Being single is tough. Being single in your 30's is really tough. Not only do we have to deal with the endless cacophony of "so when are you getting married" from everyone from your mother to 4 year old children...but we also have to run the particularly daunting gamut of single men of a certain age. And as we all know already...men are idiots. Really big idiots. I'm not saying I'm perfect. I know I'm not...but between my friends and I...we have come across many situations that just leave us without words. Or laughing hysterically...because men are idiots.
Below are just a few helpful hints for those idiot guys out there.
1) Don't be an idiot.
When failure to follow this rule occurs...please see remainder of the list.
2) Yes...I am amazing. Yes...I am wonderful. Yes...I do like to hear all of these things. But this does not mean that I immediately want to get into a serious relationship with you the day we meet. Nor does this give you the authority to get jealous, snippy, or make me feel guilty because I have a life outside of you. Remember...we JUST met.
3) I know how to do things for myself. Chances are, single women of a certain age have lived alone. And as a result are used to being independent and managing a house all on their own. I can mow my own lawn. I can fix things around the house. It is sweet if you offer. I may even take you up on it. But don't be put off if I tell you "no thanks, I got it."
4) I am not your mother. Act accordingly.
5) If I have children, and you have not met them yet...and we happen to run into one another in public...kids in tow...do not approach me. If you haven't met them yet...there's a good reason for it. I'm not ready for it, and they certainly are not ready for it. So I will act as if you don't exist.
6) Don't lie. Ever. I'm not stupid, and I will find out.
7) Harem's are a thing of the past. So if we end up in a serious relationship, I expect there to only be 2 people in that relationship. No more. No less.
8) You must be able to pass a mental health examination. Woman are the only one's allowed to be crazy.
9) No drugs. Duh.
10) Being a gentleman is not a thing of the past. Open the door, walk next to the street, all that good stuff that makes women swoon. Oh yeah...and don't stop doing it. Ever.
11) No means no. Yes means yes.
12) Be kind.
13) Share.
14) I am not your ex.
15) This is not my first time around the block with relationships. I am no longer 15. I'm older. I'm wiser. I'm better.
16) If you say you're going to do something. Do it.
17) I don't need you. I want you. When you figure out that's a compliment, please come see me.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
The Ridiculously Long Road to Recovery
Let me start by saying that had I written this post yesterday, it would have been a MUCH different post. You'll find out why in a bit.
6 weeks. It has been 6 weeks since I stepped off a step of 6 inches, slipped on a patch of ice, and changed my life. In some ways it has been the absolute longest 6 weeks of my life. In others...it seems like wow...didn't that just happen yesterday? One thing is for certain, I haven't had a full night of sleep in 6 weeks. Yikes.
I saw the awesome orthopedic surgeon a little over 3 weeks ago, and they removed the splint and staples. I kid you not, I was more nervous for this Dr. appointment than I was before surgery. I had talked to my aunt, who had broken both wrists a few years ago, and she told me that removing the staples was really painful. So I took a percocet, and went to the Dr.
I had nothing to be worried about.
Nothing.
This might have been the best Dr. appointment of my life.
I actually had...can you believe it...fun. I laughed. I hobbled out in a much better mood than I went in.
The nurse took out my staples, and assured me that she hadn't made anyone else cry that day. So I felt pretty good about her abilities. The main thing that got to me was that my foot, my leg, that I have been looking at my entire life, and know fairly well, now looked like an alien being attached to my my knee. Weird...I tell you. It looked weird!! See:
It looks really weird. And swollen. And discolored.
So anyway...the Dr. came in and the first thing he noticed were my crutches. The BP had decorated them with Superman duct tape the night before...because Superman is awesome. And apparently my Dr's 2 year old son totally agrees with me.
Nevermind C's 3 year old son who took one look at them and said "Batman's better."
But then it was on to the real stuff...like making sure I could blow this Popsicle stand and head to Florida. That was fine.
And on yeah...he showed me my X-Ray's. And my new Wolverine-esque ankle. Ok...normally I am VERY squeamish. VERY. But for some reason...these X-Ray's haven't bothered me. But if you're more squeamish than me...you might want to skip the pictures.
So what you're looking at here are 9 screws, and one really long metal plate that is over 6 inches long. The good thing is that a mere two weeks after surgery, and you can barely see where the breaks were in the bones. The bad news is that I still had a severely sprained ankle. But I could start putting some pressure on it, and more and more as time goes by. The better news was that the boot can come off to shower!!! And I can take it out to stretch and ice a few times a day.
So while the Dr. was showing me the current X-Ray...I asked if I could take a picture of it. And he said that would be fine. Then asked if I had the before X-Rays...which I didn't. So they pulled those up on the computer.
See...I did a REALLY good job of breaking my ankle.
And then they pulled one up that they took DURING surgery. Yeah...that's the Dr. working on one of the screws right there.
Ok...the gross part of the show is over :)
He also told me that I had a really old injury where I had sprained my ankle and chipped a piece of bone off my ankle. I had no clue that I did that. But knowing my klutzy self...it doesn't surprise me.
Ok...so that was then...
...this is now. I get to wear this fabulous piece of footware for at least a couple of more weeks. But we're being optimistic, and I get to take a left shoe to my next Dr. appointment.
I flew to Florida a few days after my Dr. appointment, and I've now been here 3 weeks. Let me say this...I have flown a lot in my life. A LOT! But never damaged before. And that's totally the way to go. They got a wheel chair for me, and I got to skip to the head of the security line. I got on the plane first. This is ideal.
Not that that would be a reason to ever break another bone ever again...because it isn't.
Recovering in Florida has been nice...for the most part. My parents are here to take care of my every need. Though sometimes it kinda feels like I'm a little kid again. Or like a teenager...asking to borrow the car to go get a milk shake. But it's been relaxing...which is what I need. Because I have been able to do everything I could from here. And here it's 80 degrees most days.
And I got a pedicure (look closely in the picture above) and...yes...I chose blue polish because I wanted my toes to be blue on purpose. Not because they were bruised or without circulation this time. The pedicure was amazing...because the massage was quite possibly the most amazing thing I have ever felt in my entire life. Yowza!!
But on a serious note. It has been 6 weeks. And I did a lot of damage to my ankle. I am (relatively) young. And I am following (ok...at least TRYING) Dr's orders. I have to remind myself of this on a daily basis. And the thing that often slips my mind is I have a lot of foreign objects in my body now. And this isn't like the Junior Mint episode of Seinfeld...where all is hunky dory afterward. No no...my body doesn't like that I'm turning into Wolverine. It's fighting that daily. Some days are better than others. But every day...I get a gentle...or not so gentle reminder of where every single screw and piece of metal is.
If the weather is bad...or going to be bad...it's a much worse day.
I have already had one old lady bone in my right foot for years. It tells me when it's going to rain or snow...or when the wind is going to blow too hard.
That pales in comparison to my left ankle.
The last few days have been really bad. Awful actually. 2 nights ago, I barely slept 4 hours, and I was awake every hour because my ankle woke me up, and I just simply couldn't get comfortable. And it hurt a lot yesterday. I pretty much didn't want to do anything but curl up in the fetal position. The dad, wisely, recommended that I break into my stash of pain killers so I could at least get a decent night of sleep. I haven't taken pain killers since before I came to Florida, and I was feeling really good about that. I've taken Advil a couple of times to knock the edge off...but nothing more than that. So I was hesitant...but I also figured it was a good idea.
And holy cow, I forgot what good pain killers were like. I forgot that they also have a property that relaxes you a little...makes you a little goofy. And oh yeah...doesn't really make all of the pain go away...it just makes you forget about it a little more. So that really means that I slept about as well last night as I have in the past 6 weeks.
So...6 weeks. I want to be doing more than I am. I can take a few steps...cautiously. I can get in and out of the shower, and stand there just fine. I may have walked across the room...without a boot...without my ankle wrapped in any way...and I may have gotten yelled at for doing so by the dad. 6 weeks is not a long time. And I can certainly tell that I have made leaps and bounds in recovering. But I still have a long way to go. Because some may say that taking a few steps right now is great. But I sometimes look at that and say..."but I'm a marathon runner!! I have ran 40 miles in 1 weekend before...I should be able to do so much more! I ran 20 miles 8 weeks after I had surgery last time!!" So I'm stubborn, and impatient...
I was told by a very good friend, not long after I did this, that God has been trying to teach me a lesson my entire life. And I just wasn't getting it. So sometimes God takes some extreme steps to get your attention.
Dear God, I get it. You're making me take a step back, and really listen. Next time, I'll try to remember this and not get so pigheaded that you need to break a bone again.
Kthx.
So while I am occasionally going out of my mind because I can't do much of anything...I am also trying to enjoy it. Because I know that as soon as I can be up and going again, I will be. And I have hopes that I will come out of this whole experience a better, stronger person. Because there really is no better experience to help see things clearly, and really put things in perspective. And I am trying to listen.
6 weeks. It has been 6 weeks since I stepped off a step of 6 inches, slipped on a patch of ice, and changed my life. In some ways it has been the absolute longest 6 weeks of my life. In others...it seems like wow...didn't that just happen yesterday? One thing is for certain, I haven't had a full night of sleep in 6 weeks. Yikes.
I saw the awesome orthopedic surgeon a little over 3 weeks ago, and they removed the splint and staples. I kid you not, I was more nervous for this Dr. appointment than I was before surgery. I had talked to my aunt, who had broken both wrists a few years ago, and she told me that removing the staples was really painful. So I took a percocet, and went to the Dr.
I had nothing to be worried about.
Nothing.
This might have been the best Dr. appointment of my life.
I actually had...can you believe it...fun. I laughed. I hobbled out in a much better mood than I went in.
The nurse took out my staples, and assured me that she hadn't made anyone else cry that day. So I felt pretty good about her abilities. The main thing that got to me was that my foot, my leg, that I have been looking at my entire life, and know fairly well, now looked like an alien being attached to my my knee. Weird...I tell you. It looked weird!! See:
So anyway...the Dr. came in and the first thing he noticed were my crutches. The BP had decorated them with Superman duct tape the night before...because Superman is awesome. And apparently my Dr's 2 year old son totally agrees with me.
Nevermind C's 3 year old son who took one look at them and said "Batman's better."
But then it was on to the real stuff...like making sure I could blow this Popsicle stand and head to Florida. That was fine.
And on yeah...he showed me my X-Ray's. And my new Wolverine-esque ankle. Ok...normally I am VERY squeamish. VERY. But for some reason...these X-Ray's haven't bothered me. But if you're more squeamish than me...you might want to skip the pictures.
So while the Dr. was showing me the current X-Ray...I asked if I could take a picture of it. And he said that would be fine. Then asked if I had the before X-Rays...which I didn't. So they pulled those up on the computer.
Ok...the gross part of the show is over :)
He also told me that I had a really old injury where I had sprained my ankle and chipped a piece of bone off my ankle. I had no clue that I did that. But knowing my klutzy self...it doesn't surprise me.
Ok...so that was then...
I flew to Florida a few days after my Dr. appointment, and I've now been here 3 weeks. Let me say this...I have flown a lot in my life. A LOT! But never damaged before. And that's totally the way to go. They got a wheel chair for me, and I got to skip to the head of the security line. I got on the plane first. This is ideal.
Not that that would be a reason to ever break another bone ever again...because it isn't.
Recovering in Florida has been nice...for the most part. My parents are here to take care of my every need. Though sometimes it kinda feels like I'm a little kid again. Or like a teenager...asking to borrow the car to go get a milk shake. But it's been relaxing...which is what I need. Because I have been able to do everything I could from here. And here it's 80 degrees most days.
And I got a pedicure (look closely in the picture above) and...yes...I chose blue polish because I wanted my toes to be blue on purpose. Not because they were bruised or without circulation this time. The pedicure was amazing...because the massage was quite possibly the most amazing thing I have ever felt in my entire life. Yowza!!
But on a serious note. It has been 6 weeks. And I did a lot of damage to my ankle. I am (relatively) young. And I am following (ok...at least TRYING) Dr's orders. I have to remind myself of this on a daily basis. And the thing that often slips my mind is I have a lot of foreign objects in my body now. And this isn't like the Junior Mint episode of Seinfeld...where all is hunky dory afterward. No no...my body doesn't like that I'm turning into Wolverine. It's fighting that daily. Some days are better than others. But every day...I get a gentle...or not so gentle reminder of where every single screw and piece of metal is.
If the weather is bad...or going to be bad...it's a much worse day.
I have already had one old lady bone in my right foot for years. It tells me when it's going to rain or snow...or when the wind is going to blow too hard.
That pales in comparison to my left ankle.
The last few days have been really bad. Awful actually. 2 nights ago, I barely slept 4 hours, and I was awake every hour because my ankle woke me up, and I just simply couldn't get comfortable. And it hurt a lot yesterday. I pretty much didn't want to do anything but curl up in the fetal position. The dad, wisely, recommended that I break into my stash of pain killers so I could at least get a decent night of sleep. I haven't taken pain killers since before I came to Florida, and I was feeling really good about that. I've taken Advil a couple of times to knock the edge off...but nothing more than that. So I was hesitant...but I also figured it was a good idea.
And holy cow, I forgot what good pain killers were like. I forgot that they also have a property that relaxes you a little...makes you a little goofy. And oh yeah...doesn't really make all of the pain go away...it just makes you forget about it a little more. So that really means that I slept about as well last night as I have in the past 6 weeks.
So...6 weeks. I want to be doing more than I am. I can take a few steps...cautiously. I can get in and out of the shower, and stand there just fine. I may have walked across the room...without a boot...without my ankle wrapped in any way...and I may have gotten yelled at for doing so by the dad. 6 weeks is not a long time. And I can certainly tell that I have made leaps and bounds in recovering. But I still have a long way to go. Because some may say that taking a few steps right now is great. But I sometimes look at that and say..."but I'm a marathon runner!! I have ran 40 miles in 1 weekend before...I should be able to do so much more! I ran 20 miles 8 weeks after I had surgery last time!!" So I'm stubborn, and impatient...
I was told by a very good friend, not long after I did this, that God has been trying to teach me a lesson my entire life. And I just wasn't getting it. So sometimes God takes some extreme steps to get your attention.
Dear God, I get it. You're making me take a step back, and really listen. Next time, I'll try to remember this and not get so pigheaded that you need to break a bone again.
Kthx.
So while I am occasionally going out of my mind because I can't do much of anything...I am also trying to enjoy it. Because I know that as soon as I can be up and going again, I will be. And I have hopes that I will come out of this whole experience a better, stronger person. Because there really is no better experience to help see things clearly, and really put things in perspective. And I am trying to listen.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Showering, Dinner, Kangaroos and Driving
2 weeks ago at this very moment during the day, I was getting my ankle set in the ER.
It has been a looooooooooong 2 weeks since I broke my ankle.
Until this past Sunday, I had been crashing with the BP at HQ...though it had been in the plans for me to head back to the farm for a few days. I was, to say the least, a little nervous about being there all on my own. I've spent a few days on my own since the break, and I've managed ok...but the farm is in the middle of nowhere, with anyone to come help a least a short distance away. So nervous is a modest description of what I was. But at the same time, I was looking forward to some peace and quiet, and getting to chill and watch some TV. So Sunday morning I packed my stuff, and collected some food...and we headed off. A short stop at Walmart for some additional food...and it was on to the farm to get me settled.
Once there, I really didn't do much, except spend my time crashing on the couch...and then for a change of scenery, move to my chair, and watch TV. I was supposed to be doing this thing called "relaxing." I guess you could say that was accomplished.
But let me back up a little. As I mentioned already, it has been a long 2 weeks. First off, I have been given orders to not really do much of...well...anything. But I'm a little stubborn, and I really dislike relying on anyone else for...well...anything.
I swear...I come by this stubbornness honestly. I actually got a double dose of stubborn. My maternal grandmother was the queen of stubborn. She was the absolute worst one about asking for help, or accepting any help offered to her, long after she shouldn't be doing things for herself. Including cooking, cleaning, and driving. And my paternal grandmother is not far behind her. In fact, the morning after I broke my ankle, my dad called to tell me that he had called her earlier in the morning to tell her what happened...and she had already been out not once but TWICE to sweep and shovel snow off her front walk because she didn't want the paper boy to slip on the snow. Never mind the fact that her granddaughter just broke her ankle on the snow. Or that she's a spry 88 years old. Nope...she needed to get that snow off the walk. So she did.
See...told you so :)
Double dose of stubborn.
And I am normally a very independent person as far as taking care of myself. So even though throughout the entire process, I am trying to keep a positive attitude...because surely SOMETHING good must come out of this...right? Well even though overall I'm trying to have that attitude, there are definitely days and moments that I don't succeed. One of the worst days was when I tried to make breakfast, and it took me a half an hour to make a bowl of oatmeal for the BP and a bowl of applesauce with granola in it for myself. Yes...a half an hour to do just that. I cried that day because there is just so much that I physically can't do right now...or if I try...it takes 18 times longer than it normally would take me to do something. And the amount of energy I expend trying to do anything is so high I'm wiped out after the simplest of tasks. So frustrated has been my mental state many times.
But people have been very supportive also. A couple from my church emailed last week and then stopped by Wednesday with a refrigerator full of food that our Sunday School class had collected for us. Very helpful, and very awesome. I cannot thank them all enough!!
But back to the farm...
As mentioned in my previous post...I have been taking a bath for the past couple of weeks because it's kinda just easier. But I was not happy doing so. So at the farm, I knew I would be able to get in the shower/bath with no problem. And I decided yesterday to just give showering a shot. I got a garbage bag, and put it over my cast, and wrapped it tight. And then proceeded to balance on one foot for as long as it took to wash my hair, and everything else. I felt awesome finally showering. But I needed a nap after. See...a lot of energy was expended. And I took another one this morning. Just thinking about it makes me smile. There is just nothing like a good, hot shower.
So, since I was so successful at showering yesterday, I thought I would try something else I hadn't done in the past 2 weeks. Making dinner, by myself, from scratch. Now...I'm not bad in the kitchen. Though I have had a few...challenges. Like setting my kitchen on fire at both Thanksgiving and Christmas 2 years ago. I figured I wasn't making anything terribly difficult...just chicken and pasta. How challenging could that be? Surely nothing could go wrong. Right?
WRONG!!!
The stove in my kitchen is not new...and it has metal burner covers...that most of the time I just move around when I'm using a burner. So I had had the chicken cooking for a while...and wanted to get the water on to boil. Well first...getting a full stock pot of water onto the stove was one huge challenge. But I made it. I had set it on the stove...moved myself. Then moved it onto the burner. But I checked on it a couple of times...and it just wasn't boiling yet. And then the smoke detector went off. I knew I had just cleaned the burners a couple of weeks ago...so I shouldn't be burning anything there. But they kept going off. And the water STILL wasn't boiling. And I was getting tired and frustrated because I had already been cooking for an hour and a half...making what seems like a million trips into the kitchen...and the darn smoke detectors kept going off!! I finally realized that when I had moved the stock pot....one of the burner covers got stuck to the bottom of the pan. It wasn't ruined...but that was the cause of my problems. So I removed that...and then it wasn't too much longer before dinner was done. But by the time I was finally able to eat, I was a wreck because of what a catastrophe it had been cooking. And I was exhausted. I was barely able to make it into the kitchen one last time to clean up and put away leftovers. But I got my stubborn up, and wouldn't let that stupid dinner beat me! Plus...I had to save the leftovers so I wouldn't have to go through that nightmare again anytime soon :)
I was so exhausted by the time I was done with everything, I collapsed on the couch for an hour before I could muster the energy to make it to bed, and take a pain pill, and get some much needed sleep.
More than one time over the past 2 weeks, I have been more thankful for pockets than I have ever been before in my life. And also, more than once, I have felt like a kangaroo, because those hooded sweatshirts I am so fond of wearing have that awesome front pocket that I have loaded down because a couple of cans of soda, a phone, keys, and inevitably something else have been stuffed in there. Hey...a girl has to do what a girl has to do. And sometimes stuffing pockets full of something is the easiest way of transporting things through the house.
The one task I hadn't tried until today was driving. It's my left ankle that's broken, so driving is something I knew I should be able to do by myself. I just haven't done it. The BP came to get me today...and told me that I was driving back. OK...I can totally do that. Before we even got on the highway, I was wishing I didn't have to do that. I was a little uncomfortable. But still stubborn. And more than once I wanted to pull over and let him drive. But he wasn't going to let me get off that easy. Nor did I really want to give up. He had to help me do some deep breathing a couple of times...and he may or may not have gotten me to howl at passing vehicles...I felt ridiculous...but it made me laugh and kept my mind off of my ankle and I made it all the way back. And then promptly laid down to take a nap. But I now feel confident that when I need to drive myself, I will be able to. YAY!! Independence!!
So...next steps. I go back to see my awesome orthopedic surgeon on Thursday afternoon. He'll take the current cast/bandage off, and remove the staples and do some x-rays to check the progress...and see how much like Wolverine I am becoming. (That being the running joke...that I'm now transforming into Wolverine...with metal attached to my bones and all) Then its back to the farm for a few days...and then off to sunny Florida!! I bought my ticket last night, and Monday morning I am blowing this popsicle stand for a few weeks!! That's really been the plan all along, and had my Dr. allowed me to travel anytime in the first 2 weeks after surgery, I would already have been there. But he said no, so in frosty IL I remain. But I'm definitely looking forward to it. The park in Florida has always been the place I have been able to relax. Plus, my parents are there, and I miss them terribly. It's been hard on me not having them...because no matter how awesome other people are at helping out...NO ONE equals your parents...no matter how old you are. And they have been having a hard time not being here to help take care of me. So I'm definitely excited about that!!
Ok...that's it for now. I'm off to lay down and take a pain pill and relax the evening away :) Until next time....
It has been a looooooooooong 2 weeks since I broke my ankle.
Until this past Sunday, I had been crashing with the BP at HQ...though it had been in the plans for me to head back to the farm for a few days. I was, to say the least, a little nervous about being there all on my own. I've spent a few days on my own since the break, and I've managed ok...but the farm is in the middle of nowhere, with anyone to come help a least a short distance away. So nervous is a modest description of what I was. But at the same time, I was looking forward to some peace and quiet, and getting to chill and watch some TV. So Sunday morning I packed my stuff, and collected some food...and we headed off. A short stop at Walmart for some additional food...and it was on to the farm to get me settled.
Once there, I really didn't do much, except spend my time crashing on the couch...and then for a change of scenery, move to my chair, and watch TV. I was supposed to be doing this thing called "relaxing." I guess you could say that was accomplished.
But let me back up a little. As I mentioned already, it has been a long 2 weeks. First off, I have been given orders to not really do much of...well...anything. But I'm a little stubborn, and I really dislike relying on anyone else for...well...anything.
I swear...I come by this stubbornness honestly. I actually got a double dose of stubborn. My maternal grandmother was the queen of stubborn. She was the absolute worst one about asking for help, or accepting any help offered to her, long after she shouldn't be doing things for herself. Including cooking, cleaning, and driving. And my paternal grandmother is not far behind her. In fact, the morning after I broke my ankle, my dad called to tell me that he had called her earlier in the morning to tell her what happened...and she had already been out not once but TWICE to sweep and shovel snow off her front walk because she didn't want the paper boy to slip on the snow. Never mind the fact that her granddaughter just broke her ankle on the snow. Or that she's a spry 88 years old. Nope...she needed to get that snow off the walk. So she did.
See...told you so :)
Double dose of stubborn.
And I am normally a very independent person as far as taking care of myself. So even though throughout the entire process, I am trying to keep a positive attitude...because surely SOMETHING good must come out of this...right? Well even though overall I'm trying to have that attitude, there are definitely days and moments that I don't succeed. One of the worst days was when I tried to make breakfast, and it took me a half an hour to make a bowl of oatmeal for the BP and a bowl of applesauce with granola in it for myself. Yes...a half an hour to do just that. I cried that day because there is just so much that I physically can't do right now...or if I try...it takes 18 times longer than it normally would take me to do something. And the amount of energy I expend trying to do anything is so high I'm wiped out after the simplest of tasks. So frustrated has been my mental state many times.
But people have been very supportive also. A couple from my church emailed last week and then stopped by Wednesday with a refrigerator full of food that our Sunday School class had collected for us. Very helpful, and very awesome. I cannot thank them all enough!!
But back to the farm...
As mentioned in my previous post...I have been taking a bath for the past couple of weeks because it's kinda just easier. But I was not happy doing so. So at the farm, I knew I would be able to get in the shower/bath with no problem. And I decided yesterday to just give showering a shot. I got a garbage bag, and put it over my cast, and wrapped it tight. And then proceeded to balance on one foot for as long as it took to wash my hair, and everything else. I felt awesome finally showering. But I needed a nap after. See...a lot of energy was expended. And I took another one this morning. Just thinking about it makes me smile. There is just nothing like a good, hot shower.
So, since I was so successful at showering yesterday, I thought I would try something else I hadn't done in the past 2 weeks. Making dinner, by myself, from scratch. Now...I'm not bad in the kitchen. Though I have had a few...challenges. Like setting my kitchen on fire at both Thanksgiving and Christmas 2 years ago. I figured I wasn't making anything terribly difficult...just chicken and pasta. How challenging could that be? Surely nothing could go wrong. Right?
WRONG!!!
The stove in my kitchen is not new...and it has metal burner covers...that most of the time I just move around when I'm using a burner. So I had had the chicken cooking for a while...and wanted to get the water on to boil. Well first...getting a full stock pot of water onto the stove was one huge challenge. But I made it. I had set it on the stove...moved myself. Then moved it onto the burner. But I checked on it a couple of times...and it just wasn't boiling yet. And then the smoke detector went off. I knew I had just cleaned the burners a couple of weeks ago...so I shouldn't be burning anything there. But they kept going off. And the water STILL wasn't boiling. And I was getting tired and frustrated because I had already been cooking for an hour and a half...making what seems like a million trips into the kitchen...and the darn smoke detectors kept going off!! I finally realized that when I had moved the stock pot....one of the burner covers got stuck to the bottom of the pan. It wasn't ruined...but that was the cause of my problems. So I removed that...and then it wasn't too much longer before dinner was done. But by the time I was finally able to eat, I was a wreck because of what a catastrophe it had been cooking. And I was exhausted. I was barely able to make it into the kitchen one last time to clean up and put away leftovers. But I got my stubborn up, and wouldn't let that stupid dinner beat me! Plus...I had to save the leftovers so I wouldn't have to go through that nightmare again anytime soon :)
I was so exhausted by the time I was done with everything, I collapsed on the couch for an hour before I could muster the energy to make it to bed, and take a pain pill, and get some much needed sleep.
More than one time over the past 2 weeks, I have been more thankful for pockets than I have ever been before in my life. And also, more than once, I have felt like a kangaroo, because those hooded sweatshirts I am so fond of wearing have that awesome front pocket that I have loaded down because a couple of cans of soda, a phone, keys, and inevitably something else have been stuffed in there. Hey...a girl has to do what a girl has to do. And sometimes stuffing pockets full of something is the easiest way of transporting things through the house.
The one task I hadn't tried until today was driving. It's my left ankle that's broken, so driving is something I knew I should be able to do by myself. I just haven't done it. The BP came to get me today...and told me that I was driving back. OK...I can totally do that. Before we even got on the highway, I was wishing I didn't have to do that. I was a little uncomfortable. But still stubborn. And more than once I wanted to pull over and let him drive. But he wasn't going to let me get off that easy. Nor did I really want to give up. He had to help me do some deep breathing a couple of times...and he may or may not have gotten me to howl at passing vehicles...I felt ridiculous...but it made me laugh and kept my mind off of my ankle and I made it all the way back. And then promptly laid down to take a nap. But I now feel confident that when I need to drive myself, I will be able to. YAY!! Independence!!
So...next steps. I go back to see my awesome orthopedic surgeon on Thursday afternoon. He'll take the current cast/bandage off, and remove the staples and do some x-rays to check the progress...and see how much like Wolverine I am becoming. (That being the running joke...that I'm now transforming into Wolverine...with metal attached to my bones and all) Then its back to the farm for a few days...and then off to sunny Florida!! I bought my ticket last night, and Monday morning I am blowing this popsicle stand for a few weeks!! That's really been the plan all along, and had my Dr. allowed me to travel anytime in the first 2 weeks after surgery, I would already have been there. But he said no, so in frosty IL I remain. But I'm definitely looking forward to it. The park in Florida has always been the place I have been able to relax. Plus, my parents are there, and I miss them terribly. It's been hard on me not having them...because no matter how awesome other people are at helping out...NO ONE equals your parents...no matter how old you are. And they have been having a hard time not being here to help take care of me. So I'm definitely excited about that!!
Ok...that's it for now. I'm off to lay down and take a pain pill and relax the evening away :) Until next time....
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
The Woeful Tale of Johanna and the Broken Ankle
I have a little bit of time on my hands. And I have a story to tell. So what better time to bring some life back into my blog!!
Those who know me, know that I am, without fail, the klutziest person in the entire world. My friends have given me a uniform of bubble wrap, steel toe boots, leather gloves and a hard hat just to protect myself from...well...myself. That being said...other than that one time I had to get a few hundred stitches in my leg, and breaking every toe...I have been extraordinarily lucky on the injury front.
Until now.
I suppose you could say I was due.
I will also add, the above mentioned uniform would likely have done little to actually prevent this injury from happening.
So many of you know, a little over a year ago, my Business Partner (BP) and I started a remodeling company. And what started out as something that was supposed to be part time for both of us, soon grew into a full time plus job. And we love it. And we have big plans. One of those plans is to start a Not-For-Profit Paint Recycling Company. It's a grass roots thing...and it's very new. So one of the ways we wanted to start getting the word out was to hand out fliers. And that task fell to me. I went out last Monday and handed out 106...and I was excited and energized. So Tuesday, I took a stack with me, and proceeded to hand out more. By the time I reached 80 fliers...I was stoked! The neighborhood was huge, and I was going to need more fliers to finish. Nevermind the fact that it was starting to snow. Or that I had skated up to a couple of houses. I was determined!!
Maybe a little too determined.
At the front porch of my 114th house, I went to step off the porch...a step of 6 inches...hit a patch of ice...feet flew up in the air, and I landed hard. And something was definitely wrong. I had never broken a bone before...but I was fairly certain that's what I had just done to my left ankle.
I was a mile from my car. And I was alone.
So I grab my phone and call the BP and tell him what happens. He asks if I can make it to my car, and I told him that was a definite "no." I try to tell him where I'm at...but I'm guessing shock was setting in, and I was barely able to talk. Let alone give directions. So he gets in the car and heads my way. And I finally had a light bulb moment to use the map on my phone to at least be able to give him a street name. And he finally finds me. SF (our employee) literally picks me up off the front porch (I'm actually really grateful the homeowners weren't home...because I probably would have died of embarrassment) and gets me in the car. We make it back to headquarters...and they finally see my leg. And yeah...there's definitely something wrong with it. I won't give you too many details because if you're squeemish like me...you won't appreciate it. Let's just say...it was obvious something was no longer keeping my foot attached to the rest of my leg. And it was swollen.
So back in the car we go off to the ER. Wheelchair was procured. Paperwork filled out. And the long afternoon of waiting began.
And waiting...
And waiting...
And waiting...
Waiting...with a broken ankle...is torture.
Waiting...with a broken ankle...on painkillers...slightly more tolerable.
X-Rays were taken...and confirmed what everyone already knew. I had broken my ankle in 3 places...and every bone that makes up your ankle was out of place.
When I do something, I do it REALLY well :)
More painkillers were dispensed. And the PA I saw (who was the only not so awesome person I have dealt with at Anderson Hospital) set my ankle. Ouchie.
Even more painkillers were dispensed.
And then I got to go home. The BP and good friend C came to retrieve me from the hospital and get me settled back at HQ. And as she was taking the polish off my toes that night (to make sure they weren't turning blue) she told me that if I wanted a girls night to do each others nails, all I had to do was ask...I didn't need to go to such extreme measures.
I'll keep that in mind :)
So a couple of days later, I got to see my Orthopedic Surgeon...who I had heard good things about. He confirmed the need for surgery, and went over what he'd be doing. And how I should be keeping my foot up most of the time to reduce swelling. It was at this point, he realized my foot was down, so, sitting across from me, he picks up my foot and puts it in his lap. He kinda won me over with that. He was totally relaxed about the whole situation. Even though I had done a lot of damage to my ankle, it wasn't anything atypical for him. And the prognosis is very good for a full recovery. And best of all, he wants to get me back up and going as soon as possible because every week I don't walk on my foot, adds another week to recovery.
Nevermind the permanent hardware my ankle will be sporting for the rest of my life.
So I have the ridiculously long conversations you're forced to have before you have surgery. I promise not to eat anything after midnight (UGH!!) and I'm all set.
So...surgery morning...I talk to the parents...who are in Florida and going nuts because they aren't here to take care of me through the whole situation and reassure them that I'm ok and I'm calm. And I'm off to the hospital.
I get dropped off. I head in. And I'm chilling in Pre-Op...just watching a little TV. And Pastor Steve and family (who are the next best thing to having my parents there) get there before I head into surgery. We're laughing...and one of the nurses comes in and tells us we are clearly having too much fun. I'm totally ok with being THAT patient :)
I met with the Anesthetist...and tell him that I don't wake up well from anesthesia...and he kinda blows me off...which is a little frustrating. Because if a normal person is groggy after surgery, I'm 100 times worse. But then my Dr. comes in to mark my leg (like it's not blatantly obvious which one he needs to work on) and he asks about my convo with the Anesthetist. I tell him. He looks at me, and tells me not to worry, he'll take care of it. Seriously...this guy is awesome. And he agrees to call the parents in Florida after surgery to ease their fears.
The next thing I know, I'm woken up from a weird dream, and I'm in recovery. In a lot of pain. And can't see crap because I had no contacts in. But one of the girls I grew up with was a nurse in recovery and came over to say hi, and see if that really was me. Then it was on to post-op. I was excited that it was only a little after 4, and would be going home within the hour. So my ride comes, and C with balloons. Instructions were given. And I was off!!
Woohoo!! Nap time!! And then a little food. And more napping!!
So surgery apparently went very well. According to the awesome Dr. my bones are young and healthy and went back together very well. Not that that is any reason I plan on ever doing this ever again. Because I don't.
Broken bones SUCK!!
So now, a week later...I am doing well. I'm still on painkillers because this is not a low pain injury to recover from...and overall I'm doing quite well. I have moments that really stink and a lot of pain to go with it...but I'm managing. I've also learned a few things over the past week:
1) Broken bones suck. (Have I mentioned that yet?)
2) I'm stubborn (ok, I already knew that) and sometimes I try to do more than I should. I get yelled at when I do.
3) Relying on other people for something as simple as getting a glass of water, or carrying my dinner plate is frustrating.
4) I miss showering. I stopped taking a bath when I was a little kid, and I haven't gone back. And I miss it dearly.
5) Broken bones suck.
6) 40 minutes is about as long as I can go relaxing. And I'm looking at at least 5 more weeks of this. I'm going stir craaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy.
7) Broken bones really suck. And so do casts. And so do crutches.
8) I am really trying to have a positive attitude through this whole process. And I'm looking forward to healing enough that I can be more active again.
9) Cute pictures of children that I love and animals put a huge smile on my face (hint, hint...if you have one of those kids and/or pets)
10) I NEVER EVER, EVER WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN!!
So there you have it. The klutzy girl finally breaks a bone. I truly appreciate all of the help that I have been given. And everyone checking up on me, wishing me well, and saying a prayer for everyone involved. I couldn't do this without you!!
Those who know me, know that I am, without fail, the klutziest person in the entire world. My friends have given me a uniform of bubble wrap, steel toe boots, leather gloves and a hard hat just to protect myself from...well...myself. That being said...other than that one time I had to get a few hundred stitches in my leg, and breaking every toe...I have been extraordinarily lucky on the injury front.
Until now.
I suppose you could say I was due.
I will also add, the above mentioned uniform would likely have done little to actually prevent this injury from happening.
So many of you know, a little over a year ago, my Business Partner (BP) and I started a remodeling company. And what started out as something that was supposed to be part time for both of us, soon grew into a full time plus job. And we love it. And we have big plans. One of those plans is to start a Not-For-Profit Paint Recycling Company. It's a grass roots thing...and it's very new. So one of the ways we wanted to start getting the word out was to hand out fliers. And that task fell to me. I went out last Monday and handed out 106...and I was excited and energized. So Tuesday, I took a stack with me, and proceeded to hand out more. By the time I reached 80 fliers...I was stoked! The neighborhood was huge, and I was going to need more fliers to finish. Nevermind the fact that it was starting to snow. Or that I had skated up to a couple of houses. I was determined!!
Maybe a little too determined.
At the front porch of my 114th house, I went to step off the porch...a step of 6 inches...hit a patch of ice...feet flew up in the air, and I landed hard. And something was definitely wrong. I had never broken a bone before...but I was fairly certain that's what I had just done to my left ankle.
I was a mile from my car. And I was alone.
So I grab my phone and call the BP and tell him what happens. He asks if I can make it to my car, and I told him that was a definite "no." I try to tell him where I'm at...but I'm guessing shock was setting in, and I was barely able to talk. Let alone give directions. So he gets in the car and heads my way. And I finally had a light bulb moment to use the map on my phone to at least be able to give him a street name. And he finally finds me. SF (our employee) literally picks me up off the front porch (I'm actually really grateful the homeowners weren't home...because I probably would have died of embarrassment) and gets me in the car. We make it back to headquarters...and they finally see my leg. And yeah...there's definitely something wrong with it. I won't give you too many details because if you're squeemish like me...you won't appreciate it. Let's just say...it was obvious something was no longer keeping my foot attached to the rest of my leg. And it was swollen.
So back in the car we go off to the ER. Wheelchair was procured. Paperwork filled out. And the long afternoon of waiting began.
And waiting...
And waiting...
And waiting...
Waiting...with a broken ankle...is torture.
Waiting...with a broken ankle...on painkillers...slightly more tolerable.
X-Rays were taken...and confirmed what everyone already knew. I had broken my ankle in 3 places...and every bone that makes up your ankle was out of place.
When I do something, I do it REALLY well :)
More painkillers were dispensed. And the PA I saw (who was the only not so awesome person I have dealt with at Anderson Hospital) set my ankle. Ouchie.
Even more painkillers were dispensed.
And then I got to go home. The BP and good friend C came to retrieve me from the hospital and get me settled back at HQ. And as she was taking the polish off my toes that night (to make sure they weren't turning blue) she told me that if I wanted a girls night to do each others nails, all I had to do was ask...I didn't need to go to such extreme measures.
I'll keep that in mind :)
So a couple of days later, I got to see my Orthopedic Surgeon...who I had heard good things about. He confirmed the need for surgery, and went over what he'd be doing. And how I should be keeping my foot up most of the time to reduce swelling. It was at this point, he realized my foot was down, so, sitting across from me, he picks up my foot and puts it in his lap. He kinda won me over with that. He was totally relaxed about the whole situation. Even though I had done a lot of damage to my ankle, it wasn't anything atypical for him. And the prognosis is very good for a full recovery. And best of all, he wants to get me back up and going as soon as possible because every week I don't walk on my foot, adds another week to recovery.
Nevermind the permanent hardware my ankle will be sporting for the rest of my life.
So I have the ridiculously long conversations you're forced to have before you have surgery. I promise not to eat anything after midnight (UGH!!) and I'm all set.
So...surgery morning...I talk to the parents...who are in Florida and going nuts because they aren't here to take care of me through the whole situation and reassure them that I'm ok and I'm calm. And I'm off to the hospital.
I get dropped off. I head in. And I'm chilling in Pre-Op...just watching a little TV. And Pastor Steve and family (who are the next best thing to having my parents there) get there before I head into surgery. We're laughing...and one of the nurses comes in and tells us we are clearly having too much fun. I'm totally ok with being THAT patient :)
I met with the Anesthetist...and tell him that I don't wake up well from anesthesia...and he kinda blows me off...which is a little frustrating. Because if a normal person is groggy after surgery, I'm 100 times worse. But then my Dr. comes in to mark my leg (like it's not blatantly obvious which one he needs to work on) and he asks about my convo with the Anesthetist. I tell him. He looks at me, and tells me not to worry, he'll take care of it. Seriously...this guy is awesome. And he agrees to call the parents in Florida after surgery to ease their fears.
The next thing I know, I'm woken up from a weird dream, and I'm in recovery. In a lot of pain. And can't see crap because I had no contacts in. But one of the girls I grew up with was a nurse in recovery and came over to say hi, and see if that really was me. Then it was on to post-op. I was excited that it was only a little after 4, and would be going home within the hour. So my ride comes, and C with balloons. Instructions were given. And I was off!!
Woohoo!! Nap time!! And then a little food. And more napping!!
So surgery apparently went very well. According to the awesome Dr. my bones are young and healthy and went back together very well. Not that that is any reason I plan on ever doing this ever again. Because I don't.
Broken bones SUCK!!
So now, a week later...I am doing well. I'm still on painkillers because this is not a low pain injury to recover from...and overall I'm doing quite well. I have moments that really stink and a lot of pain to go with it...but I'm managing. I've also learned a few things over the past week:
1) Broken bones suck. (Have I mentioned that yet?)
2) I'm stubborn (ok, I already knew that) and sometimes I try to do more than I should. I get yelled at when I do.
3) Relying on other people for something as simple as getting a glass of water, or carrying my dinner plate is frustrating.
4) I miss showering. I stopped taking a bath when I was a little kid, and I haven't gone back. And I miss it dearly.
5) Broken bones suck.
6) 40 minutes is about as long as I can go relaxing. And I'm looking at at least 5 more weeks of this. I'm going stir craaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy.
7) Broken bones really suck. And so do casts. And so do crutches.
8) I am really trying to have a positive attitude through this whole process. And I'm looking forward to healing enough that I can be more active again.
9) Cute pictures of children that I love and animals put a huge smile on my face (hint, hint...if you have one of those kids and/or pets)
10) I NEVER EVER, EVER WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN!!
So there you have it. The klutzy girl finally breaks a bone. I truly appreciate all of the help that I have been given. And everyone checking up on me, wishing me well, and saying a prayer for everyone involved. I couldn't do this without you!!
Thursday, November 29, 2012
My Family Let Me Host Thanksgiving
They let me do it. I know my mother had some qualms about giving up the reigns on hosting Thanksgiving. But she let me do it. And even seemed happy that she got the day off. So much so that she told her ridiculously hot Dr. about getting the day off. But I just wanted to put this out there that my family let me do it.
I will also take this opportunity to relieve any fears that you might have. All of the family members that attended Thanksgiving dinner at my house are still alive and well. No food poisoning. No grave injuries.
And most importantly...no firefighters were called to my house.
I have a house now...obviously. So of course, since I have my own house now, I can entertain. So I actually asked to host Thanksgiving this year. I had a few people over for Easter this year, and it went great. So of course, Thanksgiving would go off equally as perfectly.
I mean, it had to go off perfectly. I had a menu. And a plan. Being the good, neurotic little triathlete that I am, I even had a schedule. A schedule that I dared to include taking a run on. I mean, the past few years I've taken a lovely Thanksgiving morning run. Why would hosting preclude me from taking a run?
So perfection was my expectation.
But what did I get?
Less than perfection.
The morning started off great. Actually...let's look back to a few days before Thanksgiving. A week before, I went to the grocery store, and bought the blessed turkey. And promptly dropped it off at my parents house. Hey, they had room in their refrigerator, and they have the brining bucket (yes, there is a specific bucket that was purchased solely for the use of brining a turkey). So my thanksgiving turkey was staying with my parents for a few days. Then a couple of days before, dad and I had the most important discussion of the week: what to brine the turkey in. We decided on salt, lemon, garlic, rosemary, and maybe some other stuff. So the dad took care of that, and on Thanksgiving morning, he made an early morning trip to my house to help get the bird in the oven.
So the bird got in the oven on my brand new roasting rack. Stuffed with lemons, garlic, rosemary, and onions. And it immediately started smelling awesome.
Except, almost equally as immediately, we started to hear something popping. And we realized that the bottom of the pan was roasting already. So I needed to add some water to the bottom of the pan. And as soon as I opened the door of my fabulous, retro oven, the smoke alarm (which I have ALWAYS stated is hung far too close to the kitchen) goes off.
I beat the smoke alarm until it stops beeping.
And the dad leaves.
So I start working on putting together some of the other side dishes. Quinoa salad. Cranberry sauce.
And funny we should start talking about this now...because while the dad was at my house that morning, he inquired about whether I had a sufficient number of pots and pans to handle the days menu. I figured I had plenty because I had pretty much figured out what I needed to make, and even if I had to do dishes, I still had plenty of stuff to cook in.
What we didn't really talk about was the size of said pots and pans.
Enter: the biggest problem of the day.
I like cranberry sauce. Homemade cranberry sauce to be exact. I have never made it before, but the recipe is so simple, there was no possible way I could screw it up.
Except, I wanted to make a lot of it. So I put the two bags of cranberry's in my largest sauce pan. I add the other ingredients. And I continue to put the stuff together for my other salad.
And I checked on the turkey again...by opening the door to the oven. And once again set off the smoke detector. I contemplated taking out the battery.
I did not leave the kitchen.
But I was busy. So when the cranberry's started to boil, I didn't exactly have my eyes on the stove. And it boiled over. Which, if caught soon enough isn't a problem.
I didn't catch it soon enough.
And the next thing I know there are flames shooting out of the burner. And I'm standing there with my jaw on the floor, incapable of moving for a few moments. And I'm not really sure why, but the first thing I did was grab my phone and call my father. Who, at best, was 10 minutes away. But I thought he could provide some moral support, and maybe a tip for how to get the freaking fire to go out.
Turns out, I didn't need it. (Except the whole moral support thing)
Why?
1) I am smart enough to know NOT to douse the fire with water.
2) The fire didn't actually burn that long, and ended up burning itself out before further action was required.
Whew.
But as a result of the ridiculously small fire, nearly every smoke detector in the house was going off. So I start with the one closest to the kitchen, and rip the battery out. Then I move on to the living room, rip that battery out, and move on to the hallway. The one in the hallway is on the ceiling. And I may be tall, but I ain't that tall. So I got the step stool out of the hall closet. And smash my finger as I open it. But I succeeded in getting the battery out.
Silence.
Whew.
So I head back to the kitchen to survey the damage. I look at what's left of the cranberry sauce and deem it salvageable. But not in the pot that it is currently in. And certainly not on the burner it was previously on. So the only pot I had that was larger than the sauce pot was my large stock pot. It was easily twice as large as what was needed...but I figured the chance that it would spill over would be minimal. And it worked.
It wasn't until the cranberry sauce was actually cooked, and the boyfriend called me to make sure I hadn't actually singed off my eyebrows that I was finally able to laugh at what had happened.
Because if you can't laugh at that...Houston, we have a problem.
So the rest of the day pretty much went like this:
Appetizers were set out without incident and enjoyed by all.
I did not get to run.
Dinner was served on my Grandmother's dining table, and enjoyed by all.
My mother enjoyed said dinner so much that she immediately needed to take a nap. While still sitting at the table.
The cranberry sauce tasted freaking amazing.
Desserts were served. The total number of dessert types did not out number the total number of attendees. But it came close.
Football was watched.
Family time was enjoyed.
We discussed the very real possibility that my grandmother is still haunting my house. If the burnt toast (grandma loved burnt toast) that I ate on the first morning in my house wasn't a good enough indicator...I'm pretty sure a recurring fire (set from the same burner, I believe) is. Grandma, at some point when she was still cooking, but shortly before her cooking rights were revoked, set fire to something on the stove, and a new backsplash was required at the end of that fire.
And at the end of the day, I passed out.
But, was I able to pass out that day thankful? Absolutely. As always, I'm thankful that I have a house that I could host Thanksgiving dinner in. I am thankful that I have a wonderful, yet small, family that I could share the day with. I am thankful for a guardian angel sitting on my shoulder who kept the fire from getting larger, and more out of control.
And most of all...I'm thankful that my family is crazy enough to let me try it all again at Christmas.
I will also take this opportunity to relieve any fears that you might have. All of the family members that attended Thanksgiving dinner at my house are still alive and well. No food poisoning. No grave injuries.
And most importantly...no firefighters were called to my house.
I have a house now...obviously. So of course, since I have my own house now, I can entertain. So I actually asked to host Thanksgiving this year. I had a few people over for Easter this year, and it went great. So of course, Thanksgiving would go off equally as perfectly.
I mean, it had to go off perfectly. I had a menu. And a plan. Being the good, neurotic little triathlete that I am, I even had a schedule. A schedule that I dared to include taking a run on. I mean, the past few years I've taken a lovely Thanksgiving morning run. Why would hosting preclude me from taking a run?
So perfection was my expectation.
But what did I get?
Less than perfection.
The morning started off great. Actually...let's look back to a few days before Thanksgiving. A week before, I went to the grocery store, and bought the blessed turkey. And promptly dropped it off at my parents house. Hey, they had room in their refrigerator, and they have the brining bucket (yes, there is a specific bucket that was purchased solely for the use of brining a turkey). So my thanksgiving turkey was staying with my parents for a few days. Then a couple of days before, dad and I had the most important discussion of the week: what to brine the turkey in. We decided on salt, lemon, garlic, rosemary, and maybe some other stuff. So the dad took care of that, and on Thanksgiving morning, he made an early morning trip to my house to help get the bird in the oven.
So the bird got in the oven on my brand new roasting rack. Stuffed with lemons, garlic, rosemary, and onions. And it immediately started smelling awesome.
Except, almost equally as immediately, we started to hear something popping. And we realized that the bottom of the pan was roasting already. So I needed to add some water to the bottom of the pan. And as soon as I opened the door of my fabulous, retro oven, the smoke alarm (which I have ALWAYS stated is hung far too close to the kitchen) goes off.
I beat the smoke alarm until it stops beeping.
And the dad leaves.
So I start working on putting together some of the other side dishes. Quinoa salad. Cranberry sauce.
And funny we should start talking about this now...because while the dad was at my house that morning, he inquired about whether I had a sufficient number of pots and pans to handle the days menu. I figured I had plenty because I had pretty much figured out what I needed to make, and even if I had to do dishes, I still had plenty of stuff to cook in.
What we didn't really talk about was the size of said pots and pans.
Enter: the biggest problem of the day.
I like cranberry sauce. Homemade cranberry sauce to be exact. I have never made it before, but the recipe is so simple, there was no possible way I could screw it up.
Except, I wanted to make a lot of it. So I put the two bags of cranberry's in my largest sauce pan. I add the other ingredients. And I continue to put the stuff together for my other salad.
And I checked on the turkey again...by opening the door to the oven. And once again set off the smoke detector. I contemplated taking out the battery.
I did not leave the kitchen.
But I was busy. So when the cranberry's started to boil, I didn't exactly have my eyes on the stove. And it boiled over. Which, if caught soon enough isn't a problem.
I didn't catch it soon enough.
And the next thing I know there are flames shooting out of the burner. And I'm standing there with my jaw on the floor, incapable of moving for a few moments. And I'm not really sure why, but the first thing I did was grab my phone and call my father. Who, at best, was 10 minutes away. But I thought he could provide some moral support, and maybe a tip for how to get the freaking fire to go out.
Turns out, I didn't need it. (Except the whole moral support thing)
Why?
1) I am smart enough to know NOT to douse the fire with water.
2) The fire didn't actually burn that long, and ended up burning itself out before further action was required.
Whew.
But as a result of the ridiculously small fire, nearly every smoke detector in the house was going off. So I start with the one closest to the kitchen, and rip the battery out. Then I move on to the living room, rip that battery out, and move on to the hallway. The one in the hallway is on the ceiling. And I may be tall, but I ain't that tall. So I got the step stool out of the hall closet. And smash my finger as I open it. But I succeeded in getting the battery out.
Silence.
Whew.
So I head back to the kitchen to survey the damage. I look at what's left of the cranberry sauce and deem it salvageable. But not in the pot that it is currently in. And certainly not on the burner it was previously on. So the only pot I had that was larger than the sauce pot was my large stock pot. It was easily twice as large as what was needed...but I figured the chance that it would spill over would be minimal. And it worked.
It wasn't until the cranberry sauce was actually cooked, and the boyfriend called me to make sure I hadn't actually singed off my eyebrows that I was finally able to laugh at what had happened.
Because if you can't laugh at that...Houston, we have a problem.
So the rest of the day pretty much went like this:
Appetizers were set out without incident and enjoyed by all.
I did not get to run.
Dinner was served on my Grandmother's dining table, and enjoyed by all.
My mother enjoyed said dinner so much that she immediately needed to take a nap. While still sitting at the table.
The cranberry sauce tasted freaking amazing.
Desserts were served. The total number of dessert types did not out number the total number of attendees. But it came close.
Football was watched.
Family time was enjoyed.
We discussed the very real possibility that my grandmother is still haunting my house. If the burnt toast (grandma loved burnt toast) that I ate on the first morning in my house wasn't a good enough indicator...I'm pretty sure a recurring fire (set from the same burner, I believe) is. Grandma, at some point when she was still cooking, but shortly before her cooking rights were revoked, set fire to something on the stove, and a new backsplash was required at the end of that fire.
And at the end of the day, I passed out.
But, was I able to pass out that day thankful? Absolutely. As always, I'm thankful that I have a house that I could host Thanksgiving dinner in. I am thankful that I have a wonderful, yet small, family that I could share the day with. I am thankful for a guardian angel sitting on my shoulder who kept the fire from getting larger, and more out of control.
And most of all...I'm thankful that my family is crazy enough to let me try it all again at Christmas.
Busy Season by the Numbers
Ok, I realize that I'm a little late in posting this...but post busy season I've been doing a bit of...well...nothing.
Yes, I have been doing "stuff." But there has also been several days of lounging about in comfy pants reading and/or watching TV.
After spending 13 weeks on the road...I think it's allowed. So...what was I doing while I was on the road? Accumulating the following numbers:
Total number of days I was scheduled to deliver: 37
Total number of days I actually delivered: 36
States Visited:
Oklahoma
Minnesota (5 times)
Chicago-land (twice)
New Mexico
Indiana
Wisconsin
Colorado
Illinois (twice)
Ohio (twice)
New York
New Jersey (3 times)
Ok, so if you just added that up, you'll see that that's a total of 20 trips. In 13 weeks. Meaning there were 6 weeks where I visited at least 2 states. And one glorious week when I visited 3 states.
More numbers time:
Nights spent in a hotel: 34
This number was fortunately minimized by the fact that I often got home in the middle of the night (11pm or later) just so I could spend the night in my own bed instead of spending the night in a hotel and waking up early.
Airline Miles:
Delta: 8427
United: 3488
US Airways: 1106
American Airlines: 1380
Southwest: 2328
For a grand total of 16,729. I assure you, it feels like I have flown a million miles, easily. But looking at the numbers, it doesn't seem like all that much.
Driving...fortunately, there were several trips that were together, so in the 13 weeks I traveled, I only made 12 trips back and forth to the airport...for a total of 2477 miles back and forth between home, and the airport.
And of course, there were a few sessions that I drove to, because it was just cheaper, and faster to drive back and forth...so that added up to 2540 miles...ish. And that doesn't even count the miles I put on rental cars once I got to where I was going. Which is probably another thousand or so miles right there...if not more.
Again, it seemed like a lot more miles than that.
So now that I've put the numbers to it, it doesn't look so big and bad. But I'm still glad that those 13 weeks are behind me.
What the numbers, the black and white-ness of the numbers, what they don't tell you is that what it's actually like to live those numbers. The countless hours of driving, in my car, in rental cars, in hotel rooms, eating take out or room service. What amazes me is that when I tell people what I do for a living, and they hear that I travel, many people think that it's so glamorous to travel. And that it would be so much fun to do so.
Well...I don't mind travel. I even kind of like it sometimes. I occasionally get to go places that are nice to visit. But by and large, traveling isn't glamorous. It's dirty and lonely. But hey, while I'm talking about being dirty...I am happy to announce that my neurosis about washing my hands kept me from getting my typical busy season/hell week cold. Well...at least it wasn't as bad as it has been in years past. But stepping back to the topic at hand...traveling...for work...not so fun.
What I will take this opportunity to say is that I still love my job. Yes, I am incredibly happy that I have had a break. But I do still love what I do.
And that's what really matters.
Yes, I have been doing "stuff." But there has also been several days of lounging about in comfy pants reading and/or watching TV.
After spending 13 weeks on the road...I think it's allowed. So...what was I doing while I was on the road? Accumulating the following numbers:
Total number of days I was scheduled to deliver: 37
Total number of days I actually delivered: 36
States Visited:
Oklahoma
Minnesota (5 times)
Chicago-land (twice)
New Mexico
Indiana
Wisconsin
Colorado
Illinois (twice)
Ohio (twice)
New York
New Jersey (3 times)
Ok, so if you just added that up, you'll see that that's a total of 20 trips. In 13 weeks. Meaning there were 6 weeks where I visited at least 2 states. And one glorious week when I visited 3 states.
More numbers time:
Nights spent in a hotel: 34
This number was fortunately minimized by the fact that I often got home in the middle of the night (11pm or later) just so I could spend the night in my own bed instead of spending the night in a hotel and waking up early.
Airline Miles:
Delta: 8427
United: 3488
US Airways: 1106
American Airlines: 1380
Southwest: 2328
For a grand total of 16,729. I assure you, it feels like I have flown a million miles, easily. But looking at the numbers, it doesn't seem like all that much.
Driving...fortunately, there were several trips that were together, so in the 13 weeks I traveled, I only made 12 trips back and forth to the airport...for a total of 2477 miles back and forth between home, and the airport.
And of course, there were a few sessions that I drove to, because it was just cheaper, and faster to drive back and forth...so that added up to 2540 miles...ish. And that doesn't even count the miles I put on rental cars once I got to where I was going. Which is probably another thousand or so miles right there...if not more.
Again, it seemed like a lot more miles than that.
So now that I've put the numbers to it, it doesn't look so big and bad. But I'm still glad that those 13 weeks are behind me.
What the numbers, the black and white-ness of the numbers, what they don't tell you is that what it's actually like to live those numbers. The countless hours of driving, in my car, in rental cars, in hotel rooms, eating take out or room service. What amazes me is that when I tell people what I do for a living, and they hear that I travel, many people think that it's so glamorous to travel. And that it would be so much fun to do so.
Well...I don't mind travel. I even kind of like it sometimes. I occasionally get to go places that are nice to visit. But by and large, traveling isn't glamorous. It's dirty and lonely. But hey, while I'm talking about being dirty...I am happy to announce that my neurosis about washing my hands kept me from getting my typical busy season/hell week cold. Well...at least it wasn't as bad as it has been in years past. But stepping back to the topic at hand...traveling...for work...not so fun.
What I will take this opportunity to say is that I still love my job. Yes, I am incredibly happy that I have had a break. But I do still love what I do.
And that's what really matters.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Busy Season Grumbly's
Hi, my name is Johanna. And I'm cranky.
It's been a rough couple of weeks. Just at the exact moment where I thought I would be done for a while, work picks back up. And it's been making me a little cranky. I've lost a lot of that positive attitude that I had a couple of months ago when I was making TSA agents freak out because I was simply smiling at them. I'm trying to still smile, and be polite. But I can tell it's just not the same.
I am drained. Mentally, physically and emotionally. I. Am. Done.
Except, I have 3 more weeks of travel to go.
3 more weeks to go by choice. I'm at the point where I've reached my goal of how many days I want to deliver...but I'm having a hard time turning down the money when the opportunity is presented to me. And really...what's a couple of more days in Newark?
I honestly am grateful for the opportunity to work. I'm happy to be making money.
But at the same time, I really want a break. I want to be able to do more than laundry and mow the lawn when I'm at home.
I want to do more than collapse on my hotel bed after a day of work. Seriously...this performing monkey thing...not so easy. My legs are sore all the time, my back is killing me. And yes, I realize I'm complaining here. But I miss having the energy to run after a day of work. Or being able to get up early and run. But for right now, I'm spent.
It probably doesn't help that it's my birthday week...and I'm spending my birthday week in Newark. Not that my birthday week is easy for me anyway. But it just doesn't help when I'm in a place I hate. And yes, no matter how much I try...I still hate this place.
I've been thinking about writing a post of "busy season by the numbers" just to see where I've been, how many miles I've traveled, etc. Be on the lookout for that.
But for now...I am where I am. I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm trying to make it one step at a time. One day at a time. Sometimes, one minute at a time.
So, if you miss happy, perky, positive Johanna...1st, know that I do too. And 2nd, come back in November. Hopefully, she'll have returned by then.
It's been a rough couple of weeks. Just at the exact moment where I thought I would be done for a while, work picks back up. And it's been making me a little cranky. I've lost a lot of that positive attitude that I had a couple of months ago when I was making TSA agents freak out because I was simply smiling at them. I'm trying to still smile, and be polite. But I can tell it's just not the same.
I am drained. Mentally, physically and emotionally. I. Am. Done.
Except, I have 3 more weeks of travel to go.
3 more weeks to go by choice. I'm at the point where I've reached my goal of how many days I want to deliver...but I'm having a hard time turning down the money when the opportunity is presented to me. And really...what's a couple of more days in Newark?
I honestly am grateful for the opportunity to work. I'm happy to be making money.
But at the same time, I really want a break. I want to be able to do more than laundry and mow the lawn when I'm at home.
I want to do more than collapse on my hotel bed after a day of work. Seriously...this performing monkey thing...not so easy. My legs are sore all the time, my back is killing me. And yes, I realize I'm complaining here. But I miss having the energy to run after a day of work. Or being able to get up early and run. But for right now, I'm spent.
It probably doesn't help that it's my birthday week...and I'm spending my birthday week in Newark. Not that my birthday week is easy for me anyway. But it just doesn't help when I'm in a place I hate. And yes, no matter how much I try...I still hate this place.
I've been thinking about writing a post of "busy season by the numbers" just to see where I've been, how many miles I've traveled, etc. Be on the lookout for that.
But for now...I am where I am. I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm trying to make it one step at a time. One day at a time. Sometimes, one minute at a time.
So, if you miss happy, perky, positive Johanna...1st, know that I do too. And 2nd, come back in November. Hopefully, she'll have returned by then.
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