Everyone Has Their Limits

The Spare to the Throne is a sniffer.  He has, probably since birth, always smelled everything he comes in contact with, the first time he comes into contact with it.  Food, shoes, clothes, shampoo, whatever.  He always smells it.  He used to come to me with his beloved blanket and say "wow, Mommy, my blanket smells SO good, doesn't it?"  He'd hand it to me so that I could take a deep whiff.

This may explain why now, I have so little sense of smell.  That thing was WICKED bad in its odiferous-ness, but it was hard to get away from him long enough to wash it.  OK, so yeah, I had a rather co-dependent thing with my blanket when I was little, and maybe, just MAYBE I sucked my thumb till I was double digits, but yeah......I don't think my blanket smelled that bad.

So Jim made dinner one night a couple of weeks ago, and remarked "you know what Seth's gonna do when he sees this, right?  He's gonna smell it."  I knew he was right -- I can't remember what he had cooked, but it wasn't familiar to Seth, so of course yes, he picked up the plate and took a big whiff.  Maybe the boy is part dog, or wolf, or cat or something.  It's one of his little food quirks, like the fact that he doesn't like his food touching, or he eats only one food at a time on his plate.  No biggie, just quirks.

He also loves shrimp.  So Jim and I went to the commissary, and I decided I needed to get him these:

I mean, he loves shrimp after all. And he has always been a grazer.  I figured oh well, let's see what he does with these.  Well let me tell you, it was hysterical.

He looked at them quizzically and read the package.  He opened it up and did his normal thing:  sticking his nose into the bag and taking a big whiff.  It was at this point that the entire bag almost went flying, because he not only smells things, he has a super SENSITIVE nose, so when that smell hit him, it almost knocked him down.  "OH MY GOD," he said, "that is AWFUL."  I mean, how can a strong smell of shrimp, enclosed in plastic for however many weeks, be bad, right?  Thomas told him he was being a wimp, grabbed the bag, and promptly almost lost his lunch right in front of me.  He suggested that perhaps they didn't taste as bad as they smelled.  Seth decided to give it a try.

He took a bite.  Paused.  Chewed thoughtfully, appearing to be deep in thought, then announced "NOPE, they are just as bad tasting."  I'm pretty sure he spit it out.  And maybe even gargled a bit and spit into the kitchen sink.  Then he decided that maybe it would be better, the more you ate.  Nope.  Same thing.  He decided to clip 'em shut and save 'em for later.  As in, two or three weeks later, when he suddenly decided to open them up and maybe, just maybe, try 'em again.  And what does he do?  Sticks his head in the bag again, recoiled, and tossed 'em straight into the trash.    Trash which then had to be taken outside because the smell was defiling Jim's beloved pantry.

Moral of the story?  Everyone has their limits.  And for some people, that limit is Shrimp Chips.

Welcome to Our World

Where this...............

Turns into this, which is Leeloos new favorite pasttime.

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.

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.

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.

Retribution.

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.