So the week went by, and Friday night arrived.  He suddenly changed focus.

Jim:  "So, those boys are going to starve while we're gone.  You know that, right?"
Me: "Why in the world would you say that?  They'll be fine."
Jim:  "Because there's no one here to cook for them, and they don't know how to cook."
Me:  "They are fine.  They are both really good cooks."
Jim: "I don't think so.  They're probably gonna starve."

The man has to have something to fret about -- and it's usually food related.  Let's just say, there is ZERO chance of anyone starving to death around here, because we usually have enough food to feed an army.   And so it was that we pulled out of the drveway and drove off for our little getaway, with Jim fretting that the boys would destroy the house in some way, shape or form.  Can you tell that he raised three sons, three years apart?  And yes, he did come home early from a weekend away to find a full blown party in the house, complete with teenagers passed out in his bedroom.  So yeah, I get his point, but these are the Nerd Boys you're talking about.  Geez.

So we got to the hotel, and Jim told me to call and see if they had fed the dog, and ask what time Seth's girlfrend had gotten there.  Here's the texting.

Me: "Ask the clowns if they fed my dog and ask what time Elaine got there."  LOL
Thomas: Elaine got here around 3.  Dogs starved to death, I'm wont to report.

Cracked me up.  The boys understand my dear husband so well.  He laughed when he heard Thomas' response.  On Sunday, here's the communicaton:

Thomas:  What time are you guys heading back?
Me: We should be home around nine or so.
Thomas:  OK.  The liquor bottles and dead hookers should be cleaned up by then.
Me:  Did you bury the dogs?
Thomas: Buried Penny.  Had to eat Mickey.
Me:  How'd you cook him?
Thomas:  Fava beans and a nice chianti.

It's almost worth going away, just to see what they come up with next.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

It Was Nice While It Lasted, Molly

Sadly, Thomas' Molly lost on Jeopardy tonight, in a nailbiter of a game.  Thomas didn't register it at first and, thinking she had won after a comeback from third place, leapt higher in the air than I knew he was capable of.  He ended up in a crumpled heap when he realized she had lost, holding his head and moaning "no, Molly, NO."

He may need therapy.  On the other hand, he spent a good portion of time today playing on some trivia app on his tablet.  He was destroying people in math word problems, when he came up with a new opponent:  Raj Kumar from India.  "Oh man," he said.  "I'm screwed.  He's from India."  Until he destroyed him, too.  He moved on to General Trivia, where I think he was practicing for his own stint on Jeopardy where, he claimed, he will catch Molly's eye.  Oye VAY the boy takes a cute smile seriously.  I had a proud moment though, when he asked me what Coco Chanel's first name was (Gabrielle).  Gotta love a boy who asks even ONE question about classic designers.

I may have to put him back in the will.

And, in another happy thought, Jillie sent me this:

I have no words.  The preview photos from the wedding are beyond gorgeous, but this one says it all.  Her response? "This is probably the one day of my life that I didn't have mud under my nails."  Archaeologist, dontcha know.

I just look at it and think to myself, THIS.  This right here makes it worth the fact that she screamed through her first year of life, didn't sleep through the night till she was four, and made me absolutely insane for a while when she was 18.  This brought things full circle.  I love you, Pretty Gurl.