10 Tips For Sustaining A Long-Lasting Marriage

During the honeymoon phase, relationships are easy. They are all adventure and excitement and newness.  But as the years wear on, the excitement dies down and reality sets in.  Here are some tips to ensure that you are giving your spouse what he or she needs, so the two of you can make it for the long haul.

1. Schedule your sexy time. Instead of silly, immature, impromptu sexcapades, ask your spouse if they want to have sex at 7pm on Tuesday. On. The. Dot. Everyone appreciates it when time is carved out just for them. However if they arrive any later than 7.15, withhold sex acts of any kind. No one likes to be stood up for a date. When they try to make a move, pull out your day planner and have them reschedule.

2.  Announce every time you’re going to the bathroom. The old, “Honey, I’ve gotta take a crap” routine never gets old, and everyone appreciates a truly open an honest relationship

3.  Help each other remove excess hair. Shave your man’s back, or help wax your lady’s upper lip.  A bit of southern landscaping may or may not be needed, from time to time.  Everyone appreciates when their significant other makes them feel attractive.

4.  Sleep with the television on all night. But, only if your spouse prefers silent, inky darkness. It’s good to help them broaden their horizons.

5.  Eat the last of the Chocolate Moose Tracks.  Or whatever favorite treat your spouse enjoys. Everyone wants someone to help them stay in shape. Tip:  This is especially true during/after pregnancy.

6.  Pretend to be asleep when you hear your child wake up.  Do NOT get up, no matter how long it takes your spouse to finally get up and tend to the child, because everyone appreciates being able to spend some extra quality time with their kid.

7.  Provide a counter-argument for every stance your spouse takes. Parenting. Politics. Religion. Pantry organization. No subject is too big or too small to stand up to spousal scrutiny. Your spouse will either gain negotiating skills or become so beaten down that he or she will go to great lengths to avoid a debate with you. Either way, it’s a win.

8.  Ask for things. A glass of water. A slice of bread with peanut butter on it. Help doing any task your spouse routinely does independently, such as carrying the baby AND the diaper bag, simultaneously. It’s good to help your spouse feel needed and capable. Bonus: If you ask for that water when you’re both upstairs in bed, you’ll also be helping them tone their quads and glutes by trudging up and down the stairs.

9. Ogle attractive strangers. Stare at your waitress as she walks away, eyeball your kids soccer coach, demand to watch a movie because your favorite on screen lover plays the lead role. This is a tough love tactic. No one wants to be taken for granted, so reminders that your spouse isn’t the only fish in the sea are sometimes needed.

10.  Answer questions with mirror questions. “What do you want for dinner?”  “What do you want?” , “What is the name of that show with the chainsaw murderer who works at the daycare?” “What is that show called?” The only communication tip better than this one is giving an answer to a completely different question than the one asked. “What do you want for dinner?”  “I heard about this high protein shake mix that you drink right after a workout that’s supposed to help build muscles 82 times faster than normal”.  By utilizing one of these communication modes you’re sure to engage your partner and avoid any awkward silent moments.

What other tips would you recommend?

If you liked this post you may also enjoy 10 Key Pointers For Picking A Mate and A Special Fart. One I View Lovingly.

A couple of 14-carat gold wedding rings. Pictu...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Benefits to Having Just Squeezed Out A Baby

Parenting is hard.  Especially during the newborn phase.  Just ask your stay at home mom friends or take a scan through your social media news feed if you need a refresher about how difficult life is for new parents.

The good news is there is always a silver lining.  Other than the more serious and sappy list – the best things about being the parent of a newborn, this list highlights the hidden perks that reside parallel to the stretch marks and saggy skin and unwashed hair of a new mom.

1.  You don’t have to get dolled up for company.  In fact, it’s expected that you will look atrocious, which is even better.  If you do manage to brush your hair or slap on some rouge, people will fawn over how marvelous you look.  It doesn’t matter if that mascara you applied makes you look less like a Maybelline model and more like the old hag offering Snow White the apple.  If you enjoy fishing for compliments, this is a classic no-brainer.

2.  You don’t have to be skinny.  In fact, it’s impossible to be.  If you don’t look any worse than Jabba the Hutt, people will rave about how quickly your body is bouncing back.  Even though your back hurts because your core abdominal muscles are now located next to your vagina (flopped over on top of it, to be exact) you might even feel sort of amazing, in a disheveled, lumpy sort of way.  You’ll appreciate that you no longer have teeny tiny elbows poking you in the ribs or a bobbly baby head crushing your bladder  You might enjoy, even more disgustingly, that you can feel the gallons of water you’ve been retaining steadily seeping out through the bottoms of your feet, thus relieving the pressure from your bulbous cankles.

3.  You can get out of doing crap you don’t want to do.  In fact, I’m quite sure this one is required.  You can get out of bridal showers and dinner dates with your husband’s boss (and his alcoholic wife) and, if you’re lucky, your nephew’s 4th birthday party at Chucky Cheese.  You can blame it on being too tired from staying up with the baby, or having to feed the baby or not wanting to screw up the baby’s schedule.  Bonus:  You can use this excuse for a looooong time to come.

4.  You don’t have to go to work.  At least for a little while, and this has it’s  perks.  I never acted more like a domestic goddess than during those 12 weeks of maternity leave.  My house was relatively sparkly and I cooked so much my husband actually told me I needed to not cook so often, something I never thought I’d hear him say.  I SWEAR it was not because everything I made tasted like broasted feet, but had more to do with the fact that he didn’t want to gain 20 pounds.  I manically cooked enough for a family of 6 every day.  He shouldn’t have feared though – once I returned to work I went back to my usual routine of eating popcorn and string cheese for dinner and he was sent back into starvation mode.  Oh, and you also don’t have to worry about WORKING.

5.  You don’t have to work out.  In fact, you’re explicitly instructed not to.  At least for awhile.  Enjoy the lapse in the training schedule.  Don’t worry, you will be back in the saddle in no time, happily getting screamed at by your trainer, Hans, telling you not be such a wimp and keep doing those reps.

6.  You get drugs.  Even if you don’t need them, you will get the prescription filled.  You never know when those suckers might come in handy.  Especially washed down with a glass of red.  You c-section mamas might even be able to sell your hardcore shit and make a buck (this is of added bonus if you are one of those SAHMs who could use the extra cash).

Any brand-new-mom perks I missed?

If you enjoyed this post you may also like 10 Key Pointers For Picking A Mate.

Mom-with-baby
Mom-with-baby (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Traits I Inherited From My Dad

My dad is pretty awesome. Happy Father’s Day, Pa!  Love ya.

1.  Eat healthfully.  Have an apple a day.  Don’t eat just to eat.  Enjoy cottage cheese as a delicious protein-punched snack.  Except also love pizza.  And love it with a passion.

2.  Make smart financial decisions.  Don’t overspend.  Save, save, save.  And then save some more. I didn’t follow this advice so well, however I did marry my husband, and he does this, so I count it as a win for myself.

3.  Be creative.  My dad once created this elaborate hoax where he and my younger sister “kidnapped” the neighbor’s Santa Claus around Christmas-time.  He wrote ransom letters and thought he was really helping the family nextdoor get into the holiday spirit.  Turns out, he actually traumatized those poor children, who thought Santa was in danger and that they weren’t getting any presents.  It still makes me laugh out loud when I think about this.

4.  Have incredibly large eyebrows.  Ok, eyebroW. Black one(s).  This one wasn’t so much a lesson learned, but more of a genetic characteristic.  A very bountiful one.

5.  Love your spouse.  My dad writes my mom little love notes and draws her pictures and writes her poems to tell her how much he adores her.  He’s been doing this now, for over half of his life.  It’s beautiful.

6.  Love your family.  Even your children or your wife or your siblings, when they are assholes going through a rough patch.  Maybe especially then.

7.  Get pissed off about things.  And act, for about 1 minute, like these things are the most important thing on the planet.  Especially if they’re not.  This doesn’t only come from my dad, I come from a long line of people who get pissed off over things.  Countertops.  Lights.  Carpets.  I don’t get pissed off so much over those things, but definitely over others and I think sometimes the “passion” over countertops and lights and carpets comes across much more strongly than it is really felt.

7.  Be committed.  Not to a mental hospital.  Well, yes, if you need one.  But, that’s not what I mean.  If you say you’re going to do something, do it.  If you are going to be married, be faithful.  If you are working with others, be honest.  Don’t do anything half-assed.

8.  Have at least a little bit of fear of getting Alzheimer’s.  And, maybe the gene.  We won’t really know for sure for a while now, but we know it runs in the family.  The good news is, we know how to love creatively, and how to save, and how to get pissed off, and how to remain committed, despite the pissing and moaning.  So, we should be okay.

 8-27 (2)

10 Key Pointers For Picking A Mate

How to pick a mate – from the fairer sex perspective.

1)  Pick someone bigger than you.  It doesn’t matter what size you are, it matters how big you are compared to the person next to you. If  you are 4′ 8″  and 79 lbs, you pick someone who’s at least 5′ 2″ and you’re good.  If you’re 6′ 3″ and 330 lbs, go for the 6’5″, 440 pounder.  If you aren’t sure if your choice meets the criteria for being enough bigger than you, refer to the spousal proportionality index (I’m sure it can be found on Google).

2)  Pick someone who looks like they could be related to you.  Just because it seems to work out well, usually.  Bonus:  This same rule applies to picking out pets!  Ignore this rule if you hate your family.  Then pick someone with exactly opposite features.  You have big, round eyes?  Pick someone squinty.  You have darker skin?  Pick someone who burns after 4.3 seconds of Sun exposure.  Hate communicating with your mother?  Pick an English language learner.  You get the idea.

3)  The hairier the better.  Even if you are a hairy brute, if you pick someone with 342 hairs per square inch more than you have, you’ll look delicate in comparison.  You will, however, have to invest in laser hair removal for your children, in lieu of a college fund.

Notice how my ooly warms appear relatively  dainty?  This is how you do it.
Notice how my wooly arms appear relatively dainty? This is how you do it.

4)  You need one nag.  There has to be one person who cares passionately about the lights being turned off, the counter tops being cleared, and the organization of the shoe rack.  Passionately!  If we do not all pair up to ensure this 1-1 nag ratio, the Earth would implode while simultaneously being taken over by an evil cat dictator.  At least, that’s the general idea I’m getting, based on Mr. Grouch’s feelings towards lights, counter tops and shoe racks.

5)  Pick a boozer who isn’t too much of a boozer.  You don’t want someone who doesn’t like to drink.  That’s boring.  But, you also don’t want someone who’s going to ruin the office Christmas party by signing photocopies of their ass and stuffing them in the decorative stockings on the walls, either.  Helpful Hint:  If you can find someone who truly drinks socially, as in 1-2 drinks max, then you’ll always have a designated driver.

6)  Pick someone who will let you complain.  You need someone to vent to about your stupid job, to side with you when you get pissed off at your stupid cousin, and someone to lean on when your stupid dog dies.

7) Pick someone who will tell you to shut up.  You don’t want to become some bitter, self-righteous harpy.  Even when your cousin is an asshole, or your cat chokes on a hairball (his, yours, or your mate’s) and bites the dust.  You need a kick in the pants every once in a while to regain some grace and put things in perspective.

8)  Make sure you can put up with their most annoying habits.  Because they aren’t going to go away.  The snoring and the loud chewing and the good morning farts will actually increase in intensity 20-fold. At least.  Learn to deal, or get out now, before your ear drums burst from the sound of Honey Nut Cheerios being munched, or you’re suffocated by cockcrow fumes.

9)  Pick someone whose family members you don’t want to punch in the mouth.  I mean, sometimes you will want to give a quick little sucker punch.  Pow. But, to be fair, you also want to give a little tap to members of your own family from time to time.  In some ways your in-laws will never really understand you, but in other ways you will be closer to them than your own blood.  Even though they are not yours by ancestry, they are now yours by proximity.  Don’t foolishly think they will go away – relatives love to stick nearby one another and drive each other batshit crazy, until the day they die.

10) Pick someone who gives you your space.  In the honeymoon stage all you want to do is cuddle and kiss and pet each other.  Once you’re over that sweet little hump you’re still going to enjoy spending quality time together, but you’ll no longer be willing to give up your weekly coffee dates with your friends, book club meetings (aka wine drinking and laugh-fests) and you are absolutely not going to want his foot to touch yours when you’re sleeping.  Trust me.  I have never understood how a King sized bed is the largest bed they make. There is so not enough space for two people who have been together for more than one year.

Any other tips for long-term couplings?

Couples at square dance, McIntosh County, Okla...
Couples at square dance, McIntosh County, Oklahoma (LOC) (Photo credit: The Library of Congress)

I Stalk My Family When They Sleep. And Take Pictures.

My husband and I met on the soccer field – we were on the same intramural team at MSU in 1997.  We talk about this long ago age in “pounds ago”, instead of “years ago” since we were once both young and spry.  Sometimes we still play on coed teams together, or he plays on his own team and I do other things like yoga or jogging (running a half marathon next weekend – wish me luck!)

Awhile back, he started complaining of a groin injury.  For some time, he had to do some physical therapy and take a soccer break in order for it to heal.  It helped.  At one point though, within the duration of this soccer break, he started to mention that the groin injury seemed to be returning; this confused him since he hadn’t been playing.

It’s old news that I have horrible issues sleeping.  Since I am awake periodically throughout the night I am able to easily spy on observe the other people in my house as they snooze.

My husband sleeps like a rock and awakes refreshed every morning.  For this I alternate between being envious and murderous, depending on how tired I am.  He does have one weird sleeping habit though.  He sleeps with his knees bent, with one leg upright, foot planted on the bed, knee towards the ceiling.  I snuck a picture of him doing it while he was sleeping the other night.  This is what it looks like:

This just looks uncomfortable to me.
This just looks uncomfortable to me.

I have no idea how he is able to hold his leg like this, while sleeping.  If it were me, my leg would topple one way or the other.

When he mentioned the groin injury recurrance, it dawned on me that THIS could be the cause of the injury, not his efforts on the pitch.  It must take some effort to keep that leg up, dontcha think?  He asked that if I see him doing this, I move his leg so it is lying flat.  This means that nightly I’m shoving his leg over to get it down in an effort to help him avoid a sleep-related injury.

So, imagine my giggles when I peeked in on Baby Grouch the other night and saw this:

babyknee
I know she’s in a sleep sack, but you can see her left leg bent up just like his if you look closely! Follow the pink sleeper lines.

Oh, and here's another!  Caught her during nap  time after I originally posted this.
Oh, and here’s another! Caught her during nap time after I originally posted this.

We Wants It, We Needs It. Must Have The Precious.

I recently received a box from my cousin Maggie (aka my dealer).  I had been anticipating the arrival of this box, which contained My Precious, for many days, and every time she asked me, “Is it there yet?  It should be!”, I’d re-check the mailbox, then have to walk back to my house, in a depressed state, since it was never there.  Humph.  (That’s a lie, I NEVER check my mailbox.  Thankfully, my husband does.  However, did you picture me walking across the street, with slumped shoulders, so disheartened that I didn’t care if I got hit by a car?  Cuz that’s how I felt). The package took ages to reach me.

When I finally saw the box (on the kitchen counter, brought in by my husband), I felt the rush of serotonin, creating a chemical surge of happiness, while simultaneously imagining the sound of a trumpet (do do dah DOOO!), and envisioning an angel in front of me, the box cradled in her porcelain hands. Yes, I was that excited.

This picture illustrates how I felt, opening the package. Image via Pinterest.

I tore that sucker open and tossed the box in the trash.  I let Maggie know that I had finally received the package and she asked me how I liked the stickers.  Stickers??? Hm.  I didn’t notice any stickers?  She laughed, and said, “Atta girl.  You and I will be besties at The Betty“.  But she thought I was kidding.

Curious about what she meant by “the stickers”, I went to the trash and plucked out the discarded vesicle.  Sure enough, in my haste to get to the goods, I missed out on the embellishments decorating the package.  When we go to France, to restock, I”ll have to pick some of these up as well, they’re pretty cute.

Tunnel vision – didn’t even see the Eiffel Tower.

Dream #8: Earthquakes, Dangerous Jewelry, Lots of Evil Villains

3 PART DREAM:

1)  There is a major earthquake and Earth’s tectonic places are moving.  But not millimeters at a time, they are starting to move hundreds of feet within seconds, and are moving from a horizontal position to vertical, so people are plunging to their deaths.  It is very theatrical looking and not at all scientifically accurate.  We might die.

2)  I am swimming in a hotel swimming pool.  There are evil people after something, but I don’t know what they are after.  In order for them to find what they are looking for, they are searching for the person with a particular necklace – a thick, shiny, diamond encrusted cross – which I happen to have around my neck.  To wear this cross is dangerous.    My diamond wedding rings are also dangerous, though not AS dangerous as the necklace.  I can’t let on that I know these people are evil, and that they are looking for me, so I pretend make small talk with them and try to conceal my jewelry.  My mom is chatting with us and doesn’t realize what is going on.  Once the evil people walk away and are out of sight, I cut her off mid-sentence, take off the necklace and rings, give it to her and tell her to RUN!  I emphasize that she needs to leave that very moment, so we have a chance of escaping alive.

3)  Evil villains are holding us hostage – they might kill us unless we can give them what they want – and there is a time limit.  They are looking for one particular song on a CD.  We have to search a room that is holding millions of CDs.  The CDs are not arranged by artist or alphabetically, instead, 2-3 lines of lyrics from each song are hand-written, in blue ink, into journals.   The shelves are lined with journals and each one is at least 4 feet by 3 feet in size, a foot thick – lined with notebook paper.    The song gives the bad guys information about what they have to do next, so they are evil instructions, I guess.   I think to myself, there is no way on Earth we will ever be able to figure out what all of these songs are, and find the song they are looking for, in time.  If we can’t figure it out, we might die.

ANALYSIS (Other than, I think I might die?  WTF?):

EARTHQUAKE:  Dream Forth tells me that this dream signifies my uncertainty, anxieties, and feelings of being out of control. My nacho eating and wine drinking is definitely out of control.  Typically August is my month of sloth and gluttony, but then the school year starts, and I get back on track.  By now, I’m usually back in the routine of jogging a few days per week, doing yoga one or two times per week, and even the using the occasional workout video in my basement (can I get a whoot whoot for Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred?!)  This year, however, sloth and gluttony have consumed August, September and October, so far.  Is  my subconscious me trying to shake some sense into awake me?  Possibly.  But, if that is the case, apparently I don’t listen to myself all that well.  And, as a result, I have some anxiety about the toll this will take on my thighs.  Way of Tao tells me that the earthquake represents my tendency to block change – or a tendency to hold my ground.  I am certainly holding my ground in terms of the gluttony/slothness.  Way of Tao reinforces the fact that I am a prisoner of Newton’s First Law.  Damn you, inertia!

DIAMONDS: Dream Force gives me a multitude of explanations behind the diamonds.  Diamonds could suggest a completeness of my being. It could also signify my solid nature and dependability. Or, the dream could signify my narcissism and egotism. Another option is that I could be trying to pull away from others.  Dream Moods sheds some light,  indicating that dreaming of diamonds indicates financial hardships.  Too much thinking to try to decipher that one, so here is a random plug:  Onassis Jewelery, in California.  This is where my husband had my engagement ring made, and it turned out great.  Tip for all you single ladies – know what your actual ring size is, before you tell your boyfriend/fiance what you think it is.  Double check your facts.  That way, you won’t be like me and end up getting a ring almost 2 sizes too large.  But, also know, you can always just hold your fingers together with a death grip for weeks on end, because God knows you don’t want to take that sucker off to get it sized, once you’ve got it on.  Maybe my love for my engagement ring makes me a narcissist?  If so, mystery solved.

CUTTING OFF MOTHER IN MID-SENTENCE:  My grandmother is an incessent talker.  She could talk for hours without taking a breath, and does not require a response in return, to keep her going.  Yes, she will still ask you questions, but she will not listen to your response.  She definitely has ADHD, and probably could use some meds.  She says she doesn’t want to take one more medication, since she already has that “Days of the Week” pill box, stuffed to the brim, but really, once you are taking 32 pills a day, why not make it 33?  As a result of her nonstop verbage, sometimes she just needs to be cut off, and whoever does this runs the risk of appearing rude.  Luckily, my mother loves her so much that she isn’t afraid to be rude.  For the greater good.  I find it slightly amusing that in my dream I cut off my mom.  Question:  Do all family cycles repeat?

How Could I Not Dream About The Accident?

I enjoy hearing other people’s dreams.  When someone tells me they had a strange dream, I pester  them until they describe it.  Some of my friends know this, and they email me their dreams, whenever they remember them.  This is quite considerate, since it saves me the energy from pestering.  Very often, their dreams have something to do with the activities or T.V. shows they indulge in, something related to their job, or something they are afraid of.  I hear a lot of dreams involving teeth falling out, being chased, falling, and being naked in public, which are all among the top 10 most common dreams people have.   In movies, people who suffer traumatic events have recurring  deams about that one catastrophe.  While I sometimes have a few dreams that fall into those categories (see teeth), more often than not, the dreams I remember do not seem to be connected, in any way, to what I’ve done, or what I’m currently interested in.  Instead, I have dreams about robot conspiracies.  This seems odd to me.  Why am I not dreaming about American Idol, or Vince Vaughn, or dark tornadoes smashing my house to smithereens?  If nothing else, you’d think I’d dream about something scary that happened when I was little.  Something I think about a lot, but have never dreamt about, is an incident that people in my family refer to as “The Accident”.

In 1983, my parents and I were in the car, driving home from Bath Middle School, where my mom was doing her student teaching internship.  My dad was driving our light blue Plymouth Volare, that they had purchased from my grandparents, and owned for 2 months.  My mom was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back seat, sitting behind my dad.  I remember being promised some McDonald’s fries from the drive-through.  This was a pretty big treat, since my parents were somewhat strict about what I ate (They only let me eat sugar cereal once per year, near Halloween.  How excited I used to get about Count Chocula! Note: They gave this strict nutrition policy up by the time my sisters were born).  It was dark out, as we were leaving a night-time event (School carnival? Curriculum night?).  As we were driving, I heard my mom draw a sharp intake of breath and then say my dad’s name “….CHUCK!”  From the way she sounded, I knew something was wrong.  But, I had no idea what it could be.  I was sitting in the back seat, so couldn’t see what was going on up front. My 3 year old brain imagined someone throwing a brick at the windshield.  A few moments later, a huge crash occurred, and our car stopped moving.  I didn’t realize it then, but we had been hit by a drunk driver, who swerved into our lane and hit us head on.  I also didn’t know that my mom wasn’t wearing her seat belt, but I did know that she wasn’t okay.  I couldn’t see her anymore, but I could hear her.  She was moaning.  “Ohhhhhhhh…………oohhhhhhhh”, a horrible sounding noise, over and over.  Her head had smashed into the dashboard upon impact.  I could still see the back of my dad’s head, and from that vantage point he looked okay (I couldn’t see the abrasions across his chest from the shoulder strap seat belt.  With his shirt off, you could see right where the seat belt was, even though he was wearing a thick suede coat when the accident occurred).

He asked me, “Christine, do you have your seat belt on?”.  I answered yes.  I was the only one in that car who was perfectly fine.  Then he asked me again, “Christine, do you have your seat belt on?”  I answered yes, again.  He kept asking…and asking…over and over.  I guess that’s one of the side effects of being in shock.   Scary, but a whole lot better than moaning.  I’m not sure how many times he asked, and I answered, until I yelled at him, “DAD!  I HAVE MY SEAT BELT ON!”  I don’t remember if he ever stopped asking or not.

Smashed car.

After the car had been sitting still for awhile, suddenly the back passenger side window shattered.  3 year old me thought it spontaneously fractured, but adult me knows that the emergency crew used a tool to break the window, since they couldn’t open my door.  A man reached in and grabbed me, pulling me gently through the window. The crew had already used the jaws of life to pry my mom from the vehicle.  I find it amazing that I don’t remember seeing them do this, since it must have taken some time.  I do remember seeing a guy in a blue coat, once we got out.  When I was little I imagined it was the drunk driver, but it is more likely that the man I saw was an emergency responder.  We went to the hospital, but I don’t remember too much about what happened there.  I only had a tiny bruise on my hip bone, and it didn’t hurt at all.

Emergency response team getting my mom out of the car.

My dad did a pretty good job of sheltering me from what was happening, or maybe I was just too young to understand what was going on.  My mom was in a coma, with a contused brain that caused one side of her body to be paralyzed for many days.  My dad met with the neurologist the day after the accident, who said the paralysis and coma could exist for a few days, a few weeks or a few months, but he expected it to go away.  Luckily, the coma only lasted for a few days.  Once she came out of the coma, her short term memory was gone for almost 2 weeks.  My dad remembers visiting with her in the hospital room, then walking out for a few minutes, and upon returning, her acting like she was seeing him for the first time that day.   She remembered what happened up to the day of the accident, but nothing after that, including what was going on around her every day while in the hospital.  My grandma told me she accidentally spilled hot coffee on my mom’s leg and, I imagine, may have been a teensy bit glad that my mom didn’t remember that.

She received 58 stitches across the right side of her head, through her eyebrow; they had to do two rows of 29 stitches, one beneath the surface of the skin, and the other to close up the wound at the surface.  She also had a torn bladder, and a fractured pelvis.  I remember seeing the major bruising and swelling of her right arm. If you know her, you might notice that her right arm looks like she once had stitches there, but she didn’t, the marks are just an indication of how much damage the muscle obtained.  My dad describes her arm as looking like a black man’s thigh.  The driver who hit us, who was driving on a suspended license, got 20 days in jail, plus probation.

Mom was in the hospital for about 2 weeks.   She should have stayed longer, but she wanted to get out.  They had her in a ward with other people who had “head problems” and it was driving her crazy.

Scientists tell us that we don’t remember a majority of our dreams, even when we have them, so perhaps I just remember the bizzaro ones, and can’t recall the ones about the T.V. shows I watch, or The Accident.  As much as I don’t like my bizarre dreams, I guess I’m pretty lucky, not to have dreams about this day.

Thanks For The Chuckle, Even Now, Ed.

I recently posted about my happy-go-lucky great-grandfather, Ed, passing away.  So, here is an update.  Ed was cremated and his ashes recently arrived at my mother’s house.  I went over tonight for a visit and when I put my purse down, by the couch, my mom pointed out that Ed was located nearby, in the box under the end table.  I said, “Oh!  Hello, Ed!” and smiled as I patted the box.

She wondered if I was interested in seeing Ed.  I told her that whenever she opened the box, I would love to see Ed.  And, perhaps take a little of Ed home?  Who knows.  She said she was ready to open the box, right then.  So, we took the box upstairs (just in case my grandmother arrived, who would not get the same pleasure or amusement out of seeing Ed out of the box…).

We opened the tightly bound package, and inside was a thick, green plastic case labeled “Temporary Container”.  Opening the case was a bit of an enigma and I fiddled around a bit, trying to figure out how to open it up.  Suddenly, with a THUMP, the side of the box popped out and Ed started to emerge.  My mom gasped as she reached out her arms, in a desperate attempt to catch the dust and pebbles that used to be Ed.  My eyes bulged out.  We started to laugh, as we realized that we weren’t going to have to vacuum Ed’s ashes up, that microscopic pieces of Ed weren’t going to rise into the air and choke us, since they were tightly wrapped in a plastic bag, marked with a small, round, numbered, metal tag.  My mom was laying on the floor, on her back, laughing, in relief.

After we shoved Ed back into his temporary container, we thanked him for giving us a chuckle, just like he always used to.

Ed.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

<span>%d</span> bloggers like this: