I’m a little tired and out of it, so bear with my somewhat disjointed writing.
Mom got here Wednesday evening, and it was already lovely to have backup. Pandora has been doing a lot of “Whine whine whine, let me out please please please” only to sit by the back door less than five minutes later.
Now that Mom’s here, there’s an extra person to go get her and/or just notice that she’s pouting by the door (in either direction). I get absorbed in my work/narfing around and don’t always notice.
Mom’s already taken a very overloaded trash bag. Then scooped the cat box. Then took out the very heavy trash bag that resulted from that. (Clumping litter ain’t got nothin’ on Patches’s bladder. You end up scooping small continents out of the box.)
She’s also done a couple of loads of laundry and cooked. And she’ll probably end up cleaning because she does that even when I don’t ask. Because, Mom-ness.
So she’s already taken a huge load off my mind.
I did a big grocery run before Mom arrived. I kind of love it when I have one of her shopping lists. My cart looks like it belongs to a real adult. That is, someone who buys ingredients and from various food groups, instead of our normal mix of soda, frozen meals, and junk food.
But I forgot a couple of things, so Mom and I went out on Thursday to pick those up. Plus I needed to load up on Mountain Dew, which is only 77 cents per two liter. We got 16* but I plan on going back later in the week to pick up more.
We got a roasted chicken from Fry’s (cheaper than even the uncooked ones near their sell-by dates), and Mom made Mexican chicken. Which is just chicken and beans in a mix of salsa, water and some taco seasoning, served on rice. But I love it and hadn’t had it in ages.
Mom saved some of the meat so we can have chicken and mashed potatoes tomorrow. Plus she’ll probably cook down the bones for stock and make either chicken soup or minestrone. And probably chili at some point, assuming that the weather doesn’t get too much warmer.
We spent far more at the grocery store than usual — stock-up runs will do that — but at least we ended up with real food.
The Id & I
Alas, I also came away with Captain Crunch. The conversation in my head went thusly:
Id: Ooooh, Captain Crunch for 99 cents.
Rest of brain: You don’t want Captain Crunch.
Id: But it’s 99 cents.
R.O.B.: But you don’t want it.
Id: Sure I do.
R.O.B.: You didn’t want it before you found out it was on sale.
Id: I don’t want it at normal prices. But I want it at 99-cents!
R.O.B.: You suck [moves body to cereal aisle]
So anyway: 99 cent cereal to eat dry as a snack. And yes, it does tear up the roof of my mouth. That’s part of the experience. Just like the crumbs on your fingers that only seem to come off with soap, water and vigorous scrubbing.
Pandora is now around 60 lbs, but she’s still only eight months old. Which means all the excitability and stupidity of a puppy in a very large, bounding, likes-to-jump-up-on-visitors-and-nibble-their-ears form.
It doesn’t help that Mom made the mistake of feeding Pandora some chicken when she visited in September. And that she lets the dog lick pans or bowls before putting them in the dishwasher.
And so the pupster is now convinced that Mom=food. She’ll follow Mom around dotingly and even slump in the hallway outside the guest room. Presumably waiting for food to materialize out of thin air.
This would be a lot cuter and funnier if we weren’t in the midst of training Pandora to go to bed whenever someone has food in the living room. But puppy ADD, food tunnel vision and new-person excitement combine to throw her already tiny brain into a tizzy of love and hunger and willfulness.
So there’s a lot of:
“Go to bed. Good gir– Hey, no! Stay in bed!” (To be repeated about thirty seconds later.)
And “Go to bed! No, to bed! To bed! Is that bed? No! Go to bed!”
The latter usually happens because Pandora is trying to get away with just lying down near you. Or hanging out on the couch. Other times, her little brain appears to short-circuit and she instead walks around in a circle by the edge of the couch where her bed used to be.
All of this, of course, while giving us the “saddest puppy in the world” look — something so pitiful and wounded that you expect Sarah MacLachlan to start playing in the background.
Truly, a puppy’s life is hell.
I’m starting to flag on the work front. I’m on the 10th of 18 consecutive days of work. Time starts to blur and I have trouble keeping track of the days. Well, even more so than usual.
Luckily, the email volume is pretty low, so I’m not working at a breakneck pace or anything. Which is good because I haven’t been sleeping well, so I’ve been having to lie down for an hour or so most days.
All I know is that February the 18th will be a day of rest. If I get out of my pajamas, I will be deeply disappointed.
Tim has an appointment with his PCP on Monday to get looked at, at which point Tim can show off his lovely, changing-colors-like-autumn-leaves bruises.
Actually, the left foot’s bruising is almost gone, and Tim can put some weight on it without going pale.
Unfortunately, plenty of pain remains. That’s an especially big deal with someone like Tim who hates to take pain meds. I didn’t even bother filling the oxycodone prescription the hospital gave us. Instead, Tim’s using the left over hydrocodone from his oral surgery. Even that gets used sparingly.
He has an appointment to see his doctor on Monday, presumably so the guy can evaluate the situation and say, “Yep, that’s broken. I’ll refer you to an orthopedist.” Because we need to see one of those in early March, apparently. That seems early to me, but Nadine said it’s probably to ensure that the bone is healing correctly before it’s irreversible.
I’ve never broken a bone before, so this is all new territory for me.
So yeah… that’s it. I’m off to climb into bed and hope for a good night’s sleep.