Upside Down, Boy You Turn Me Inside Out and Round and Round

It is Friday again, which means it is time to discuss another Work in Progress. May I present...


My broken foot!

Yes, I said broken foot.

Which means I'm in the process of healing said broken foot.

Stupid piece of nature.

I went to my family doctor Wednesday afternoon and told him what happened. He looked through my file and saw that the specialist who was suppose to go over my x-rays taken on Tuesday didn't put any notes in my chart. Then he went looking for the radiology report for the previous day, because the results should have been there, but there was no report. So the doctor ordered another set of x-rays.

Because I was in a wheelchair (because everyone has to make this situation as dramatic as possible) and the door to our shoebox waiting room wouldn't close, I heard the doctor exclaim down the hall, "Wow! It really is broken!"

Immediately following, "Uh-oh. It can't be broken that way!"

The doctor was convinced that something was wrong with the x-rays and order another set of x-rays. When that set came back, my Very Christian Doctor reviewed them and mumbled shit under his breath.

Turns out not only did I break a bone in my foot, I broke it in the worst possible way.

I broke a bone in half, a very clean break with no ragged edges (ragged edges heal better). In the location that it is broken is called a Jones Fracture. According to my doctor, a Jones Fracture runs the risk of not having proper blood flow and not healing itself, in which case I may have to have surgery to pin the two pieces together.

Typically, when you break a bone in your foot you get a walking boot. But noooooooooo, not me. I have to have a fucking cast because I can't put any weight on it.

I'll go in Thursday for another round of x-rays and get a new cast (my doctor doesn't like the angle my foot is at in this one because it doesn't fully extend my calf muscle, but due to the break I couldn't hold my foot in the proper angle). If all goes well, I'll have a cast for a total of six weeks and then get a walking boot (for how long, I have no clue).

Until then, I'm camped out on the couch and trying to learn how to balance. Which is rather ridiculous, considering it was my crap-ass balancing that got me in this situation in the first place.

If I Could Open My Mouth Wide Enough for a Marching Band to March Out

Mother Nature is on my shit list right now. So is the Universe.

::shaking fists in the air::

Yesterday I stupidly decided to take the boys to the park. I say stupidly because I didn't feel up to it and didn't want to, but they were acting like little banshees and were trying to figure out how to drive me crazy and/or burn the house down.

Both boys were tripping all over the park, throwing hissy fits and not listening. After putting up with their crap for an hour, I decided it was time to leave.

When we got to the van, Griffin and Darwin took it upon themselves to try to raise all the evil souls in Haites to use their wrath upon me. It worked Really Well.

I opened the door for Griffin to climb in, Darwin refused to walk (he went boneless) and I had to carry him. I had 33 extra pounds on my left hip.

Then it happened.

I stepped on a piece of nature (stupid nature) and twisted my foot. I regained my balance and started walking. Turns out the piece of nature-that-was-larger-than-a-golf-ball was till under my foot, and I took a huge tumble in slow motion.

Instinct kicked in and I did everything I could to prevent Darwin from getting hurt. I fell, fell and fell -- I was scraped, bruised and whacked my head on the van. Darwin was fine, not a scratch. However, I tore up my knee complete with a river of blood, scraped my neck, bonked my head and had 76 bruises. And my foot. My foot.

By the time I got home I couldn't walk on it. The doctor's office was too busy to see me, so I had to wait three hours for urgent care to open. I had x-rays and an exam. The doctor was convinced that I broke my foot (broke. my. foot?), but the x-rays showed all the bones are fine. But he needs a specialist to look it over, because he's still convinced it is broken.

I asked him about the soft tissue, if any ligaments are torn and he said he didn't know and there's no way to tell (stupid medical science, surely there's a way to tell).

I have an appointment this afternoon to see my real doctor and probably have more x-rays done. My foot is seriously swollen and and purple with little brown bruises all over. Ubber-gross and very painful.

My muscles in my foot are spasming and sending shooting pains up to my knee. I can't do anything by myself, and getting across the room is like an aerobic activity.

I have to lay down with my foot raised above my heart with ice packs on it. My step-mom brought over her walker last night (which helped a little) and my cousin Sarah is over today to help fully take care of the boys. My aunt loaned me some crutches, but even at the lowest setting they are too tall for me (damn things come up to my ears).

Sarah went down to the basement to get me my laptop so I could at least write this and then read the blogs off bloglines (which, by the way, has 165 posts for me to read, so that should entertain me for a while). And I can't post photos because we haven't networked the computers together yet, and there's no way in hell I can make it downstairs to upload the photos.

Like you all would actually want to see my foot, knee and other battle scars.

Of course, anytime I tell someone what happened their first question is, "Are you still going to Michigan?" According to Aaron, the answer is yes. Me? I'm letting the doctor decide. I honestly don't know how I can handle a 750 mile trip and then be over two hours away from a Whole Foods with my foot all jacked up.

One thing is for sure. If my foot doesn't kill me, my in-laws will.

I Wish You'd Stop Ignoring Me, Because You're Sending Me to Despair

First things first... I made the madeleines. Mmmm.... gluten-free coconut madeleines.


And no situation is more appropriate for madeleines than a Batman birthday party. Right? Right.

I think I may be officially on my way to conquering this whole gluten-free baking business. Ha! Nanny-nanny-boo-boo! Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!

Yesterday I got to go out to Lawrence all by myself. Oh yeah, you heard right: All. By. My. Self.

I got to drive in the car for 45 minutes without any crying or talking. I got to listen to music and sing along without anyone telling me that my voice is awful. I got to stroll up and down the street window shopping without anyone complaining about wanting to be carried.

It. Was. Glorious.

You want to know what else is glorious?

My fabric purchases.

(And Amy? Remember when I questioned you on your post about Sarah's? I'm eating crow now. Mmmm, crow. Yummy-yummy crow.)


Fabric to make traveling bags for me and the kids. We are leaving for Michigan on Saturday to visit Aaron's family.

(Stop laughing.)


1930s reproductions.


And some stuff purchased at the antique mall. The strawberry fabric is old curtains and the other is a huge table cloth.

No, I don't know what I'm going to do with them. Does everything in life need a plan?

Geesh.

It Doesn't Matter What They Say, in the Jealous Games People Play

I had fully planned on doing this yesterday, but my entire day got derailed by another phone call, which resulted me in curling up in a ball and crying in the playroom closet all day.

You think I'm kidding?

I'm totally not.

Anyway, here's the result of the banana bread from yesterday...


Yummy. But...

It didn't rise enough.

It was kinda dry.

The flavors didn't "pop" the way I wanted them too.

It didn't slice well (it just crumbles).

Of course, it didn't stop me and Griffin from nearly eating the entire loaf in less than 24 hours. But I still need to play around with the recipe some more.

And of course, the madeleines were not made yesterday, so I need to go do that soon.

And here is my decorating dilemma...

Our house was built in the 40s. Between the house and the garage was a breezeway. In the 70s it was made into a room. The previous owner used it as a dining room. But since it has doors everywhere -- one to the front yard (that we use as our front door, the "real" front door has bad chi for coming into and out of the house), one to the garage, one to the backyard, a doorway to the kitchen and a doorway to the living room. Hence, that's why I call it the entry room -- it enters a lot of rooms.

When we were first looking to buy this house over six years ago, one of the first things I told Aaron was that the room needed to be redone. It had a cool red wallpaper with an ugly border, but the wallpapering job was horrible. You could see the seams and they were peeling really bad. It use to look like this...


... and, of course, what happens to a room with a shoddy wallpapering job when you have kids?

They rip it to shreds.

The room has officially been torn up and in "progress mode" aka DO SOMETHING WITH MY ALREADY YOU CRAZY LADY since July of last year.

Here's a part of the valance that use to hang in there...


I never really liked it much, and it didn't quite match (and doesn't quite match the red I have planned), but it went great with the watermelon border (yes, Water. Mellon. Border. There are no words to describe the fugliness of the watermelon border).

We liked having the room red, a lot. And we want that room to still be red. But, (here's the big dilemma) we are not sure we have fixed all the water leaks. And because we didn't get all of our rainfall last fall, and then again this past spring, and even now we are considered in a drought there is no way of knowing when we are going to get enough rain to be certain that all of our water leaks into that room are repaired.

And I'm really tired of it looking this way.

But I'm not going to dump all the work, time and money into that room to paint it a dark red and then find out we have HUGE water damage that we couldn't see.

So, here's what the room looks like now...


South-facing wall, to the back yard.


West facing wall, to the kitchen and dining room. This is the wall that the armoire lives.

You can also see here that I've had to plaster the walls (it's about half way down) because of course half the room is drywall and half the room is 70s fake paneling.


North-facing wall, front door.


East facing wall, garage door.

I have a lot of plans for this room, and having it torn up for nearly a year is Officially Driving Me Crazy.

So, until we know all the water leakage is fixed, I was thinking of finishing the plastering, priming and painting the room a soft green like this...

Something really light so we can keep an eye of water damage, but so the room doesn't look like a constructions zone anymore. Then, after a year (or however the fucking long it is going to take to figure out the water leak) I can paint the room the dark red and do my faux-finish treatment.

So, what do you think?

(And Aaron should be home today. Finally. And he should stay in town all next week. It's about damn time.)

When You Have Completed what You Thought You Had to do and Your Blood's Depleted to the Point of Stable Glue

It is Work in Progress Friday again, and wow, do I have a lot of works in progress.

Sorry to disappoint, but the quilt is still in the same stage as it was last week.

I've been working on the cookbook all week. Coooooooookbooooooook.

And this is today's work in progress...


...halfway there...


... ready for the oven (in the oven right now actually).


Yes! Gluten-free banana bread. Baaaannnnnaaaaannnnnaaaa brrrreeeeeeaaaadddddd. Oh, you have no clue how much I've missed you, banana bread. Please, be yummy.


Apparently, it has passed it's first test for publication.

Later today, I'm hoping to also make some gluten-free madeleines. We have a birthday party to go tomorrow, so I'm hoping for a nice test audience.

I'm going to be overloading all my friends and family with gluten-free food for the next few months. Be prepared.

Also, I'm at a quandary with my entry room (it's so funny calling it an entry room considering how small my house is), so I may be asking for advice later. Yes, advise. Because y'all are cheaper than professional decorators and psychiatrists.

My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard

I'm sitting here working on the cookbook (yes! I'm actually working on the cookbook!) and I've come to a serious conclusion:

I HATE MICROSOFT PUBLISHER.

Bloody hell, how do you all put up with it? Think Aaron will let me buy Quark tonight for $750? It is Darwin's birthday, after all. And I did push him out of my delicate girly bits two years ago today.

I deserve presents and gifts. I did do all the work, after all. And let's not discuss the hell he put me through going into the NICU and almost dying. And let's not discuss his great amount of medical debt, his multiple food allergies (over 250!) or his horrible eye accident. I need a reward!

I need expensive publishing software!

Yes, this all sounds So Logical!

Let's just buy the lot! Quark! InDesign! Photoshop! Acrobat! Illustrator! I don't need Illustrator, but lets get it anyway!

Have I mentioned I HATE PUBLISHER?!

Have I mentioned that Darwin has entered his terrible two's with a VENGEANCE?!

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, Comin' for to Carry Me Home

Earlier today I posted about the... incident and begged for help.

Aaron called soon after my post, and I told him what happened (including the part of my soul JUMPING OUT OF MY BODY when I discovered the incident).

I mismashed his advice with everyone else's; I put on my super-thick rubber gloves, nested two freezer bags inside of one another, inverted it and grabbed the trap by the corner, then pulled the bags back over the incident. I never had to touch it; but boy-oh-boy, did I ever get a good look.

Just so everyone knows, the incident was very smart. Its little arm was outreached very far and I'm surprised that it lost its life, not just an arm.

Anyway.

My dear friend Kim, who I have known for years, unknowingly (perhaps, actually, knowingly) guilted me into treating the incident with respect and remorse.

Tonight after I put the boys to bed, I put on my leather gardening gloves, grabbed a shovel and searched for an appropriate place to bury the incident (hey, it's better to call it the incident instead of it's original name, Little Fucker. Have some respect for the deceased). It took four tries before I found its proper burial ground (ie, the place where I could actually dig a hole deep enough in the dark, where the kids usually don't play).

So I told the incident that I'm sorry its life is over; I hope it finds peace, solace and top-quality, gourmet, gluten-free chocolate in its next life. May its next life be happy, fulfilled and more peaceful than its old life.

And I said it all with a straight face and no sarcastic remarks. And I meant it.

[By the way, I was going to bury the dead black bird too, but it was gone. May you have a wonderful next life as well bird.]

Hickory, Dickory, Dock, The Mouse Ran Up the Clock

The problem with living in an old house is, well, it's an old house.

Don't get me wrong, I love my house, but it was much more... more... um... livable back when we had three cats (whom we had to find all new homes due to Darwin's allergies).

(You know where this is going now, don't you?)

Occasionally, we get little... um... problems in the house. Which always freak the whole living shit out of me. Last year, they lived in the suspended ceiling in the basement, and I heard them scurrying over my head when I was down there working. But, of course, they eventually have to make their way upstairs to the kitchen. ::chills:: We got some of those sonic sound thing-a-ma-bobbers which has helped considerably. But, they are not fool proof.

I realized while Aaron was out of town on his never-ending business trip that... well... we had another visitor. Little fucker kept getting into my junk drawer (you know, where you keep your scissors, stamps, tape, candles, nail files, top shelf chocolate) and leaving behind "calling cards." Little fucker had the audacity to eat a half-bar of my favorite chocolate bar.

Obviously, we are dealing with something with Very Good Taste.

When Aaron was home this weekend, he put out four traps: two in the junk drawer and two under the sink. The next morning all four were cleaned of the peanut better, but never were shot off.

Obviously, we are dealing with something with Higher Intelligence.

So, he set them off again and they have sat... and sat... and sat... until this morning.

Here's what I found in the junk drawer (it's okay to look)...


No. Peanut. Butter.

Fucker!

And here's what I found under the sink...

(You may not want to look.)

(I'm serious.)

(Don't look.)

(Seriously.)

(Avert your eyes.)

(I'm not kidding here, internet.)

(Don't look.)


(I told you not to look!)

Um... um... what he hell am I suppose to do now? Seriously, internet, I am FREAKING OUT HERE. It clearly states in Paragraph Two, Section Five of the Laura Capello Handbook that Laura is Squeamish and a Big Wussy. She shall not deal with vermin.

I need some help.

Seriously.

Help.

Now I, I Wish it Would Rain Down, Down on Me

Does anyone know what a jumped-up-from-the-middle-of-no- where-polka-dotted-rash-with-runny-nose could be? Anyone? Anyone?

Ah, yes. It has been one of those days.

Earlier today, it acted like it was going to rain. Notice I said acted like. We really need rain. My grass is turning brown and I'm too lazy conservative to pull the hose out to water it. I have a rule (ha, I have many rules) that if I'm going to grow something in my yard, then it needs to survive the freaking Kansas weather. I dig a hole, drop it in the ground, water it (and maybe even a few times) and leave it alone.

You survived? Great! You didn't? Well then, they shouldn't have been selling you in the nursery. Should they?

Perhaps I need to adopt that attitude a little more towards my children. Hmmmm.

Anyway... they played in the sandbox...


And ate lots of sand.


You can see a little of that rash on the chubalicious left leg. (The rash on the right foot is the atopic dermatitis.)


And got into a sandfight (see how freaking dark it is? My camera had to use the flash. Mother Nature must be PMSing to get my hopes up for the rain like that).


Can they fix it? Yes, they can.


And they have to concentrate while they fix it.

Oh, and fine, some gratuitous garden photos. Stop twisting my arm already.


Peach day lillies and Echinacea (Echinacea, you will be the death of me! I will pull all of you out yet! Argh! Damn weeds!)


Hydrangea


The daylilly brigade, ready for summertime battle. Let's take a closer look at our troops, shall we?


Red-y, orange-y lilly.


Peach-y dream.


Yellow flames a'fire. (Yes, I'm making these all up by myself. Impressed?)


Hell-hath-no-fury-like-a-lilly-scorned.


Watch-out-I-may-just-burn-you lilly.

Okay. That was exhausting. Gah.

Ring, Ring, Doorbell Ring, it's House Party Time

Our weekend started with Aaron coming home and me crying. Our weekend ended with Aaron leaving and me crying. But we shall talk about that on another day, for I have pictures from Darwin's birthday party!

I decided to really go crazy and make some gluten-free mini-cupcakes. And I have to say, I restored my faith in my ability to cook (because Griffin's birthday cake was not up to my satisfaction).


Gluten-free chocolate mini-cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting (gah, that's a mouthful).

(Someone gave me the nicest compliment: she said they didn't taste gluten-free.)

The party started with all the kids running through the house screaming at the top of their lungs. Then I convinced them to do an art project...


Pay special attention: the alien is on the rocket.

Then, Darwin opened presents Griffin took some of Darwin's presents to the playroom and opened them in secret, with the other children watching.


Every birthday must have legos.

Then it was time for treats...


This is the only photo of Darwin and his candles. But the effect is rather cool, yes?


Mandatory family photo. Love how the birthday boy is not looking and flashing his belly. Thanks.


Darwin couldn't have any mini-cupcakes (damn you eggs and dairy allergies!), so he had sorbet instead. Mmmmm...


Gee, I don't know. Do you think he had a good time?

Darwin's birthday is Thursday and he'll officially be two years old (and no longer a baby).

(No longer a baby? Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!)

When Your Long Day is Over and You Can Barely Drag Your Feet, When the Weight of the World is On Your Shoulders

To all the men that put their families first...

To all the husbands that not only cope with their wive's imperfections, but love them for it...

To all the daddies that not only want to raise their children, but want to know their children...


Happy Father's Day.

Roxanne, You Don't Have to Put on the Red Light

I'm so freaking excited that today is red... I've been chanting, "Two birds, one stone, two birds, one stone, two birds, one stone..."

Not only does it qualify for red but also for Friday's Work in Progress.


Fourteen rolls of 13-pieced squares awaiting ironing so they can be sewn together. Whew!

Last night Aaron and I were talking on the phone...

"So, when's Darwin's birthday party?"

"Saturday."

"Not Sunday?"

"No, that's Father's Day..."

"Oh, crap. What time?"

"Two o'clock."

"Oh, crap. Are you freaking out Laura?"

"No... why?"

"You should."

::looking around the house:: "Oh, crap. I am now."

Well You Need a Blue Sky Holiday

Blah. I'm sick today. I ordered a supposedly gluten-free tea at Whole Foods yesterday, broke out in hives in two minutes and having stomach cramps today. Nice.

Anyway, today is blue...



This is our favorite toothbrush. Aaron and I fight over it. I know, we're dorks. But, there you go.

Twenty-five hours, 25 hours, 25 hours, 25 hours until Aaron is home.

And Don't Forget to Give Me Back My Black T-shirt

The colors of the day today is black and gray. May I present...


Darth Vader doing a manual inspection of his Tie Fighter. Turns out a Patawan learner in this house keeps dismantling it. Darth Vader isn't certain it is up to code to go chase down Luke Skywalker just yet.

(We're just a couple of nerds raising nerds in this house.)

What? My Legos don't count?

Fine. Have it you way. Geesh.


A photo collage in our living room. I love pewter and silver photo frames. Surely that counts.

The center photo is of my dad's first communion (should that be capitalized? I do not know). Starting at 1 o'clock and going clockwise: me (about eight four years old), my dad's and mom's engagement photo, my dad golfing in the 70's, Aaron's mom and Aaron when he was about a month old, Dad's and Kathy's wedding in Hawaii (that I wasn't invited to), two pictures of my mom in college, and two pictures of my mom with me when I was a baby and in the center a picture of me and my dad when I was about three. Whew!

(I wish we have been given more pictures of Aaron's side of the family; for some reason no one wants to share yet.)

And for everyone who has been wondering: yes, gluten is practically in everything. I plan on doing a big write-up about it soon (kinda a rough draft for the cookbook, which I really need to work on).

Alcohol, My Permanent Accessory

Me? Drink alcohol? I don't know what y'all are talking about.


Oh.

Yeah.

My ouzo is gone now.

Here's another brown photo for the day...


Mmmm... dinner. Potatoes, onions and peppers with gluten free Polish Kielbasa. And? Gluten free rootbeer.

For the people in the back: GLUTEN. FREE. ROOT. BEER.

(Those of you with celiac disease or an allergy to wheat know why that's a big fucking deal.)

So, today is day 15 of Aaron's 18 day business trip. Yes, he will come home Friday evening. And?

He'll leave Monday morning to go back.

Now maybe you understand why my ouzo is gone, gone, gone.

Brown Sugar, How Come You Taste So Good?

The color of the day is brown....

Old wardrobe engraving

Old stained-glass window

Mouse door stop (and brown floor)

Today I also received my swap goodies from Maxine (who also received mine). I must say, she has perfect timing to coincide with the brown theme.


Everything is absolutely wonderful! Thank you Maxine!

Now, I must go back to attending my feverish children (yes, again).