Why I am Typing with my Tongue...

I don't like to complain, but enough already. Yesterday was another rainy day here in Portland. Our rainfall totals for June stand at close to nine inches. That is about 6 inches above normal. And that is not including todays drip interspersed with downpours topped off by fog. I think I have mold growing behind my ears. My new, not cheap, I am finally going to be comfortable on the beach, beach chair has only been used once.

Not only is there mold growing behind my ears but I think my brain is molding as well. If I hear one more child scream "MOOOOOMMMMMMM" at the top of their lungs I am going to jump ship. I can't seem to find the will to do anything. Except for take a nap. That was ended when the 8 year felt the need to tip toe into my room to get a book. As if there were not enough books all over the house, he needed one from my room.

As I write this, the younger ones are trying to break down their older sisters door.

MUCH, MUCH, MUCH LATER....

Here's how it unfolded:

11 year old comes down to tell me that the 8 and 4 year old have knocked all of the paint off of their door. I think that the paint came off when one of them slammed the door so hard that the house shook. After I bellowed for the 8 and 4 year old to come talk to their Momma and receive their just reward, I asked the 11 year old to put the kettle on for me. And I specifically asked her to check to see if there was enough water in the kettle. The 8 year old was in time out and the kettle was whistling. In a huff, I poured my cup of tea. Only there was less then a third of a cup of water in the kettle. And the lid fell off. And the ring and pinkie finger on my right hand were blasted by a cloud of very hot steam. And I screamed.

And the kids all came running. Door slamming incident mercifully forgotten. As I stood in the kitchen and cried. And I don't cry. O.K. I do cry cry. But only during sappy chick flicks and Hallmark commercials. Or when I burn the shit out of my hand.

Then the kids started crying too. Because nothing freaks a kid out more then seeing the Momma, that tower of strength, cry.

I slapped a cold pack on it and that did the trick. Then I ripped a chunk out of my 11 year olds ass for not checking the water in the kettle. Bad move. Now we were all crying again.

I then decided that the ice WAS NOT WORKING. We are talking my mouse hand, people! I couldn't take the hand away from the ice long enough to click and read! And forget about typing a comment. Pain should not be involved when you are typing a comment.

With the 13 year old in tow I drove one handed to the local drug store to ask for...drugs. They have those super private, Ask Me Any Dumb Ass, STD Question you can think of booths for a reason. For me!

"Ah, I know that you are not a Doctor, but could you tell me what I can put on this burn, RIGHT NOW, that will help me?"

The next thing I knew my 13 year old daughter was spraying my fingers in the car in the parking lot of the drug store. We had to open the windows so that we would not OD on benzocaine spray. In about 15 seconds my fingers thawed out and the pain came screaming back. My daughter was reading to me about the "quick and thorough" pain relief. Only I was not getting it. There is something wrong when you are doing your labor breathing and you are NOT in labor!

I am now relatively pain free. The 2 Morin and 3 glasses of wine have finally helped the "pain relieving" spray kick in.

Thank God. Because typing with my tongue was tough...

Still Late: After the ex-hubby rode to the Fair Maidens rescue all hell broke lose. Someone, The Little Old Man Who Lives On the Third Floor and Is Responsible For All Unexplainable Mysteries in our house, left the older girls paint chipped door open. And the dog, my fifth child, got into their room and had the effrontery to eat their candy. The candy they had earned with the sweat of their tender brows. Helping their Momma clip the gazillion bushes in the front yard. Oh, the fun never ends.