Last week, I started feeling a pain flare coming on which was concentrated mostly in my left shoulder, collar bone and down my arm. Several days into it, my arm wasn't working well, and I realized I wasn't going to get much accomplished around the house... or anywhere else for that matter. I'd had a rough and busy 4-5 days anyway, so I decided to take a day off and hope the pain got better.
This is around the time I found out we will soon be having out-of-town visitors.
These are the kind of out-of-town visitors for whom you scurry around like a psychotic person. The kind whose impending arrival can cause you to spew every form of hateful commentary at your precious children. But, and this is important, we're very happy they're coming.
As the days went on, the pain continued to worsen. It moved up my shoulder muscles into my neck and down my arm to my elbow. My left arm is currently a useless, dangly accessory (and have I ever mentioned I'm left-handed?). It completely ignores my pleas to function and do something useful.
By the way, in case you ever need such information, I've found that yelling at an appendage to "Pick up that rag and scrub, DA##IT!" is a fairly futile activity.
I made it very clear to my family- in that sweet, loving way I have- that I need as much help from them as possible to get this house in order for company. "ALL HANDS ON DECK, DA##IT," became the mantra of the week, spoken in sugary tones of maternal love and devotion.
There's been a lot of "DA##IT" around here this past week. I'm sorry. I'm not a perfect mom.
Sometimes, I just think it's fun to state the obvious.
A couple days into the ALL HANDS ON DECK frenzy was around the time I found out from the Water Meter Reading Guy that we have used over 13,000 gallons of water already this month, so there must be a leak in our pipes.
There went all that "help" I was supposed to be getting. Darrell had to rent a big yard-digger-upper thing and use all the boys to search for and then repair the leak. And, oh- snort- did I mention- ooohahahabwaaahaha- that I also forgot to record a BIG check I wrote, so we actually have waaaaay less money than I thought we had? I didn't? I can't believe I left that out, because it's a- hahahahaha- really important detail- mwaaaahaha. I've totally screwed us for the
The "missed" check, on top of the rental fee for the yard-digger-upper thing, on top of the huge water bill we'll have to pay for water we didn't even use, oh and- HAHAHAAAAA- the overdraft fees from the bank!!! I forgot the overdraft fees we're going to have! You mix that all together in a big 'ol vat of crazy and what do you get? Huh? Do you know?
You get a huge, writhing-in-agony, half-paralyzed cow, who cries and laughs at the same time and shouts unsavory words at her beautiful, angel-faced babies who are only trying to help. You get an earsplitting "I CANT TAKE ANOTHER SECOND OF THIS CRAP, DA##IT!" when you tell me we're out of ice cream. That's what you get.
Darrell and the boys did get the leak repaired (we hope), and they all pitched in around the house yesterday and got a lot done. Which is awesome. No complaining there. However, there is still MUCH to do, and the fat half-a-plegic feels no more ready to scrub or shop than she did last week.
There's also been the fun little plot twist regarding my toe. Have I mentioned my toe? No? Probably because it would be in poor taste to tell you about my toe. You'd be really grossed out to hear how my ingrown big toenail on my left foot was hurting so bad that I ended up going after it like Jack the Ripper on meth just so I could walk, and now it's, uh, worse. Way. Waaaay worse. I've hobbled myself.
Kinda funny that I was trying to do an in-home surgical procedure to avoid the cost of going to the doctor, and now I've pretty much guaranteed that a Dr. visit will be absolutely necessary if I want to put any weight on my toe ever again. Yeah. That's so, so funny.
Speaking of doctor's visits... Did I tell you I found out the infection I had in my eyes is the kind of thing that will keep coming back? I'll always have problems with it. Oh, Man! BWWAAAHAHAHA! It just keeps getting better, does it not? Oh, wait- I didn't mention that the eye drops are over 70 bucks a (tiny) bottle! That's the ree-hee-healy funny part. Not to mention the joy I feel over hearing the words, "Unfortunately, this is something you'll just have to learn to live with," EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I go to the doctor these days. How is it possible that all these chronic, recurring conditions have chosen me for their very own? Huh? Seriously.
So, anyhoo... what was the original topic? Oh... Our visitors come next Sunday. I have one week to do a one-armed, thorough cleaning, catch up on all this dirty laundry that's cluttering the floor, and shop for "company food" (meaning, I don't want to serve PBJ's and chips). One week. Yeah, not gonna happen. I move like a turtle these days. One week is not enough. It's just enough time to do a half-a*$ job of it and stress and cry and throw an enormous pity-fueled, expletive-heavy fit in the bathtub, where the kids aren't around to listen, but it's not enough time to make the place sparkle.
My sparkle days are done, I'm afraid. And that "clean house" smell I once loved so much? That smell of lemons, bleach and windex? That's been replaced by cat pee. "Welcome, visitors! Please, come in and relax. Take a deep, cleansing breath of cat pee! Aw... the sweet, sweet smells of home."
And oh, yeah... next Sunday is Father's Day, too- so I also have to run out and get something for the kids to give their dad. Hahaha. I have to find a good gift with no money. "Happy Father's Day, Darrell! Please accept this can of Pepsi and beef jerky from the gas station. Live it up, hon, you've earned it! Sorry if I got a little bit of eye goop on it, there. Better than the goop from my toe. Enjoy!"
Gee whiz, all we need is a trailer, a crawdad on a stick, and a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon to make my Redneck Nightmare complete.
Wait... I promised to end this post on a happy thought, didn't I? Let's see... something positive... some. thing. positive...
I'm not married to Anthony Weiner!