I don't exactly know why I shirk my blog. Maybe because I have no idea if anyone reads it or not, maybe because I am afraid you ARE out there, reading. Maybe I'm lazy or have given up on my life as a writer or am too busy or, well, whatever. It's just HARD to make time sometimes, so I guess I'll stop flogging myself about it and just write when the spirit is occupado. Here is our life, abruptly, updated:
Fletcher got his cast off last Thursday!!! It was such an occasion. He refused to listen to the I-Pod or watch a movie on it like his doctor suggested - he was fixated on that screeching, rotating saw blade with eyeballs the size of hard-cooked eggs and a death-grip on my hands, which he insisted I cover his ears with. Of course we all survived. But as though my son has a psychic ability to predict an "I told you so" the technician actually burnt a small pink line on his tan little arm just where his break was. See Fletcher knew he would be injured in the cast removal process in spite of all the encouraging words to the contrary. Well, wouldn't you know it, the little sourpuss guessed correctly. And boy did he let us know it.
And I was so shocked to see that smooth, tan, perfect little arm emerge from the stinky orange fiberglass cast, or "arm home" as Fletcher liked to say - I was anticipating a withered little old man arm, a white and flaky and stinking shriveled thing with no muscle tone and the flacidity of an elderly, well, you know what. But there it was, tanned and perfect, just like the other arm. Kids are amazing, as the technician pointed out.
So he babied it for a day and then it was back to jumping, dancing, screaming, playing, waving it around like an angry noodle. Then two days later we were somewhere playing hide and seek when he fell flat on concrete, both arms out in front to catch him and I almost threw up my heart, which got stuck in my throat, and it turns out he was just fine, save for a scraped palm. Oy, that boy.
Fletcher has started a new daycare program right across the street from my work. He wailed the first day, absolutely wailed and I felt like a heartless c-u-n-t for walking out that door after 15 minutes of screaming, wriggling boy dragging me to the floor and actually feeling a little relieved. I am sin. But by the end of the week - this week - he is adjusting well and seeming to enjoy himself and I am really enjoying the extra daylight hours we are getting to spend together, even if I have no afterwork nap anymore.
Gwendolyn is enjoying the end of summer school, the anticipation of Disney World, and most importantly to her, us being gone all day. Her best friend is gone to Hawaii for the rest of the summer. The crazy nut calls like 3 times a day. To share the experience. I mustn't say more.
I am just as boring as ever. Working hard on my sourdough starter and physical conditioning (okay, like 30 minutes of exercise 3 days a week if I'm lucky) and eating healthier and oh yeah, using Crest White Strips. Told ya I'm a drag. Peace out.