I even finished a day early. I am pretty happy with this first draft. Although I have to admit that a whole new section of the story presented itself to me as I hit 50,000 and what I thought was the end of the first draft. Oh well, I’ve asked Princess Girl to help remind me to continue working on it. Maybe it will be my first ever SECOND draft!
It is Black Friday and I am shopping! I have to replace those MIA presents, you know.
See you next week – as long as I don’t get trampled in an aisle!
Princess Girl is a Christmas baby. Her birthday is not actually on Christmas, it is three days before. But we came home from the hospital on Christmas Eve when she was born; that is close enough for me. I have always (overcompensated) tried to make sure she did not feel slighted on either her birthday or Christmas. I have heard stories of other people who had late December birthdays. They all talked about one combined present or small gifts for each event. I figured if her birthday was in June she would make out like a bandit. It should not be any different in December.
This is why I start Christmas shopping in June. Or sometimes even January if I find a good sale. With birthday presents and birthday parties and Christmas presents for the whole family you really have to spread things out.
This past June my friend Sharon-Anne introduced me to Woot.com. Even better, she introduced me to Woot.com during a WOOT OFF! Talk about good deals. I purchased a couple of Christmas presents that day. Of course it was early July when they arrived. Not exactly the perfect time to wrap them in Santa paper and place them under the tree.
Like any experience parent I have several good hidey places in my house where gifts wait to be wrapped. Now that Black Friday is nearing, I have been looking in my hidey places and taking stock of the gifts I already have. I also have updated the ‘who is getting gifts this year’ list. It shifts slightly from year to year, you know. I am taking stock of what I still need to buy so I can plan my after-Thanksgiving shopping extravaganza!
So I’m checking my hidey places and checking my list. I’m thinking about the shopping I’ve done throughout the year. And re-checking my hidey places. And looking for new hidey places I may have made that I don’t remember. And checking my hidey places again.
You see where this is going right?
Those lovely gifts I purchased during the WOOT OFF are no where to be found. No where. I have even made up places to look – that cupboard above the stove? Maybe they are up there! That drawer in the side room of the basement – maybe they are in there. (Hey, that’s where the winter boots are so anything is possible.)
I have searched high and low. I have searched on multiple days. Princess Girl and I both remember when they arrived because I showed them to her. Neither one of us have any idea where they are now. I am hopeful they will show up when I start digging out the Christmas decorations.
I’m guessing they will show up as soon as I buy replacement presents. Or the day after I GIVE the replacement presents.
Ugh.
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Do you think there is a phobia for specific days of the week? I am sure there is. I should Google it. I don’t think my feelings for Tuesdays qualify as a true phobia, but it has become apparent that I do have a fear of Tuesdays. This is a new fear. It has only developed in the last few months. It coincides very neatly with the start of this blog.
When I started this blog I committed myself to posting three days a week. I had done some research, and I knew from personal experience with the blogs I read on a regular basis, if you don’t post on a set schedule – or at least on a regular basis – you would never develop a readership. I picked Monday Wednesday and Friday. That gave me a good range of days and enough days in between to get the posts written even if life got in the way and I had no time to write for a day or two.
Then I got the brilliant idea for Thousand Word Thursday. That bumped me up to four days a week. But that was still manageable. The picture of the week was something I could research ahead of time. I could schedule a couple of them at a time. And it was something fun and different.
Thousand Word Thursday worked so well I thought I needed to figure out a hook for Tuesdays. If I found a hook, that would give me a post for every weekday. And if it was a good enough hook, I would still only have to write three posts a week. If it was good enough, like Thursdays, Tuesdays would write themselves. But I’m all about alliteration. And cheesy puns. I had to have both the hook and the title. Without it, I could not force myself to commit to writing this additional post every week. My fear was being unable to come up with enough content for another post.
The problem? I could not find the hook. I could not find the title.
The result? I am afraid to commit to Tuesdays.
Maybe someday.
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Little kids have no concept of time. I remember being little and learning to count down to trips or birthdays by how many sleeps away the event was. This got even more exciting when I no longer had to take naps. That cut sleeps in HALF! I have had a couple experiences lately that have made me realize Princess Girl has not really grown into her concept of time yet.
The first was earlier this summer when she had been grounded from her cell phone for inappropriate time usage. I told her she would earn it back by good behavior in other areas over time. It was five or six days later when she asked me if she had earned her phone back yet. The poor girl was shocked it had not yet been a week. She had a couple more days of good behavior due to me before she could have the phone back.
The second occurred this past Wednesday. I sat on the couch working on my NaNo. She had been upstairs working on homework. She came downstairs to get a snack. On her way back up the stairs she stopped about half way up. She peeked over at me through the gap between the handrail and the ceiling.
“Hey Mom,” she says. “When do you think we can release me into a tennis shoe?”
Huh? What? Are you talking a foreign language? “Into a tennis shoe? Instead of your boot?”
“Yeah, last time the physical therapist released me. Since we are doing the therapy at home are we going to be able to release me to a tennis shoe?”
“A tennis shoe? You can’t do gym (oops, two points off of my daily grade) yet.
“Duh. I can’t RUN yet. But I think I’m ready for a tennis shoe. Look at this,” She rapidly points and flexes her toes. “Wa-BAM!” She moves her foot left and right. “Wa-BAM! Wa-BAM! Look at that mobility!”
Yes, she is a dork.
“That is really good dear. You are making a lot of improvements. We will have to talk to the doctor before we can move you out of the boot and into a tennis shoe.” I’m stalling here.
“Can you call him tomorrow?”
“Princess Girl, it has only been ONE WEEK since you were released to walk with the boot on.”
“A week?” Disappointment flashed in her eyes like a neon sign.
“Yes, only one week. Let’s wait another week and see how it goes. Maybe I’ll call him next week.” I add silently – You know, Thanksgiving week when he’s likely to be on vacation with the office closed. And then your next appointment is scheduled for the following week. Magically we’ll be able to wait until then.
“It really has only been a week?” She muttered and shook her head in surprise all the way back up the stairs.
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You know you are not having a good day, or series of days, when someone tells you they are TRYING not to laugh at you. And the drama you are going through. Actually the entire statement was “I’m trying not to laugh at your misfortune, but seriously.” I agree. Seriously.
Princess Girl spent the night with her grandmother on Saturday night. I woke up on Sunday morning and headed straight for the computer. Hey, a girl’s got to get her Facebook fix in. Cut me some slack. A couple games of Bejeweled later, I decide to get into the shower. I was feeling chilly. I knew a hot shower would warm me right up. On my way to the shower I glanced over at the thermostat.
64* Crap. No wonder I’m feeling chilly.
I take my shower. Once I’m warm and toasty, I grab the flashlight and head to the basement. Ok, the furnace is so far outside my realm of knowledge I can’t even begin to determine what the problem might be. I can tell that the fan is running, but that’s about it. I call my cousin. I ask her and her husband their advice. I can’t even figure out how to remove the access panel over the phone, but they’d be happy to come out and look at it with me. They come out and we do figure out the access panel. Mike determines the igniter on the thermal-coupler isn’t working. It’s Sunday. I call and request service first thing Monday morning. We have a space heater. It’s not 20 below. We’ll be fine. If worst comes to worst, I think, Princess Girl can always sleep with me.
She started off in her own bed, but about 3AM she was crawling into mine.
Monday morning bright and early the guy is there to fix it. He replaces exactly what we thought was the culprit and the heat kicks right on. And the fan keeps running and running. He tells me the processor is bad. They don’t have the part in the shop; they’ll have to get one in town. He’ll be back later. But the good news is I’ll have heat until then.
About an hour later the heat stops working.
I snuggle up with the space heater until he calls back around 2pm. He’s got the part. He’ll be right over. “What?” he’s shocked. “You don’t have heat?” He’ll get me fixed right up. He replaces the second part. The heat kicks on. I can feel it beginning to get toasty warm in my house once again.
About an hour later I leave to pick Princess Girl up from school and run an errand. When I return home… You guessed it – NO HEAT. I cranked the thermostat up to 75* and nothing. No fan, no heat. Of course at this point it is after hours again. I leave a message asking them to please come first thing in the morning as we are without heat yet again.
A very kind friend brings over three additional space heaters. Princess Girl is thrilled. She will get to sleep in her own bed! And still be warm! I thank my friend profusely. Princess Girl takes one of the heaters to her room immediately. I plug one into an outlet on the other side of the living room. I turn it on. I walk away. All the power goes out.
Crap! I’ve blown a fuse. But I can see the lights are still shining upstairs. PG is all good. I unplug the second heater and go down to flip the fuse. I’m smarter than the fuse box (or so I think). I take the heater into the next room. I’ll plug it in there; the heat will still be able to reach the living room.
I plug it in. I turn it on. I walk away. All the power goes out.
Crap, crap and more crap! Apparently, the main floor can only handle one space heater at a time. Oh well, at least Princess Girl will still get to be warm in her room tonight.
I post the latest update on Facebook with the disclaimer that “You just can’t make up this shtuff.” It was at this point when that same very kind friend responded to my comment on with “I’m trying not to laugh at your misfortune, but seriously.” Yeah. Exactly.
The guy shows up first thing Tuesday morning. “What? You don’t have heat again? You are making me feel bad.” Gee, dude, how do you think I am feeling right about now?? He tells me there is yet a third part that is bad. Of course they don’t have it in stock. Of course they will have to go into town to get it.
He returns later that morning with the third new part. And I have heat again! I wonder how long it will last. So does the heating guy. He tells me, “I’ll call you later this afternoon to make sure you still have heat.” Gee, thanks.
At this point, I think I basically have a brand new furnace.
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Needless to say, Princess Girl got a much needed good night’s sleep that night. In the morning, her pain had lessened considerably. We both felt well rested and capable of handling whatever life decided to throw at us.
Fortunately, this day seemed to be the turning point in her healing process. The cortisone and Benadryl were working to clear up the itchy rash. The surgery site pain was under control. The pressure sore had even gotten a little smaller over night. She was not ‘well’, but she finally seemed to be getting better. Each day since then has been better still. She is still having occasional pain both in the heel and in the surgery site. She is still had a couple itchy spots here and there. Overall, though, we can see and feel progress.
At the two week mark she had a follow up appointment with the surgeon. We were surprised to see Princess Girl’s grandmother’s vehicle in the parking lot of the doctor’s office. Inside we saw both PG’s grandma and her aunt. How’s this for irony? Her aunt is seeing the same surgeon. Her appointment is at the same time. She learns she is going to have to have surgery on her ankle from an injury at work.
The surgeon is running very behind. We sit for almost an hour waiting for him to come in to see us. Be assured I gave the nurse an ear full of all the problems and issues we had dealt with over the past two weeks. When the surgeon does come in, he takes the bandage off Princess Girl’s ankle. He manipulates her ankle briefly. He has a smile on his face. He seems pleased.
He asks Princess Girl if she remembers the exercises she did during physical therapy on the other ankle. She looks at him like he has just sprouted horns and green warts all over his face. She is silent. I attempt to help her by prompting, ‘Remember? The range of motion exercises…” She is now looking at me like I sprouted horns. The doctor however looks pleased again. She may have no memory what so ever of the two and a half months of therapy she endured over the summer, but obviously mom remembers.
He tells us he thinks she will be ok doing therapy on her own this time. She can bear weight in the boot now. She can even have to boot off at home, and bear weight as tolerated. He’ll see us in three weeks.
We are almost a week into weight bearing and home physical therapy. So far, so good.
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Tuesday morning we work on our routine of medications, removing the boot, lathering with ointment, putting on clean gauze and putting the boot back on. All before she gets dressed in clean PJs. We are both glad to see improvement on the rash already. She complains again about the pain in her heel. The boot’s off, we might as well take a look.
I’m not a doctor. I don’t even play one on TV. But I’m pretty sure that looks like the beginnings of a pressure sore. She has a dime sized area of white skin on her heel where the rest of the skin is a healthy pink. I tell her it was probably from her cast and should start feeling better now that the cast is off.
Sure, sounds good in theory, right? By that evening, poor Princess Girl is in agony. AGONY. I have her take a pain pill before we even start with her evening rash treatment. I give it a good half hour to kick in. I remove the boot. Her actual surgery site hurts. The rash is itchy and burning. The white, pressure sore, area on her heel is now the size of a half dollar. And really really sore. She says she has both a constant pain at a level 8 of 10 and a sharp stabbing type pain at a level 8 of 10 in that heel.
And here is where I start my rant. You can come back in a few minutes when it’s over if you don’t want to witness the mess.
Do you want to know where this pressure sore is on her heel? It is in the EXACT SPOT where the dent in the cast was. You know the one we went to the office to have them look at. The one they said was NOT caused by her passing out and falling. And the reason they knew it was not from her fall? BECAUSE THEY PUT IT THERE ON PURPOSE!! And then ignored me when I thought it might cause an issue. Do you have any idea what I would like to say to her physician right now? Or to the site supervisor? Yeah, it would not be pretty.
Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest…
An hour and a half after taking the pain pill she is crying and still at a pain level of 8 of 10 for both issues on her heel. Her surgery site is a 6. Her rash is itching and burning. I do what any self-respecting mom would do. I gave her another pain pill. Keep in mind Princess Girl only weighs about 95 pounds.
Within an hour her eyes were getting glassy. She was rubbing her eyes. Her pain level had not gone down, but she was nearing a coma state. I tucked her into bed and let her enjoy a drug induced full night’s sleep.
We have to be nearing the end of this journey, don’t we?
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