Today's word is protuberant

The photos that are uploaded from my iPhone are kind of suckish, so I'll be uploading them from my computer from now on NOW THAT I'M CLEARED TO WALK. I'll get back to that.

A few weeks ago I planted a tomatillo plant because I love white bean chili and wanted to grow my own white bean chili garden.  Except the only other ingredient I planted was regular tomatoes, since I find dumping white beans out of a can much easier than shucking, and I also find it difficult to grow rotisserie chicken in Arizona.  So anyway, my tomatillo plant was all gangly and spindly and not producing any fruit, just a million little yellowish flower blob things.  I finally googled to see what was wrong and CRAP.  It turns out that you must have both male and female plants for cross-pollination and I only have one lonely non-bisexual plant.  I took a trip to the nursery today (because I am also cleared to drive as of today FINALLY) and tried to pick up a new tomatillo plant so mine can have an active sex life and instead came home with THIS:

Creepy? Yes.

Emma named him Henry and as I was cooking dinner tonight (because I can get up on two feet and cook again FINALLY) I turned around to find him sitting on the counter less than a foot away from me, staring with his giant scary eyes, and I actually shrieked.  (Giggle fits for Emma.  Haha, yes, you're very funny with your owl who may want to get his thyroid checked.)  I also found Henry buckled into the back seat of my Explorer.  He is now on the couch covered in a blanket with his head nestled comfortably on a throw pillow.

By the way I ripped out my lame-o asexual tomatillo.  We don't want your kind here, plant.

So ANYway, I went back to my awesome foot surgeon yesterday and was lectured about how many adhesions I have already.  He took hold of my already completely frozen foot and jacked it way over to the side, leading to much profanity, grimacing and sweating on my part.  He kept insisting that I was "protecting" it still, by holding it up straight and not letting it relax.  DUDE.  IT DOESN'T MOVE ANYMORE.  IT IS RELAXED.  I left his office in a really bad mood.  (I plan to take this all out on my physical therapist tomorrow.)  But as I *may* have mentioned I am cleared to walk without my crutches (with the storm trooper boot on) and am now allowed to drive.  (With the storm trooper boot off.)  This means that I can also jump back into being able to do mundane things like dishes and cooking and housework, and you probably won't believe me but I am SO happy about that.  No really, I am.  

More photos:

This is the first year I've planted hollyhocks.  Next time I'll plant them against a wall, since our "gustnado" or "dirtnado" or whatever it is the weatherman is calling that crazy weather we had last week knocked a bunch of them down, but overall I'm in love.  They are covered in ruffly flowers.

Baby zuchinni.

And THIS, my civilian friends, is what an army man getting his brand-new uniforms ready to wear looks like.  He burns off all the extra little threads with a blowtorch while his wife with the anxiety issues worries about him lighting the bed on fire.  He doesn't know that I took this shot, and I don't know how often he even visits the blog, so....HI HONEY!  I find this "new uniform ritual' of his fascinating.

Nighty nite.

Photopalooza

Sunday randoms

A few thoughts as I struggle to convince my body that actually sleeping at night is permitted while I'm on short-term leave from work.

City of Angels? Geez, no wonder so many Americans are on antidepressants. Thank you 3TV, for playing quite possibly the worst movie that could be aired at one in the morning. Humans awake at this time are up because we're either stressing over the purchase of a new house, or our lovebird recently died, or we have a nearly twelve year-old that is giving us all kind of lip and our hearts are breaking because teenage years are looming on the horizon and they look a little ominous. More Southpark or Ellen please.

So yes, we wrote a contract for a house yesterday that will be built while I work on getting my body ready to try to get pregnant. It's time for us to be homeowners again.

But we also lost Joey yesterday. My sweet little clown of a lovebird who I teased and spoke to all day. He was alive in the morning but when we came home last night he was gone. That's the tricky part about birds - they are champions at hiding illness until it's too late. I know this and yet feel so guilty for not noticing a clue to his not feeling well that maybe could have saved him. He was so tiny and to a lot of people "it's just a bird" but Emma and I are so sad because we really did love him and he loved us.

See what City of Angels has done to me tonight?

Time for a tub of cookie dough and some emo music.

Fart face

Chad and I are laying in bed, winding down after a long day of Chad doing all the chores while I work on getting bedsores all day long. (Tendon surgery is not made for active folks.) He's reading what I can only assume is a vampire novel while I play on my phone and I suddenly feel his eyes on me.

Me: What? Did you fart?

Chad: Noooo. I was smiling at you because I love you.

Me: Then why did you have your 'I just farted' look on?

Chad: THIS is my fart look.

Me: So then my question is why does your fart face look exactly like your "I love my wife' face?

Farty: Because I feel love during both of those faces.

This marriage just keeps getting more romantic every year.

The latest foot picture:

What happens when a lightweight hubs gets an IV sedative and tries to text

Jam

How ridiculous is it that I'm posting this from my iPhone because I don't want to get back on those blasted crutches?  It's late and I've reached my crutch usage limit for the day.  Unless all that Miralax miraculously and suddenly kicks in.  Then I'll win some kind of land speed record for hightailing it to the john using assistive devices.  Narcotics do bad things to the lower end of humans.

(Thank you for the picture, fellow nurse Tarsa.)

TMI, I know.

Isn't this fun?

Here's some more fun.  Today I went from this: (that's a cold water circulating device around my post-op splint, very spiffy)

To all the latest in Storm Trooper spring footwear:

And here's the TMI part, the carnage:

GACK! 

Couple of torn tendons, a joint effusion and a ruptured ligament.  Lots of scar tissue that had welded the old damaged tendons in place.  I got what's called a Brostrom procedure done, tendon transfer and an arthroscopic debridement of my messed up joint. Here's the most YUCK part.  But kinda cool.  But still kinda yuck.  I have placenta in my foot.  That's right, they used stem cells from placental tissue and implanted a couple blobs on if it in there to improve healing.  Hopefully I'll be cleared for walking in three weeks, and I'll let you know if my foot is pregnant in about four.

Goooooodnight.

That's MRS. Grumpypants to you

So our baby-making plans are on hold.  That's all I'm going to say about that, because I'm sick of talking about it.  And kinda depressed over it.  And sick of talking about how I'm depressed over it.  SHUT UP, ME.

Ok, well I *will* tell you that I'm having surgery next Wednesday to repair what was apparently never repaired at all.  Downside?  Surgery, non-weight bearing for six to eight weeks.  Having to have someone help me wipe my own bum.  Upside?  The doctor says he's going to give me Dilaudid.

At least I'll be tweaked out enough this time to not want to chew my own foot off.

AND new subject.

Emma has apparently decided that now is a good time to act pre-menstrual.  Because there's not enough drama going on around here without her rolling her eyes at me every two seconds and arguing with EVERYTHING I say, especially if it has anything to do with birds.  Because suddenly she's a bird expert and the rest of us are all idiots. 

This morning she unfortunately timed an eye-roll and a snotty retort with MORNING *** and ended up getting her iPod taken away for the week.  We're not the corporal punishment type of parents.  Well, I think Chad would be if I let him.  But I am not.  So he isn't.  So we do the most awful, unimaginable thing next to snuffing our cigarette butts out on our child's arm: we take away her technology.
What do I find when I sit down at my desk this evening to waste some time on Facebook?  A blue outdated iPod plugged into my computer.  Ok, whatever.  I'm surfing around and Emma comes up behind me, picks up the iPod and says, "Oh GOOD, it's charged! Since you took away my other one I'm using this one!"

Parent: 1, Kid: 0

At least she hasn't figured out how to really be sneaky yet.

AND camping pictures. Because what's more fun than camping in the freezing cold for three days with three dogs and an eleven year-old who has no access to technology?  Camping WITH A BUSTED FOOT in the freezing cold for three days with three dogs and an eleven year-old who has no access to technology.

Can you tell that Sadie just had ELEVEN teeth pulled?  Now she looks like she lives in a doublewide and has a brother who is also her cousin.

 (It actually was a lot of fun to be unplugged from the world for three days but whining is fun for me right now.  I'm still smiling on the inside.)

***I am SO not a morning person - just ask my friend Jamie. I hit her in the head with a flashlight when she attempted to wake me up at girl's camp one summer.  Sorry Jamie.