Fresh Mommy

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Oh, My Aching Toe

I was thinking of calling this post, "A Pity Party for Me" because I'm feeling sorry for myself right now. You see, I broke my toe last week. Not my big toe. No, not my little toe. My ring finger toe. You know, the toe I would wear my wedding ring on if I wore my wedding ring on my foot. My right foot, not my left foot. The fourth toe. On my right foot. It's broken, people. The fourth toe on my right foot is broken.

I blame the whole thing on my cats because I was rushing around, trying to get to the grocery store because, somehow, we were out of milk. And vegetables. And fruit. And eggs. (Actually I bought two dozen eggs at the store only to come home and find another dozen hiding in the fridge. Egg salad, anyone? My husband says it smells like a big fart, but I enjoy a good egg salad sandwich.) Anyway, I was rushing around, and there they were: yammering for food and water and God knows what else. So I have to run down to the laundry room because that's where we banished their food to (because a certain adorable baby girl was eating the cat food) and that's when I walked (ran?) into the loveseat that is crammed into one side of the downstairs along with a gazillion boxes and books and everything else that's there (don't judge me -- we haven't quite gotten around to organizing down there yet).

So it's broken. I know this for a fact because I researched the symptoms and treatment of a broken toe online (because I don't have a doctor up here yet and it didn't seem like good enough reason to go to the emergency room. Can you imagine? People with gunshot wounds and me going, here, look at my toe. No, not that one, the ring finger toe.) Symptoms: The toe hurts -- check. The toe is swollen -- check. The toe is black and blue -- check. Treatment: oh, there is no treatment. You just have to suffer people, just suffer. That's what they should say on webmd and ehealth and all those other sites. You have to live with it. Oh, and they also say something about icing and elevating. Sure, when K-Baby stops running around the house like a banshee (what's a banshee exactly?), I'll do just that.

But I did do this -- when K-Baby napped, I let myself sit on the sofa (maybe recline is a more accurate word) with my feet up and an ice pack wrapped around the aforementioned toe. And since I was already there, I flipped on the TV. And watched "Law & Order" reruns on TNT in the middle of the day (I prefer Carey Lowell to Angie Harmon). One day, she took a three hour nap. Man, it was great!

And then -- oh wait. I gotta go. K-Baby's napping and "Law & Order" just came on.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Scene 1 -- We're Not in Manhattan Anymore

The Time: Last night, 2 A.M.

The Place: A darkened bedroom, somewhere in the Sticks of Upstate, New York

Our lead characters are sleeping soundly after (finally) getting their (adorable) 19 month old daughter to sleep.

A sound from outside permeates the room -- Thud.

Fresh Mommy: "What the--?"

Husband: "The motion lights are on outside." He pops out of bed and disappears.

Fresh Mommy: "We're being robbed!"

Fresh Mommy stares out the window -- will she catch this bold invader in the act?

And then a bear (note to casting director -- get the biggest bear you can get!) shuffles across the yard.

Husband returns, looking strangely...excited by all the excitement: "The bear was here! Did you see it? It knocked over the garbage can. Holy shit! Did you see it? It was huge. I should have studied it more. I should have taken a picture of it. Holy shit!"

Fresh Mommy (as she pulls the covers over her head): "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Manhattan anymore."


End of Scene 1.







Thursday, July 20, 2006

How (and where?) to Begin?

So here I am. Blogging. Chose a name. Picked a template. Now what? How do I begin?

My good friend and blogger extraordinaire Staci Schoff suggested I blog. "You convey everyday events in a funny way," she said. By "everyday events" she means taking a crap at Target (which I do frequently). But, I don't know, is it okay to just start off with potty humor (which, by the way, if you don't like, this might not be the page for you)?

My in-laws supply a seemingly endless stream of material. There's the time my father-in-law asked my husband to clean the skidmarks off the bottom of the toilet bowl with just some toilet paper and his hand, for instance. (Oh, there I go with the bathroom talk again. I'm sorry.) Or my mother-in-law and how everything's "fine." My daughter could be choking on a chicken bone (God forbid) and her response would be, "She's FINE!"

Not that my parents are perfect either. My mother is the opposite of my mother-in-law -- nothing's fine and, in fact, she might be having a stroke at this very moment. If it's not a stroke, it could be cancer. Or maybe a heart attack. We're not sure yet. We'll get back to you on that one. And my father just likes to watch Jerry Springer and Judge Judy all day, but he'll never admit to it.


And my husband -- wow, forgot about him for a moment. Maybe I should mention to him that I'm doing this. But then he'll just try to put the kibosh on stories about his family, and believe me, that's where a lot of the material is. A lot.

Of course, I called this blog "Fresh Mommy," so maybe I should start by talking about being a mommy. Maybe I should talk about my baby girl, so sweet and so cute, and not really a baby anymore. How when I say, "Can I have a kiss?" she replies, "NO!!" Fresh girl.

So, I don't know, how should I start this thing? Decisions, decisions. I'm going to eat on it and get back to you.