Sep. 16: A sucky day that sucked

Today has, for the most part, been a real farker of a day. A stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done kind of day.

First of all, it was picture day at the grade school. You know I don’t have the best experience with picture days past, and I probably stress over them way too much now. But that’s me. This morning I got the kids ready and although there wasn’t too much argument over what I picked out for them to wear, Katie drove me insane over her hair. Doesn’t she understand that I know what I’m doing? That no one—no one!—wields a better hot roller than I? Gah, I was so glad when I finally shoved her out of the car dropped her off at school.

Then I got involved in a project and suddenly realized three hours had passed and I wasn’t prepared for the meeting I had scheduled. I managed to move the meeting and got some other urgent tasks done before I started on my afternoon of errands. Among other things, today was our day to pick up the kitten from the pound. I called to let them know I was on my way and suddenly both of my phones were ringing. Yes, I am very popular. No, none of these calls had anything to do with my popularity.

In fact, the calls were from the school and Vic, both telling me Jack fell off the monkey bars and hurt his arm. Vic left work right away because they’d told him Jack’s arm might be broken. I left home immediately to get to the school before Vic and look like the more concerned parent. I win!

As soon as I saw my sweet boy’s arm, I knew it was broken. It was such a weird shape and it was all I could do to hold myself together. Jack was being brave so I figgered I had to be too. We sat in the sick room and waited for Vic. Katie came by and pretended to care but I’m pretty sure she just wanted to get out of school early.

Diagnosis: a Colles fracture. Hours later, Jack was home with a green cast and drugged up enough to think it was pretty cool, which is why he’s smiling in this photo and why, as I write this hours later and the drugs have worn off, he’s as grumpy and whiny as you would expect a kid who just fractured his arm to be.

Katie and I picked up the cat. We gave her about an hour to sniff around the house and get familiar with things before we introduced her to the dogs. She was instantly not impressed with them. Still, I tried to play peacemaker. Three very deep arm gashes later, I have decided maybe a cat does not belong in our house. I don’t know what our future holds, cat-wise.



By the way, we chose the name “Millicent” (Millie) for kitty. It supposedly means “industrious,” and we interpret that to mean “mouse-catcher extraordinaire.” At this rate, though, it’s more likely to mean “lived in our bookcase for two days and then the dogs ate her.”


The best news out of today is that school pictures were taken before anyone broke their arm or had their skin torn off by a frightened kitten. So, y’know, there’s that.