Explosive Relationships

Our microwave is kaput. I mean I would have given it a chance to explain itself. Microwave, why are heating up when no one is using you? Are you feeling a little under the weather? Dear dear Microwave, it seems you have a fever. Do you want to take a day off?

But no.

John, that safety first guy, pulled the plug on our faithful kitchen assistant. He even put it out to the street. Alone. Rejected. Forlorn.

That was right before this happened!


Just kidding. Did you fall for that? Heh heh heh.

Rest in peace, dear Microwave.

Yeah, that's not him either. I don't usually take pictures of my appliances. Maybe I should... just in case.

Now I'm actually going to have to plan ahead and thaw meat early for our dinners. *sigh*

He Don't Need No Stinkin' Medicine

Noah's surgery went great on Wednesday. In fact, the nurses kept exclaiming how great of a patient he was. They gushed about him so much that I just had to ask what the kids usually do. "Oh", they said, "they wake up angry and want their mom and dad, thrash around, try to pull out their IV's..." *cringe*

Psh. And to think I had been embarrassed that he was doing his little squeak thing (which he does when he's a little nervous) instead of answering the nurses when they talked to him. Even that didn't last since he did warm up and start talking before the surgery.

What can I say? It seems my kids are perfect little patients! May they never have to be so again. A patient that is. They can keep on being perfect please. And maybe spread the perfection to other areas that need a bit of help? *sigh*

Noah was on his feet so much yesterday that I was practically begging him to sit on the couch and put his feet up for a bit so I didn't have to hurt for him. (Yes, I was having sympathy pains for him.) Apparently three seconds flat is all the time necessary for his feet to rest and recharge.

What can I say? Noah is a tough little guy.

Surgery Prep and a New Kind of Underwear

Noah is going to Shriners Children's Hospital today for minor surgery on his feet. That very same surgery that Nathan had previously. Remember? No? Okay. That's fine. I understand.

Basically, his toes are wound too tight. His toes are curled under and the others are taking advantage of their newfound room to move. (I blame John. I mean my toes are perfectly normal. And maybe his are too but this has never happened in my family before. So. It's all John's fault. heh heh heh. Since I don't let him post on here, he can't defend himself.)

ahem.

It is imperative that Noah not eat any solid food this morning. IMPERATIVE. Or very important. This. is a challenge. He's a food snitch. He's very innovative about how he finds and reaches food. Let's just say he's not afraid of heights in this quest for the munchies.

What was I getting to? Oh. Right.

We're keeping close tabs on Noah ... or being vigilant food guards, if you will. As I'm stalling him from going downstairs without me, he starts to notice the clothes I have on my chair. After looking at my sweat pants and feeling a sweater, he picks up one of my bras and asks, "Whaaaat's thiiis?" "It's for me to wear.", I tell him. "Wheeeere? On your buuuutt?"

* Not actual bra.

Is hysterical laughter an answer?

*This particular butt holder can be purchased at Walmart. Tell them Noah sent you.