Ordinary Life Around Here

I should tell you that thirty minutes ago, I decide that washing an oversized baby gate in my laundry room sink was something that would be right-dadgum easy.  Except, you know, the very opposite of that.  A friend of mine needed to borrow a gate, to keep her hound from wandering downstairs to their family room and ALL THE CARPET, so she called me, thinking that we might be just far enough past the toddler stage to still have a gate in our house that we had no need for.

She was, in fact, right.

The problem came in that I couldn’t find the gate for her, until last night, when my memory kicked into gear and said, “Girl, the last time  you probably used that thing was on the deck, when you wanted to keep Thing 2 from zipping down the stairs and running away from home in the great beyond.”  Yes.  Yes, that was the exact last time I used the baby gate, and then someone from the male tribe must’ve shoved it beneath the deck, and lo!  There it still was.

It was adorned with dirt and dead leaves and ice, because SWEET MERCY!  It was eleven degrees below the point of zero this morning, y’all.  We are enduring some winter hardships in the name of no one wants to leave the comfort of our fireplace to go anywhere, because it’s too stinking cold outside.

But, lest I digress on the weather like I’m an eighty-six year old man who has himself some weather-related opinions, I will get back to the baby gate.

Which I washed in my laundry room sink.

Even though it didn’t fit.

I shoved it in, as best I could, turned on the water, and started to scrub one side of it.  Meanwhile, the water was being funneled right off the side of the baby gate, unbeknownst to me.

Which is why I had an inch of standing water on the floor surrounding me.

Which is why I had to use a bathroom towel to save ourselves from wet drywall and the eventual onset of the black mold.

Which is why I never really finished washing the baby gate, as I was completely distracted from that by FLOODED FLOOR!  Some things just seem to take priority in your life, don’t they?

So then, in the middle of sopping up water, the boy walked by, announcing that he was going out for something.  The frigid temperatures have no impact on a sixteen-year-old boy whose driver’s license is still fresh.  So, I gave him the barely-dried-off baby gate, so that he could drop it by my friend’s house.  I may have been stuck in the laundry room, mopping up water, but I was NOT going to have to go back out in the icy weather.

The real truth is that we are THAT FAMILY, who lets you borrow our filthy baby gate, without bothering to finish sprucing it up for you.

Jesus, be near us.

Anyway.

Hi, everyone.  And really?  Is everyone even still reading this blog, considering that I’ve decided to act like a college sophomore with spring fever, as I rarely show up here to post anything any more?  I’m sure that everyone has dwindled down to one person, so… you know... Hi, Mom!

It seems like this week has just been filled with one event after another, which started with my sister saying, HEY!  COUSIN L IS GOING STRAIGHT INTO THE HOSPITAL.

image1And honestly?  It’s not even fair that she looks that cute when she’s hooked up to an IV and lying in a hospital bed, chatting with her cousin.

For a few months now, Cousin L has had an enlarged spleen.  Or so they thought.  She had a bulge the size of a tennis ball on her side, and a couple of doctors have run every test imaginable, because WHY IS THIS SPLEEN SO BIG?  And then her MRI showed that her spleen wasn’t enlarged, but YES, IT IS!  BECAUSE WHAT IS THIS BULGE IN HER SIDE THAT YOU CAN SEE WITH THE NAKED EYE?  And then L had an allergic reaction to the MRI dye, and boom!  There she was, admitted to the hospital for Benadryl in an IV, which is when a surgeon stopped by her room, looked at the painful bulge in her side and announced, “It’s torn cartilage that is pushing out.”

And just like that, she had an official diagnosis, which only took seven months to get.  After a couple of days in the hospital, the pain in her side is now being controlled by Ibuprofen and these magical numbing patches that stick on like giant bandages, and she’s enjoying a few more days out of school.  And then, with twelve weeks of limited activity, she should be able to heal this cartilage tear right up.

Immediately after that, Thing 2 came home limping from preschool and decided that what he really wanted to do in life was sit on the sofa and bawl from pain.

And by bawl, I mean SCREAM HIS EVER-LOVIN’ HEAD OFF, THANK YOU, LORD.

Our energetic little four-year-old couldn’t even walk two feet without crumpling in pain, so of course I called our pediatrician, who told us he probably pulled a muscle in his groin.

Thing 2 didn’t move from the sofa for twenty-four hours, so you can imagine all the red flags that were waved and the alarms that went off, announcing THIS KID REALLY DOES HURT.  He was loaded on an enormous, doctor-ordered dose of Motrin, and didn’t get up to make a mess in our house for an entire day.

And then Hubs diagnosed himself with a sinus infection yesterday that flattened him.

This is how things looked in our living room:

img_0429Neither  one of them moved, and neither one of them could even muster the strength to eat the pizzas I brought home, so the boy and I did our level best to eat extra slices.

Our reprieve from not having any messes in our house is officially over now, as Thing 2 is currently sitting behind me while I type this, in a pile of Legos that covers an acre of hardwood floor and will require six grown, manual laborers and three hours to clean up.

This morning, the boy announced that he feels a head cold coming on.

This afternoon, the boy’s car broke down, which required me to fly into my panicked mother state, where I shouted into the phone, “Are you safe?  ARE YOU OFF THE ROAD AND SAFE?  DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS IF THEY STOP TO HELP!!  DON’T EAT THE CANDY THEY OFFER YOU!!”  To which he responded, “Geez, Ma!  I’m fine!  I just need towed home!”  Because of course he did.  He considered it a grand adventure, as he began tinkering beneath the hood of his car, hoping to pinpoint the problem, while it was FOUR DEGREES BELOW ZERO.  It was every mother’s worst nightmare, and my only consolation is that he had gloves in his car, because JUST THIS VERY STINKING MORNING, as he was leaving in nothing but a sweatshirt (BLESS!), I told him, “It’s wicked cold!  You WILL put gloves in your car!  You WILL wear a heavy coat!  You WILL take the car charger for your cell phone!”  When he insisted why, I said, “What if you have to change a flat tire, when it’s eleven degrees below?”

I intend to sit back now and wait for him to thank me for the grand wisdom I gave to him of GLOVES!  PHONE CHARGER!  HEAVY COAT!

In other words, it’s just normal life around here, y’all.

Have a great weekend.

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