A Note from Fatty: Nominations are now open for the 2009 Bloggies. Ordinarily, I’d gross you out by begging for your nomination for the Sports category, the Most Humorous category, the Best-Kept Secret category, and Best Topical category. And maybe Best Australian / New Zealand blog category, because I really liked the Lord of the Rings movies.
But this year, I think I’ll ask you to nominate some other deserving folks instead. Specifically, I recommend you head over to the (very strange and hard to navigate [Side scrolling? Really?]) Bloggies site and make the following nominations (you’ve got to make at least three nominations or your nomination won’t count):
- Best Sports Weblog: Up in Alaska, http://arcticglass.blogspot.com/
- Best Topical Weblog: Bike Snob NYC, http://bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com/
- Most Humorous Weblog: Dug, http://suncrestdug.wordpress.com/
- Best-Kept Secret Weblog: Pistols and Popcorn, http://www.pistolsandpopcorn.com/
- Best Photography of a Weblog: Confessions of a Pioneer Woman, http://thepioneerwoman.com/
And after you fill in your nomination form, make sure you scroll all the way to the right edge of the page (?!) and do the following:
- Fill in the captcha nonsense.
- Check the checkbox saying you’d love to be on the panel that chooses the finalists.
- Enter your email address.
- Click the Submit button.
- Check your email inbox (and your junk mail folder) for the confirmation email.
- Click the link in the email to confirm your vote.
Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.
About That Mysterious Post I Wrote Yesterday Morning
Of course, yesterday’s main post was about the properties of ancient Shot Bloks. Earlier in the day, however, I posted a short message saying that I was going to be a little slow with my main post, because my morning had been “pure insanity.”
I did not, however, describe the insanity, nor how it had reached such purity. I was still too close. I hadn’t recovered from the trauma.
Enough time (24 hours or so) has passed now, though, that I think I can talk about it.
All times, except the first one, are approximate.
“Something’s wrong, Elden.” That’s how Susan woke me up. Well, actually she was considerably more specific about what was wrong, but I’ve decided to obscure a couple of facts because of Too Much Information Syndrome concerns.
Suffice it to say that it was a minor emergency that requires a nurse’s help, and that the emergency becomes more and more urgent with every moment. Also, this emergency had happened before — a number of times — so I knew what was going on.
I called the hospice number, which said they’d send out the on-call nurse for the area as soon as possible.
The thing is, the on-call nurse was an hour’s drive away (in Payson, for those of you UT County locals) on a dry-road day…and it had snowed about six inches during the night. It would likely be more like 90 minutes or two hours before the nurse got here.
Meanwhile, I had four kids to get up, ready, and off to school.
I ran downstairs and woke up the oldest boy. Luckily, he’s totally self-reliant in his school prep. He doesn’t need — or want — any help or company first thing in the morning. Having been married to Susan for twenty years, I totally understand (I’m chatty and awake right from the get-go in the morning; Susan is not).
I ran back upstairs. I have twenty minutes before I need to wake the next child. This gives me the time I need to help Susan get some temporary relief while we wait for the nurse to get to our house. This means some lifting, moving, pulling and removing, and then more moving and positioning that I would never have guessed I’d be capable of three months ago.
I get it done in a reasonable amount of time, then leave Susan to herself while I prepare to wake our second boy: the vampire.
I go to the cat’s known hiding places until I find it under my bed. Using a broom, I scare it into the open and pick it up. This may seem like a spurious step, but it is in fact very important. By bringing the cat with me when I wake the vampire, I effectively distract the thirteen-year-old and give him a new target for his early morning grouchiness.
My method is this:
- Open the bedroom door.
- Throw the cat onto my son’s sleeping form.
- Laugh as hilarity and hijinks ensue.
Sure, I could be gentler. But you shouldn’t coddle vampires.
After talking — lightly, carefully — about unimportant things (very important to keep the things unimportant) for a few minutes, I am confident that my son is awake and I head back upstairs to check on Susan.
Susan says that my efforts toward bringing her some temporary relief have failed. She says this apologetically, as if it is somehow her fault. The thing is, though, there’s nothing more I can do for her but move her back onto her bed.
I’m virtually panicked at this point, knowing that Susan is becoming more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute, and it’s now been an hour, and the only technique I had for helping hadn’t helped at all.
It sucks to feel helpless when all you want to do is help.
I have fifteen minutes before the vampire should be upstairs, at which point I usually make his school lunch and talk with him — lightly, carefully — for a few minutes before he heads out the door.
This is a perfect opportunity for me to shovel the driveway, making it possible for the nurse to park at our house, and making it further possible for me to drive to work once all the kids are off to school.
The snow’s deeper than I expected. It takes half an hour instead of fifteen minutes. I do not realize this until I come back inside.
More important than my own lateness, though, is my son’s absence from the kitchen.
I run downstairs and find — to my horror — that the vampire has gone back to sleep.
Something snaps and I punch the door jamb (because even in my fury I know that punching drywall is a bad idea) half a dozen times, yelling at the vampire that today is not a good day to sleep in.
My son has never seen me punch anything before, and hence realizes that he probably ought to get up.
A leisurely riser, he usually takes a full hour to get himself ready for school. Today, he has ten minutes.
Telling him — repeatedly — that there is no way he is going to miss a second of school today because he went back to sleep after I woke him up, I rushed him through the routine and get him out the door.
As my son heads out the door, the nurse — finally! — arrives. Traffic was even worse than she had thought it would be.
Luckily, she does not need my help, which is good, because right as the nurse enters, one of the twins comes downstairs.
It turns out that in a (common for her) burst of creativity after I put her to bed last night, she had gotten out several small hair rubber bands and had given herself around ten very small ponytails.
Leaving the bands in, she had then gone to sleep.
The women among you know what this means. My girl’s hair — which I usually plan on “styling” with just a brush-through and a mist of hairspray in the morning — was not fixable without a shower.
And I do not factor shower time into the morning routine.
Rushing both the twins into the shower, I tell them to wash each other’s hair, get clean and towel off. They had five minutes.
They took ten. But to tell the truth, ten was what I was hoping for.
I get the girls out the door, having gotten them cleaned, dried, dressed, styled, fed, and packed in record time.
I talk with the nurse, who is just finishing up — but with the same kind of equipment that contributed to Susan’s discomfort in the first place.
But that was all she had with her. I shook my head, saying that I’m sure they’d be hearing from us again soon.
I then got Susan comfortable, dressed for the day, and fed. Everything was caught up.
Except me. I hadn’t even begun getting myself ready for work.
I head out the door, calling my coworkers that considering my 40-minute drive (when the roads are good) and the 25 minutes I have until our scheduled meeting, I might be a little tardy.
The roads are better than I expect — no ice, no accidents — and I’m only half an hour late for my first meeting of the day.
All things considered, I’m pretty pleased with that outcome.
So, how was your morning?
PS: At 9pm, the exact same problem happened to Susan again, for the exact same reason. This time, I believe this time we’ve got things properly fixed.