We interrupt our regular programming because my computer is holding my pictures hostage and we are still in the negotiating stage.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
I tried to bribe it with chocolate and wine. It's not budging.
I would have totally caved.
Until I can come up with The Magic Word to get iphoto to release my pictures of camp, I will share my day with you. Which actually started yesterday.
I 've done something to my back. What I did, I don't know, but it hurts to move. But not moving is not an option, so I continue with my regular crazy routine.
Yesterday that routine included a wholesale order for The Bakery. A full day in the kitchen (which I love!).
When all the items were baked, frosted, and drying/cooling, I hit the shower.
Let's just say there was flour....
I was in that shower for about an hour. That hot water felt amazing on my sore back and numb leg...er, at least I'm pretty sure it felt amazing on my numb leg.
And then there was loud, insistent banging on the bathroom door.
There was a kid out there, yelling. Insistently. Loudly. Persistently.
I can't make out what he's saying. And I'm in the shower.
I lean out of the tub for the doorknob. The door is locked. I've been 'visited', more than once, by neighbors. My bathroom is waaaay to close to the front door.
I've learned over the years, if it isn't midnight...lock the bathroom door.
I couldn't reach the door. I step one foot out of the shower. Nekkid.
Can't...quite...reach...it...but...almost.......there! Got it!
And I drop to the floor in agony. Nekkid.
Stretching really far distances with a back injury after being on your feet all day...not recommended. Trust me.
I did get the stupid door open. Water is running out of the tub. I move into a hunched-over-the-toilet position. I may have been crying.
Thing Two, for his part, is completely unfazed, and is jabbering a mile a minute.
I focus all my concentration on the words coming out of his mouth:
Is there water running right now?
"Yeah. I need a towel."
He grabs ONE towel, and runs away. Leaving me to die.
(Never mind that there's a closet full of towels upstairs in that bathroom.)
I ate the better part of a bottle of Aleeve. (Just kidding. It was 6.)
I crawled to the couch.
And I forgot all about upstairs. The kids had relocated to the backyard.
When they came in a bit later, Thing Two asked me how I fixed the toilet.
Uh-oh. That's what the funny noise was. I looked over at the stairs.
Where water was trickling down...
I called The Big Guy.
"Your son has been at it again. Bring a snake this time."
We've decided that he is to wear a toilet snake coiled on his belt loop, a la Indiana Jones.
It's the Town's Plumbing's only hope.
* * * * * * *
I woke up this morning feeling like a new woman. I didn't even remember that my back was broken until The Big Guy asked how I was.
"So, How are you?"
I don't answer because there is no speaking allowed before coffee. He is well aware of the rules.
"Hello??? How's your back today?"
My back? Whatsamatter with my ba....oh yeah. Huh. Doesn't hurt. Look, I can walk and everything!
fmmalddewwwooo, I mumble on the way to the Keurig.
"Oh, that's good."
He leaves, because he knows the futility of attempting conversation until cup #3 or 4.
I have Bakery stuff to do this morning. Wrapping and Labeling. Which I do while sucking down coffee.
I'm down to a couple of pages of labels. Need to print more.
No problem. I pull up the program, and the finished template which I've saved in no less than four places.
Except it's gone.
I'll spare you the drama, and the language, but I was so mad I was inventing words.
And I spent way too much of the morning fighting with my computer to spit up the file I wanted.
Suddenly, it was nearly 11:00. Post Office time. Eeek.
The Big Guy has the truck. I have to take the 4-wheeler. No problem.
I go out to the garage, which smells really, really bad right now for some reason, and climb on the bike (4-wheeler).
I must back out of the garage. It's sort of a tight fit. I'm paying very close attention to the left rear tire, making sure to clear the door (he hates it when I don't clear the door...)
A murderer smacks me across the back of the head with a two by four,
or maybe a baseball bat!
Freakin' serial killers!
My back just got better fergod'ssake!
Wait...I'm in a weird position on the bike. I'm...pinned...over the handlebars.
Why is there a serial killer in my smelly garage, anyway?
Something's ON me. What the...
It's the garage door.
Some fool left the garage door half closed.
And some other fool backed herself into it.
So now I'm pinned to the bike by the garage door. I sort of can't breathe.
Wait a minute. We don't have an automatic garage door.
I reach up by my head, and shove the door up.
My head hurts.
But my back feels awesome!
p.s. I found the file(s). All four of them. Minutes after I downloaded another template and re-made the label.
'Sokay. I like the new one better.
Check this out!: Kids and Serial KillersTweet this! Posted by Marissa at 9:27 PM