The Family is Growing!

I am so excited that our family is growing!

Not as in growing up, but as in growing bigger!

My sister is having a baby!

(at least half of you thought *I* was announcing something, didn't you? ha! That's what you get for assuming things!)

That's right people, I am getting a nephew. My kids will now officially have cousinS.

She's being all mum about it, but now that word is getting out, she is past 20wks, and we know what it is, I'm officially being obnoxious and telling the world. Sorry Kel, you knew it was coming. I've kept this quiet long enough.

With as cutie-patootie as my niece is, I can't wait to see what the little boy edition will look like come May. So glad that someone is finally having another baby around here! Yay babies!

Feed the Addiction

Today I went running.

I WENT RUNNING!

I waited my required two weeks to do anything "strenuous".

Since I couldn't handle just sitting around anymore I decided to ease back into things with some yoga last week. It felt good.

Today I reasoned that I was past the two week mark, I could set my course (short), and not push it.

It felt so good. So very good.

Remember when you were a kid, how the last day of school felt? How you just wanted to run home so as not to waist a single second of your freedom?

That's how stepping out the door this afternoon felt. I cranked up my music (Que Te Pica to kick things off, in case you were wondering), and was giddy enough that I wanted to run like Phoebe.

Tell me you've seen that Friends episode.

I did keep it short, just a couple of miles. Not fast (I never am), but a decent pace.

I'm amazed at how much swelling I still have inside this head o' mine. Breathing was less than comfortable with the residual swelling, and spitting (*sigh*, yes, I'm a spitter) hurt like the dickens, but the adrenalin made it all worth it.

My current endurance: squat, but enough to pull me through a couple of long overdue miles.

It is so nice to feel human again.

Lessons Learned from a Tonsillectomy

1. Tonsilectomys are not for adults. Kids, sure. They pop right back up. Adults, not so much. The only word that comes close to describing it is hell. The first few days, meh, doable. Then day 5 comes around and you think, "huh, this stinks, I hurt more today." Then day 6 and you wonder, what is the deal?!", and then day 7. Oh. My. Word. I consider myself a tough chick. I can deal with things. But day 7? Wow. I literally would have spent the entirety of day 7 crying had I not had enough conscious thought to realize that crying only made it hurt worse. I wanted to die. And then once you think you are over it and can start using just Tylenol, the ear pain kicks in. And then you make the mistake of yawning or sneezing and you want to die all over again.

I would rather give birth every day for a week than go through this again.

2. I have never known pain until last week. Giving birth 7 times? no problem. (sure labor hurts and you're a little sore for a day or two, but ok) Not being able to breath, swallow, talk, without feeling like your entire mouth and head are riddled with shards of glass? Not cool. It's a darn good thing I'm a generally healthy person, because this garbage is on my list of things to never do again. Ever.

3. I make a bad druggie. I have always said that "I don't do pain meds." there is a reason why. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't have made it through the first 7 days without Percocet, but goodness, it's a good thing I haven't needed it before, and I sure hope to never need it again! Me + anything heavier than Tylenol or Ibuprofen = not pretty!

4. I have the best friends and neighbors in the entire expanse of the world. Before I even knew what time I was going in for surgery, I had people lining up to bring in dinners, help with the kids, offering to help with the house work, with getting kids taken care of at school, and anything else you can think of. My cute friend who took my three little ones while I went to have the surgery done, and then took the 4 older ones when I got pushed back 2hrs and wouldn't make it home before they got out of school is nothing short of an angel. The stream of meals that flooded our home every day for a week was amazing. The phone calls and visits to make sure we were all doing ok were, and are, very much appreciated.

5. My husband is a trooper! Seriously-between taking over my regular life, taking care of me on top of that, and finishing up the house projects that we didn't quite finish pre surgery, he deserves a medal of honor. Not to mention he got the Christmas trees up so I could stop my freaking out about that. (a nice little drug induced breakdown I had. I was sure we would never get any Christmas decor up if we didn't do it *that* day. Sorry about that.) I have never been more grateful for a husband who is willing to do anything and everything under the sun to take care of his family.

6. Apparently I lack self-censoring when I am on percocet. As proved by reading back through the things I have posted over the last week. Sorry.

7. I get stir crazy, and am more social than I thought. In the few hours a day that I was awake those first few days, I did ok with just myself and a book or a laptop. After that, I was DYING to get out of bed! I missed people! I missed the chaos of my daily routine! I missed my friends, going to church, chatting on the phone! Thank goodness for texting, huh?

8. Spending 9 days almost completely in bed will wear you out! Who knew that doing absolutely nothing was so exhausting? I feel like I'm the walking dead, only functioning at about 50% capacity. Hopefully that will increase drastically and quickly!

9. I do not lose weight like a normal person. I spent 7 days eating nothing. Well, ok, not nothing; I did have some broth and popsicles, and the raspberry sorbet (godsend!), and a chocolate milkshake, but seriously, I'd be lucky if I got more than 300 calories in me a day. Except on the milkshake day. And after 7 days of no real food, I lost a grand total of.........one pound. Yep, one pound. ONE! Thankfully actually getting up a little more over the past 3 days has made a difference, and my body has remembered how to burn calories (even though I'm still not getting many to stay down). I'll gladly take the few more pounds that have dropped off in the last few days, and rather enjoy my pants being a little looser for the next week. But must I say it? Bring on the Christmas goodies!

and finally,

10. If you're gonna spend over a week stuck in bed, it pays to have a thing for PJs.

Yes, that's 7 pair of pajamas. Plus the pj pants on top. What can I say? Despite the fact that I am one of those people who MUST get up and shower first thing and MUST get dressed instead of hanging out in lounge clothes/sweats/pjs all day, I like pajamas. And believe me, even if I was only getting dressed in new clean pjs to get right back in bed, it sure felt good to put something fun on every day!

Christmas Story - Mooseltoe

This a fun book, and sadly, reminds me of me just a tad. Everything has to be just perfect. Every list has to be checked off. And then something big gets forgotten.

Moose and his moosetache are in the holiday spirit and nothing can stop things from turning out ok. (of course there's a happy ending-it's a children's book!)

Cute book-the kids love the pictures!

I'm not sure why I'm sharing this

I'll go ahead and blame the percocet again.

And the fact that I cannot be the only person on the planet who HATES that stupid thing they stick on your finger.

This thing:

Hey, I was just waking up. Trying to tell Aaron how much I hate that thing. I don't think I even realized it was on my middle finger.

Now you all know what I look like 10 minutes after surgery in the process of waking up from anesthesia.

It's true, I have no shame. Popping out a half a dozen+ kids will do that to you.

And I'm sure that little blue hat was doing me a world of good. hanging pitifully off the back of my head.

This is a public service announcement: You have now officially seen me at my worst. Thank you.

Now please excuse me while I go crawl back under my covers to wish away the torture and torment and crushed hope that is day 6 of recovery.

Alaina's Baptism

Allright-I was kinda harsh on Alaina in that last post.


I really am over the hair thing, and I really love my daughter. A lot. And she really does know that. I promise.


But now on to more exciting things about her.


I still haven't hit "publish" on her birthday post yet, because I still haven't found her baby pictures. Darn me for being old and birthing babies in the pre-digital days. It makes blogging much more complicated sometimes.


But there is a birthday post for her, I promise.


For now-her baptism.


Alaina was baptized the first week in November.


Much of our family was out of town, so it was a small meeting. but it was a very beautiful meeting, and a beautiful day.


Taylor wrote and gave a talk on Baptism. Malia wrote and gave a talk on the Holy Ghost.
They both did amazing jobs. Aaron's mom played the piano, I led the music, and Grandpa's gave the prayers. My grandpa and Alaina's grandpa-Aaron's dad.


We were also blessed with good friends there with us, and we were so happy they could join us!
It was not an uneventful day though. Is there ever an uneventful day with us?


It seems that everything that could possibly go wrong in the days leading up to the baptism did go wrong.
Up to that morning when Charlotte woke up with a barking cough at 4am, followed quickly by Dallin. You'll notice in this picture that he doesn't exactly look stellar.


In fact he was feeling so awful that he had fallen asleep on the metal folding chair at the end of the first row of chairs. Poor kid. (But hey, we wouldn't want to break tradition and have all healthy kids at one of our kids' baptisms!)

Despite all the many bumps in the road, everything turned out as perfectly as it could. It was a beautiful program, and it was fun for it to be just our family, which is a rarity out here where there are so very many children.

I am very proud of Alaina and all that she does to improve our family and our home. She is such a determined child-as long as she continues to make good choices (and stay away from scissors), she will lead an exceptional life.

I am so grateful that this sweet little daughter of mine surprised us in life when she did. Alaina is our "hey I'm pregnant. Uh, 15weeks pregnant apparently" baby. Though it certainly threw us for a loop at the time, she was nothing short of an angel baby. I would not change a thing about her. Not those perfect infant days, or those making up for being a perfect infant toddler years. Not her constantly trying to keep up with older kids, reading over their shoulders before she even turned 4. And no, not even her encounters with scissors. Really.

Haircut

My 8 year old daughter called me from school last week. Actually it was the week before last. Before I took to my bed indefinitely.

Anyway, she called me giggling to tell me that she had just cut her hair.

What?

It took about 5 minutes of conversation to get to the point. She had gotten something in her hair. And cut it out.

I flipped. Of course I flipped! She's 8! Not 3! Not 4! Well beyond those other years when she cut her own hair! We are supposed to be past this stage!

He teacher came to her rescue, tried to explain to me that it wasn't that bad, and break down what happened. Apparently some kid in her class brought "Goo" to school. Unbeknownst to the teacher (who I love and don't blame, btw). He was being sneaky and broke it out during silent reading time. It was during that time that my 8yr old daughter got ahold of some of it and in her silliness (this child is way too prone to herd mentality. Scares the tar out of me), ended up with some in her hair. Then not wanting to get in trouble, CUT IT OUT.

Enter the third grade tattling average, and the teacher found out in about 3.6 seconds anyway.

So I braced myself for the what may appear at my doorstep slightly after 3:30 that afternoon.

And this appeared:

Turns out this child decided she wanted bangs. But having been told by everyone that she looks best without bangs, she just went for it herself.

Oh, she did actually get goo in her hair. And it didn't occur to her at the time that she could, oh, say, um, WASH it out. But she wanted bangs.

And she likes them and thinks they look wonderful. And cried at me when I hairsprayed them back into her hair the next day. And now begs me daily to style her hair in a manner that lets her "wear her bangs" the way she wants.

It's a good thing I love my daughter. It's a good thing she knows that I love her. And will always love her. Even if it does look like she got into a fight with scissors.

It's also a good thing that hair grows back.

I will never complain that my life is boring.

Happy Birthday!

To the very congenial all-American Donny Osmond.

To the most amazing man on the face of the earth. The most handsome, patient, kind, generous, fun, funny, indulgent, wonderful person.

No. I'm not talking about Donny anymore!

I'm talking about my best friend! My sweet hubby! The man who has survived taking over everything household/family/schedule/nursing me back to health for the past week.

I wish I could give him a long exotic vacation. He deserves one. He REALLY deserves one after the past week. Sadly, all I could muster up today was roughly an hour of time out of the house (thanks mom and dada!) to go and get a chocolate shake. while having minimal whispered conversation.

(You wish you could celebrate all your birthdays that way, don't you?)

But the good news is that he agreed to take a rain check on the big birthday celebration.

And the Wii seemed to help.

Happy Birthday Babe! I love you more than life itself!

My, my, that tastes an awful lot like....Freedom!

Yes People, on this, Wednesday, December the 9th, I left the confines of my bedroom. For the first time in 5 days.
Considering that I'm the type of person that doesn't ever spend more than a day or two sick (save that one pneumonia incident 6 1/2yrs ago, but we won't discuss that), and the annoying lady who has babies and two days later is out and about being normal again, this is a momentous event.

I have done my best to be a good little patient and rest up and recover. This has not been easy. At all. Don't get me wrong, those around me have done everything possible to make it easy for me; meals have been delivered every night, people have taken the kids for playdates to prevent my husband from going certifiably insane, and my husband has been nothing short of a Saint in taking care of every possible thing in this house so that my daily routine can consist of sit, lay, sit, sleep, choke down pain meds, sleep, suck on a popsicle and sleep. But during my concious hours (well, you've read the blog recently, I'm not sure how concious I've been), I know that I could get up and just clean up the bathroom a bit. Go round up the dishes and start a load. Pick up the shoes that have been left at the front door. Granted by the time I reach my bedroom door I am pretty much dizzy enough to pass out, but I'd like to think I'm tougher than that.

Enter today. My husband's birthday. Isn't this exactly how you would want to spend your birthday? Your spouse stuck in bed starting her nose dive into the "worst of the recovery"? Trying to figure out how to run the daily chaos of the house and all seven kids? Feeling like you haven't slept in 5 days b/c you've been so strung out that you've barely slept in, well, 5 days?

Fun, huh?

But hey. You should all know that despite my brain fog I did actually remember that it was his birthday today. And as I stumbled to the kitchn at 5:09 this morning to get my pain meds, I had enough actual thought process to get out the crepe paper and the "Happy Birthday" banner and string them up! And to email my parents about coming out to our place for an hour tonight. To let my husband (and myself) have a breath of fresh air.

Yes, we went out for his birthday.

Sheild your jealousy folks, I sucked it up for long enough to do my hair and makeup, fancy my wardrobe up from PJs (hey, I DO have cute PJs), to some rockin jeans and his favorite top that I own, and even throw on some jewelry. Then I held it together long enough for us to make an exotic trip to..........

Arctic Circle.
For Milkshakes.
Because that's about all I could stand to (still) painfully choke down.

But it was a blissful hour. And it was so nice to be out of the house! For both of us! And it was such a treat to just be together. And laugh. even if it does hurt to laugh.
And even if I can still only whisper and everything I say is followed by him leaning closer and saying "What?". And the people sitting next to us looked at us funny b/c he was speaking normally and I was whispering.

I will never again take for granted the ability to be up and around, to come and go (mostly) as I please.

And though it wasn't anything exciting, I'm sure neither one of us will ever forget this birthday.

Christmas Story - My Penguin Osbert

This is a cute story. And no, it doesn't make me cry.

This is a fun, be-careful-what-you-wish-for kind of story. Yet also a heartwarming, you've-made-your-bed-now-you-get-to-lie-in-it kind of story.

Joe writes his Christmas letter to Santa each year and tries to be very specific. Last year he asked for a fire-engine red race car with a detachable roof, a lightening bolt on the side, and retractable head lights. And he did get one. But it was only three inches long.

So this year he was really really careful, and as specific as he could possibly be. And he got exactly what he asked for.

Christmas Story - A Christmas Bell for Anya

Tonight's Story is one that I heard for the first time two years ago and immediately went out and found so that we could have a copy of our own. It's another one that makes me cry.

I get it, I'm a crier!

During the winter of 1917, all of Russia had fallen into dark and tumultuous times as the reign of the Czars came to a bitter and violent end. But in a small Siberian village famous for producing the finest bells in the world, the townspeople made their usual preparations for a Christmas tradition that went back many generations. For eight-year-old Anya and her widowed father, this Christmas had special significance. This Christmas, Anya was one of the girls chosen from the village to ring in Christmas morn with her very own Christmas bell.

A beautiful story of love, hope and redemption.

Lobster Legs

You poor people. If this week of posts doesn't chase you away, then I can't imagine what would.

I'm trying to start weaning myself off pain meds, so I thought I'd try some Tylenol this afternoon instead of Percocet. It worked very well.....for about 2 hours. Which is fine, but I can only take meds every 4 hours. So there was 2 hours of pretty intense ouch going on here today.

Why am I trying Tylenol instead? The weirdness is getting worse. Or at least staying the same. But it's weird and I'm growing weary of not feeling in control of myself.

This afternoon as I fell asleep to little bits of percocet dancing in my brain, I had another dream.

I was me, in my current state in life. (i know, odd, huh?) But I lived in a house that was in the neighborhood I grew up in.

Anyway, like I said, I was where I currently am in life, a few days post-tonsillectomy. I woke up in my cute pink PJs, and walked out of my bedroom to go get a popsicle and a water bottle. When I got to the kitchen it was full of people. So was the family room area that was off the kitchen in this house. Not sure who was there....for some reason I don't remember faces.

People were eating lobster. There was lobster EVERYWHERE. But not like one would normally eat lobster.

They were eating lobster legs.

Like you would normally eat crab legs.

There were lobster carcasses all over the kitchen, and big glass goblets full of lobster legs.

People had those goofy bibs on and had butter dripping down their faces.

And I was looking at lobster bodies laying on their backs all over my house.

And the smell.....

Oh. my. gosh. the smell!

I HATE seafood. Cannot stand the smell. Detest it.

And as I walked out of my bedroom I was practically bowled over by the stink.

So I marched myself on down to the middle of the crowd, mustered up as much voice as I could for being a few days post tonsil loss, and screamed my head off at everyone. Gave the most ornery lecture of my life. With gusto that I didn't know I had in me. Everyone was surprised at how much voice I came up with. So that I could scream at them for being so rude to come in and eat lobster legs and make my house stink while I was trying to get better.

And then I stomped off back to my bed.

And then I woke up. And felt really embarrassed. And tried to figure out why people were eating lobster legs in the first place.

If I yelled at you in my lobster dream, I'm sorry.

Quite frankly, I'm sorry I'm having most of these dreams!

And sorry I'm sharing them with you.

But hey, why should I be the only one suffering through them?

True Confession Tuesday

Ok, I've been debating starting a new weekly thing for a while.

So now I'm going to.

And next week I'll have a cute little button, and Mr Linky, and you can join in to feel better about yourself or let others laugh at your weirdness. Maybe both. You know how much you enjoy blogstalking and reading strange things that people admit to, even though you can't figure out why they would actually admit to that. I'm sure you've read something here more than once and thought that very thing.

Come back next week for True Confession Tuesday. Tell us something silly, tell us something simple. Something complex, annoying, embarrassing, whatever. Fess up.

A peek at the house stuff

We've been up to our eyeballs in projects lately. I think I've mentioned it once or twice. Or two hundred times.

Anyway, aside from the floors, knocking out a wall, installing a railing

and all the fix up that has come with that, we also decided it would be a fun time to repaint the master bedroom. Of course!

Actually, we bought the paint back in October for my birthday, and by some freakish turn of events defying all that is normal in nature, the paint sat here in my bedroom for over a month without being openend.

I know, I still can't explain it.

But since I wasn't about to go under without my room being painted, I frantically got to work early last week. My room still isn't put back together, but it's a pretty color!

And Aaron surprised me with new bedthings as well. For some reason white sheets are just so wonderful and inviting!

So though this is still the halfway in the project veiw, the walls are bare, the window is bare, and there is still a stack of things that need to be put away and organized, this is where I'm chilling day and night:

This is an awful picture, but hey, the flash batteries are dead and I'm on meds.

One day I'll feel up to finishing, iron out all the wrinkles, put the room back together, and repaint the bathroom.

But until then, at least I have a calming and serene surrounding!

Christmas Tradition: Stories

Between house projects, surgery, and life in general, we are a little slow here in jumping into Christmas this year. We always launch right into things the day after Thanksgiving, but not this year. Gratefully we did finally get the tree up last night and with Aaron working feverishly into the wee hours of the morning each day, the projects are finished up and we are finally really getting into decorating mode.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is our nightly Christmas story. This is one that we could do each night despite the chaos of our home and family recently. I am hoping to share each day which story we read; some I may even put here on the blog for your reading enjoyment. I'll at least tell you which story it is, so that I can share some of our favorites-both old and new-and maybe they will be added to your list of favorites too.

I keep a big basket of Christmas books out each year so that they are available for everyone to dig into. I am a book nut, and I especially love picture books, so this is one of my favorite indulgences.

Two of our newcomers this year were the first books we turned to. (mostly becuase they weren't packed away with the other Christmas things, but who's counting?)

First-the comedy. Santaclaustrophobia.

I am a firm believer in the sacred side of Christmas, they real "reason for the season" if you will, but I also very much feel you should appreciate the fun and silly side of things. This book is genius. If you are a fan of Berkely Breathed (Goodnight Opus is a frequently read book here), this book runs the same style in my opinion.
Santa is having a meltdown (heard this story line before?), and all the holiday celebritites (Easter Bunny, Cupid, St Patrick, etc) jump in to help out. A hilarious fresh new take on that whole "Santa needs help" thing-definitely one that will be a must read for our family, many times each Christmas season.

" 'Aloha!' said Santa, as he sailed away

in his shorts and his shades and his Ban de Soleil.

'Folks,' I announced, 'this is going to be tricky.

So let us unit and win one for St. Nicky!'

Columbus cried, 'Bravo!'

Saint Pat said, 'Good Luck!'

The April Fool said, 'Hey, my zipper is stuck.' "

(Warning-the word "butt" is used once in this book. It's a word we try not to use in our home, so of course it received peels of giggles from the kids, and a reminder from mom that we don't use that word. Thus far, they've obliged.)


On the flip side, a more tender book. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.

Most of us are familiar with this Christmas Carol, but many do not know the story behind it. This beautifully illustrated book tells the story of how Henry Wadsworth Longfellow came to pen those lines that were originally a poem and became the longstanding song. The story is beautiful and humbling.
Aaron and I went to a concert last year where this story was read and it took everything in me to control my emotions. It was beautiful. Here is part of that:





The book comes with a DVD of the recording above, as well as that transcript, the actual story, and history tidbits that enrich the story and explain some of the common things of the day to younger kids so that they understand parts of the story more easily-though they certainly aren't necessary in reading. (thankfully they are written off to the side, so you can choose to include them in your reading or not)

So now you know how we've launched into the season here at the nuthouse. I'd love to hear what your favorite Christmas stories are-we are always looking to add to our collection!

Overheard while waiting for surgery

When I went in on Friday morning to get my tonsils out, I was doing well. Considering the anxiety I was feeling toward this thing weeks ago, I was very grateful to not be more worried. I was there on time (one hour before the surgery), and only had to wait 30min to get checked in. Not too bad.

After getting checked in, I only had to wait about 10 more minutes before the took be back to get me prepped. Yay punctuality!

Then came the fun part-the nasty gown, the poofy little hair net hat, and the slipper socks. And considering that I was wearing no makeup and didn't do my hair, I was nothing short of the pinnacle of beauty. Look, Aaron took picutres:

Aren't you jealous?

I felt like I should have had a sign taped to my head that said "I promise I am not this ugly everyday". It's a good thing I'm not a lunch lady-I just don't rock that whole hair net look.

I preferred my view:

See? Who wouldn't want to stare at that for 2 hours.

We got the IV in, plunked my little heiny on a gurney, and started the wait. The first thing stuck in my IV was called techadron. I had never heard of this little drug before Friday, nor had I ever heard of a side effect like one it comes with.

"I'm going to shoot this in very slowly," she told me. "It can have a kind of, um, strange effect of some people."

"Uh, how strange? What is it?"

"Well, sometimes it will make your, um, groin area feel.....kind of flushed and warm."

OK.

Thank you body for sparing me that side effect.

As the prep nurse walked out of my semi-private curtained area, she said "looks like you are up next, it shouldn't be too long!" Music to my ears. (it ended up being another hour and a half, but that's another story) Laying there smelling the sterile surgery smells gave me too much time to think, which made me nervous. So to take my mind off the upcoming events, Aaron and I eavesdropped on the conversations around us.

Hey, it's not hard to do when the only thing between you and the next conversation is a thin sheet hanging from some hooks in the ceiling.

We listened to someone who was having surgery on their toe. "Do you have any metal in your body?" asked the nurse. "uh, no. I don't think so. Well, until today." "Well, not counting today." "Well, no. I guess not then. Until you put the pin in my toe. Does it come out?" "We'll take the pin out in the office later. It will stick out the side of your toe. You'll have a Frakenstein toe until then." "Oh, that's nice."

A teenager next to me was having some knee surgery done. She was pretty freaked out. Her mom was trying to be consoling, but to any parent within ear shot, it was obvious that mom was pretty worried too. "Oh, don't cry honey, it's FINE. Everything will be FINE." The nurse called the girl Angela, mom corrected her. "It's Angelica. But you can just call her Angel. She my angel." (Awww... and gag!) Then repeatedly over the next 10 minutes: "you'll be FINE my angel. Oh, Angel, you'll be FINE." Heck, the mom was stringing me out! Anyone who assures you that forcefully and frequently that you'll be FINE isn't that convincing.

Also, her mother kept telling her to turn her socks around so that they were on the other way-you know, so the grippy things were on the bottom. I think she told her 4 or 5 times before she finally figured out that they grippy things are on BOTH sides!

And though many of the other things we heard that made us laugh escape me right now, my favorite was the guy who got parked in the curtain stall next to me after "Angel" left. We could hear the buzz of a razor when the nurse walked in, followed by him chuckling. She asked why he was laughing and he said "Oh, I was just thinking about the last time I shaved my legs!" and launched into stories about when he was in high school that involved shaving legs, wearing nylons, and it being a shame that people take things too far and too seriously anymore for kids to be able to do those kind of things. (It sounded like he was talking assemblies and spoofs). Interesting thoughts in that man's head!

And then it was time for me to go. I met my dr, nurse and anethesiologist (who looked like Larry Bird-and I told him that), and got wheeled back to the OR. I was going to just climb off the gurney and hop up onto the operating table and they all had a fit. Not sure why-I wasn't under the influence of anything yet (except the techadron which didn't make a difference). Of course people freak out when I get up to walk to recovery rooms after delivering babies too. Whatever. Instead they scooted me over as close to the table as possible and had me slide over onto it.

Yah, much more graceful.

All I could think was "this operating table is SO skinny! How do they operate on big people?!"

Also that my anesthesiologist looked like Larry Bird.

And I think I told him that twice more as I was falling asleep.

His reply? "If only Larry could play ball like I can!"

I dreamed a dream

*first-I am making a disclaimer that anything you read over the next few days was likely typed under the influence of percocet. So please, do not hold me accountable, think this is normal, or a host of any other thoughts that may enter your head. thank you.

I am not a dreamer. Well, I have dreams and hopes, but I'm not talking in that sense. I'm talking about falling asleep and having dreams. I very very rarely remember any of my dreams, except when I am pregnant. Which I'm not. And yes I'm sure, they made me pee on a stick before they cut my tonsils out.

Anyway-my current prescription line up seems to be changing all of that.

Percocet it starting to do a number on me. The day of my little procedure and the next day, I just kind of hung out in bed, randomly falling asleep and waking to take pills and suck on popsicles. oh, and to throw up, but I'm sure you didn't want to know that.

Starting yesterday morning I am in this phase where I pop a percocet and am crashing hard within about 5 minutes. What little speech there is gets slurred, the head starts to bob......aaaaand I'm out. I'm not out for long, but I'm out. hard.

Which is when these lovely dreams pop up. They are strange enough that even in the midst of the dream I am thinking to myself, I hope I remember this part!

Like last night. My most memorable dream was about a sweater, pens, and casseroles. Well, and the big casserole dish that the sweater and pens were involved in. It was one big psychedelic meal.

And then I woke up in some real pain, so I choked down a few bites of yogurt in attempt to get something in my stomach before the meds. I stumbled back down the hall, fell into bed and dreamed about magic Legos.

I can't remember what the next one was, but it's getting weird in this little brain of mine!

While I very much appreciate the pain relief, I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would purposefully afflict themselves with this type of brain function. This head swimming, floaty legs, dizzy stumbling weirdness is making me nuts!