Backlog of Pictures, Part III (and the week of agh!)
This is how our week began. Alex decided to answer the call of the sirens and stick two of his fingers into the sucking-in-part of a moving treadmill. Tie me to the mast, tie me to the mast, folks!!!! Ah, well. No broken bones, just missing a good chunk of flesh of two fingers, one of which he wraps around his thumb for sucking. Hence the huge bandage which makes it appear that the injury is life-threatening. And which also lasted 30 minutes? after we got home from the clinic before it got yanked off.
Then I, mommy, me came down with a stomach virus midweek. OK, there just isn't a pretty way of describing dry heaves and lots of lysol-use, so moving right along. There is something criminal about mothers being able to get sick. Along with the (temporary) extra set of arms I believe mothers should grow when their milk comes in, should come an impervious immune system and extra doses of toddler-proof energy.
Then Kathryn begins coughing for 1 hour, then 2 hours in the middle of the night. Alex is at this point running a fever and beginning diarrhea. Pediatrician says she is having pollen allergies and he's headed downhill with the virus I had, goody, goody! But fingers are not infected. That's good, that's good.
Now, all good stories and weeks must have an icing to the cake, right? Oh, yes. Enter Martha Stewart and Good Things from Tag Sales and Flea Markets. That's right. My reading material has gone downhill, I know.
It wasn't particularly interesting, so I stuck it back in the drop box at our tiny hometown library. I receive a CALL, you know, THE CALL, from the head librarian~ the one that says the book is damaged, pages are missing, you have to pay, etc. I explained (confused) that my children had not had access to the book. Oh, they knew that. I, mommy, me! had cut (with scissors) 16 pages out of this fascinating book. Here enter deep sighs, rolled eyes, drooping shoulders~ whatever~ it's my word against theirs, right? Better is a good name than great riches, and so on. So I go to Amazon and order a new one, expedite ship it, only to find out it's only available in softcover and I, mommy, me! had defaced a hardcover. I'm supposed to talk to the chief interrogator on Monday. I, being gracious as always (OK, so inwardly I'm gnashing my teeth), ask if they really believe I would STEAL 16 pages out of their book, and then LIE about my grand theft. They do. Alrighty then. I've been accused of worse, I suppose. There was the time I was accused of shoplifting a garden hose.
Catharsis done. By the way, I didn't do it.