As I was putting The Determined (aged 5.95555 years) to bed, she proceeded to tell me how much she loved me (And I would be kidding you if I told you that I don’t really like it when that happens).
The Determined: Momma, you’re the bestest momma in the whole world!!!
For some bizarre and unknown reason, I decided to press her on this. Why? I don’t know. I confess to my idiot tendencies. I should have known better….
Me: How do you know I’m the bestest? How many mommas have you had?
D (Caught off guard): Well…. Hmmm…
Me (testing her with different mommy-friends who are secretly named with non-traceable letters): How about Mrs. X? Am I a better momma than her?
D: Oh yes. Definitely.
Me: What about Mrs. Y? Am I better?
D: Yep. You are better!
Me: What would you say to Mrs. Z? Am I a better mommy?
Me (now going for the jugular): What about Grandma? Am I a better mommy than Grandma?
D: Oh, no! The bestest momma would be Grandma, then you, then Mrs. blah blah blah..
Honestly, I don’t know who was next, because I lost interest after I got de-throned by my mother.
If you’re reading this, Grandma, all that chocolate and other forms of spoilage have paid off*. Congratulations!
*Kidding, Grandma! I know it’s yer luv that melts her little heart. But the chocolate doesn’t hurt!
Well, well. Here come the pictures. I’m still learning how to resize the monster-big pictures that my camera takes. That is one drawback to the Canon that I wasn’t counting on. Ah, well. Another time….
In the hospital waiting room, anticipating The Knife
I got a shot of his arm after Ole Blue was removed, but it’s a wee bit fuzzy. Things were moving around too quickly, I guess. You can kinda see the break and the unnaturalness of it. An inch or two up the arm from the wrist was really offset and hanging sorta to the right. Ick. If you have a good imagination, you might be able to tell from this photo….
And this is the arm one day post surgery. Really sore (ya think?) and swollen. The blue tubes coming out of the splint are a sort of “built-in” ice pack. I fill the ice chest (really, it’s a glorified ice chest sans refreshments) with ice and tap water and hook up the tubes and plug in the wires and the contraption pumps ice cold water through the tubes into a thingie (the nurse kept calling it a “bladder”, and I kept giggling. So mature.) wrapped up in the splint. Very good idea. The interface is not so convenient. Then again, when is surgery on your arm convenient? Also, note the swollen fingers. Poor Mark!
So that’s all the fun we’re having here. He’ll have a follow-up visit with the doc next week where the doctor will tell us about The Fun That Lies Ahead, also known as physical therapy. Whee!
No, no one else has broken their arm (almost surprisingly!). But, noting the usual drama around here, it’s always something.
After two weeks of seeing the orthopedic doctor, Mark’s arm has rebelled.
Here is a picture of Mark’s blue cast:
Yes, it’s somewhat grainy. It’s been a rough week, folks.
The following is an artist’s rendition of the same arm next week (Send the kids off to bed, this is really graphic)*: