Pincha coolie

Life has progressed with remarkable speed. Christmas now a distant flicker. Today it was final, with the wind having ripped down the garland outside. So we decided, alas, to take it down completely. (The Christmas tree is still rolling around the front yard like a tumbleweed. Our plan is to take to the recycling center like good citizens...)

The new year came in like a lion. We had some neighbor/friends over and proceeded to make it a rager. I just love those last minute shindigs that turn into fun-to-be-had-by-all. I had a little too much fun – so my first day of 2008 wasn’t as pleasurable as it could have been. Which means my first week of 2008 has involved zero alcohol – as a nod to my poor, worn out liver. NYE is never good to me. I think it has something to do with the very end of the night champagne. It’s champagne that really, really hates me. And I swear I’ve never been anything but nice to it (although I have been choosing prosecco over it whenever possible. So that must be it.)

Work came back with a vengeance. The week kicked off with a letter from the IRS saying we would be audited on Jan. 31st. Fun times. They picked 2006 which is only the second full year we were in business. Nothing like picking on us just as we’re getting going! I spent hours gathering everything they asked for (plus some to ease my mind.) Then there was all of the end of year crap associated with finalizing books and taxes for a S-corp. I was seeing double by Friday.

In the midst of that, we finally launched a blog (that’s been in the works for months) via a bloginar/webcast. It was a huge relief to have it up and out there at last. This week it goes public, but we’re talking very niche, high-tech, highly-limited public. So nothing much to see there ☺

Then there’s the hubby. In what may seem like a spontaneous act, he went for the chop-chop, vite-vite. He has been very sure that two girls are more than enough of a blessing and decided to take the plunge. I was happy to put the onus on him for a change and gave my full support. But he did it so quickly that I just started thinking, “What tha’—?”

Here’s how it went: He went in for a consultation on Friday the 28th while the girls and I had lunch at Breadworks. I, of course, jumped in with all of the necessary words of encouragement and support, “Getting the ole snip-a-roo-sky, eh?” “Making the cut, huh?” He loved this. Surrounded in warmth as we was. Especially when I mentioned, “It’s about time it’s you at the end of the knife!”

The best part? The doctor’s name is Dr. Weiner. And I am so not joking. (We can split hairs here and go into the explanation that it’s actually pronounced “whiner” – but, really, what’s the diff? That pronunciation only got me going with, “Oh. Is that because that’s what men who get this done get to do? Ala “The Man Cold”?)

The week between consultation and cut flew and it was all over in a flash. Our will to bear arms. And legs. And brains. And girls. It’s so over.

He took no pre-valium. We just dropped the girls at Nanners’ for a much-anticipated playdate and babysitting courtesy of Nanners’ big sis. Then headed to the medical office. Much too early. We spent more time waiting for them to call our name than I did for the hubby to walk out. And walk out he did. As if nothing had happened. Although I was pretty sure something did. Especially since the nurse made deliberate eye contact with me as she asked, “Do you give your consent to this?” I consented.

He seemed overly bubbly and I asked him to please stop walking so fast. I grabbed his arm as he headed for the stairs. “Not so fast, slick. We’re talking the elevator.” We picked up lunch, returned a friend’s call (who’s considering the same thing very soon) and headed home. I picked up Bean and left Miss 6 for the rest of the afternoon, playing happily with Nanners.

We spent the rest of the day refilling ice packs (or I did) and shoving them down pants. Six hours later, he was ready to make pizza dough. The only snag was when Miss 6 came home and her over-active imagination kicked in. I had only said there was surgery. Minor surgery and offered no details. She had her eagle eye on her Daddy though and it wasn’t long before she said, “Mom? Why did Daddy have to have surgery on his cooch?” Crap. “Well. It’s so we won’t have any more babies.” Pause. Then, “But. Wait. You have the babies. Not Daddy!” Crap. Crap. Crap. “Yea. Well. He does part and he got rid of that part.” “Oh. But that means you can still have a baby then?” Seriously. “Not if I’m married to Daddy.” And that brought it to a finale.

Other than a reaction to the pain meds, he has done amazingly well. I’m so proud. But let me just say that I didn’t do so well. I’m not a good nurse. And when the baby is yelling at me, the dog is barking to be let in, Miss 6 needs help with the computer and the hubby needs his ice pack refilled. Well. Let’s just say that I have to pause and scream inside my head for a minute or so.

To top it all off, this morning was holiday-delayed trash day. The first mixed paper pick up following Christmas. So there was a mountain of boxes in the garage threatening to bury us all. All ready for me to break down, flatten and put out for pick up. I wish I wasn’t so damned environmental. I would have just tossed the lot out front for the 100 mph winds to blow into some stupid sucker’s yard who would pick it up and recycle it themselves.. But nooooo….I took it on. And just as I set the last bit out I, 1) slipped on ice and fell, and 2) was almost killed by a gust of wind that took half of what I’d just done and sent it down the street anyway. I finally retrieved it all only to come inside and see that the huge rock I had put on the lid had blown off and the two biggest boxes were gone. AGAIN. So out I went. Once more. Sinking into the ankle-deep snow to get the stupid, stupid boxes and put them back in the bin. (Good thing because one of the boxes had our name on it and the other was for a pan that our nearest neighbors all knew we had just purchased.)

So that was it though. I lived. And as I have mentioned on numerous occasions, it truly is ALL ABOUT ME.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: You Know I’m No Good. Amy Winehouse. …I told you I was trouble…