A short post tonight, but hopefully a fun one.
First of all, I”m proud to announce that Squishy has learned to knit! Huzzah!
She posed for the camera all on her own, and I love the shot–also, it showcases her brand new hat in all its rainbow glory 🙂 We have since added a bright red pom-pom to the top, and she is working on a pair of fingerless mittens all on her own– can I say proud again? Yup. Doing that. Also, I am absurdly *wipes tear* touched by the image of my two daughters working side by side with knitting. I can say I gave them that 🙂
Speaking of which, Chicken has gone back to her new apartment far away from everything without an hour of public transportation. Mate keeps trying to remind me that I took the bus from San Carlos to Daly City during a period of time when Daly City was scary as hell, but I seem to recall more maturity on our part at that point. Mate says I’m imagining things, but no. I’m sure she’s too young to be on her own. What’s the going age these days– 25? 30? Yeah. Then. Then I won’t worry, okay? But that worry aside, I do very much like her hair.
Anyway– on to blogging injuries and mummy dogs.
So, it’s safe to say that I’m a big girl. I mean, a BIG girl. And for the last week I’ve been fighting a couple of deadlines– editing, yes, but also guest blogs etc., and when I get really into a groove, I lean forward in my chair and put my toes behind me, which puts an enormous amount of strain on my achilles tendon.
Which, after three days of no sleep and doing that barefoot resulted in… well, a lot of frickin’ pain. And a fever. So I woke up last night, teeth chattering, barely able to walk to the bathroom, and soaked in sweat from pain. I tried to go back to sleep, but the dogs were screwing around, and one of them landed on my ankle one too many times, so I shoved the biggest one off the bed. Where he stayed.
About a half-an-hour later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I use Motrin sparingly because, in fact, it makes my intestines bleed (TMI, I’m sorry– also, yes. I’m falling apart) but I couldn’t go on like this. I asked a very patient, caring mate to go get me some Motrin and water, and he did– leaving me in the dark, because who likes to laser-bolt their eyes.
So I took the Motrin, and as Mate and I made ourselves comfy once more, I realized Johnnie hadn’t gotten back on the bed, and I felt bad. I called him up, and we heard him jump, and his feet scrabble up, and then he fell back down.
What in the hell?
I called him again.
He did the same thing– back feet and front feet scrabbling, and then he fell down.
He did that a few more times, and Mate was like, “Is he hurt?” (Cue guilt. Oh God! One moment of irritation and I killed the frickin’ dog!)
Finally he made it up onto the bed, and thud/rolled his way over to us.
He was wrapped in an entire fleece blanket. One of the old ones. The edging had become separated from the blanket itself, and he had gotten wrapped inside– probably on the ground after I pushed him off the bed. And then, when I called, he jumped on the bed mummified in an entire adult sized blanket.
And I had to laugh– I still felt like shit, and omg, poor baby, we’d been calling him and he came, when only his front feet could work and maybe his nose because he’d been swaddled in the blanket…
But on the other hand… MUMMY DOG!!!!
*still giggling*
And that’s it for now– I actually need to write some fiction. I know– someday I’ll do that as a profession!
Gentle Hugs, Amy!……(and here I thought I was the only one who put my feet in weird positions when doing the 'creative zoned out' thing – and not just at the desk either! My ankles hate me with the heat of a thousand white hot suns, but whatever…)
Poor Johnnie….he'll forever be "Flannel Gordita Dog" in my head.
Congrats to the Squish and to Chicken. First apartments are always worthy of being annotated in some journal simply because of all the bizarre things that can and will happen.
Ahhh, more fodder for the story machine, hun. Like Arachne, the weaving continues!