A Funny Thing Happened . . . The Conclusion!

So.  There I was.  Exhausted. In pain.  Missing my family.  Basically just about as miserable as a person can be.  There never seemed to be enough drugs or quiet.  The nurses kept the door to room 666 wide open in case Satan decided to try and go for a stroll again.  When they wheeled her out for some tests I offered a nurse a million dollars to drop her down a flight of stairs.  Hmmm.  Perhaps not my most Christian moment.  I think hanging with the Devil was starting to rub off on me.  I am never a very nice person when I’m tired.  And tired is something I was every second I was in the hospital.  There seems to be this unspoken rule at hospitals, where, if you are asleep, someone must immediately wake you up.  It doesn’t even need to be for a good reason.  At one point, after I had just drifted off, pumped all full of wonderful drugs, a woman came in my room and shook my foot.  I cracked a bleary eye.  What the heck was this?  Why on earth was this woman waking me up after such a horrible night?  “Hello”, she said. “I’m from the Department of Hand Washing and Sanitation.  I wanted to explain to you about the proper way to wash your hands with soap and hot water and the proper way to use Purell”, (cue idiotic smile).  I have never wanted to punch anyone in the face more, and believe me, I often wanna punch people in the face.  How anyone thought that this enthralling lecture couldn’t wait until I was awake was beyond me.

It wasn’t all bad at the hospital.  I mean it was, but some of the bad was funnier than the rest.  Like this student nurse who came to visit me at 3 in the morning to take “my vitals”.  He was a nice enough fella, but he had a very thick, I want to say Caribbean, accent.    He was fiddling around in the dark trying to set up his gear, when he turned and looked at me and said, “Can I lay down”?   Umm. Scuse me?  Now, my first thought was that this was a little unorthodox.  When did nurses start lying down with their patients?  What are they teaching in nursing school anyway?  I thought I’d better clarify.  “What?”, I asked.  “Can I lay down?”, he repeated.  Hmm.  Yep, that is definitely what he said.  Weird.  Then I began looking at my bed and making assessments.  I really didn’t think there was enough room for two of us. (Give me a break. I was taking a lot of drugs).  I thought I’d better clarify again.  “What?”.  Then he starts pointing at my lap and saying, “Can I lay down?  Lay down!”  What the?  Then I realized he was pointing to the button pad in my lap.  I contained two buttons for the lights.  The whole time he’d been asking me to turn the damn lights on, but his accent was so heavy I didn’t understand.  We had a good chuckle over that.  I will go to my grave believing he was asking to lay down!

Then there was my 6:30am visitor.  Let’s call him Antoino.  My, my.  There I am, it’s day 3 and I haven’t had a shower in about 50 hours.  I am a disgusting, sweaty, smelly mess.  As I am laying in bed, simmering in my own filth in walks Antonio pushing a cart.  Wow.  He is quite the specimen.  Tall, dark and super handsome.  He had this whole dangerous Cuban thing going on.  Mucho nice.  He looked down at me and said in a sexy Latin accent, “You wanna wash?”.  Oh man I wish I could’ve seen my own face.  I just about died.  Now some people would consider this a no-brainer.  Handsome man wants to give you a sponge bath?  Heck yeah!  And you know, maybe 15 years and 60 pounds ago I would agree with them.  But as I sat there in my sweat and grime I knew there was NO FREAKING WAY that this man was going to see me nekkid.  I didn’t know what was worse, that he would see me naked or that he would think I was a dirty pig who didn’t want to be clean.  As I laid there with my mouth gaping open I tried to think up something to say.  Finally I squeaked out that I thought I was going home that day and I would just wait and have a shower at home.  I think he bought it.  He said “ok”, then he pushed his cart  over to Satan.  I thought, oh you poor man.  He approached her with no idea what he was getting into.  He said in his sexy voice, “You wanna wash?”  and she said, “Sure”.  A flurry of images that could only be born in the pits of hell ran through my mind.  Oh that poor handsome man.  But, he gave her a bowl of water and a cloth and a bottle of soap and turned and left.  Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.  What can I say.  I was really stoned!

Things with Devil woman did not improve.  I won’t even get into the time I tried to help her in the middle of the night and she started screaming at me to, “mindyourownbusinessyoursuckasslittlesuckupIdon’tneedyourfuckinghelp”, blah,  blah, blah.  By morning I was done being Little Miss Nice Guy.

Now, at this particular hospital, they won’t let you go home until you can get by on oral painkillers.  If you still need to be injected with “the good stuff”, you have to stay.  By day three I was losing my mind.  Every time Satan opened her ugly mouth, my whole body would clench up causing a ridiculous amount of pain in the collarbone, neck and shoulder and I kept having to ask for shots.  I was very upset about this, because all I wanted to do was go home.  I decided to call my hubby for moral support.  I must admit, as soon as heard his voice I started to cry.  I wanted to be home so badly.  I did however, use this phone call as an opportunity to let Satan know just what I thought of her and her behaviour.  I cried into the phone, “Baby, I really wish you and the boys could come and visit me, but you can’t. There is no way. (And then extra loud), BECAUSE MY ROOMATE IS SUCH A FUCKING FOUL MOUTH BITCH, I WOULDN’T WANT HER WITHIN A HUNDRED FEET OF MY CHILDREN!”.   Room 666 got extra quiet.  Satan had gotten the message.  She didn’t talk to me again.

My victory was short lived however.  An hour later when the nurses came to take her for some more tests, as she was wheeled past my bed she said, “Oh, there’s that blubberin’ little crybaby”.  Sigh.  Some fights are just lost causes. 

Through some miracle, the hospital released me that afternoon.  My sweet hubby came and picked me up and drove me home.  I have never been so happy to be home.  Ever.  I crawled into my bed and slept for 8 hours straight.  Within a week I was off the heavy duty pain meds I thought I would have to take forever and within 3 weeks I could give my boys a hug.  I thought coming off the painkillers would be a problem because according to the nurses they were, “a highly addictive narcotic”, but I really didn’t have any problem with them.  There was something else that I had a much bigger problem letting go of.  Spending 3 days and nights with the Devil Woman had taken its toll.  She was such a poisonous, nasty, evil person, and I never realized just how much she affected me until I was in my own home again.  I didn’t just feel comfortable back in my own home. Or happy.  Or relaxed.  I felt safe.  I truly felt as if I were safe from all her evil and hatred.  Safe knowing that she would live out the rest of her miserable life and I wouldn’t have to be a part of it anymore;  that I would no longer be hurt by her evil words.  Still now, months later, I find I am highly sensitive to seeing people be mean to each other.  Whether it’s in real life or a movie or in a book, if I’m seeing someone be mean and abusive to another person I get very upset and I feel it in a way I never did before.  I guess that’s a good thing.  I am much more likely to stand up in defense of someone now, which is great for them, not so great for me if I get my lights punched out for interfering, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.  I have to say though, if this was the lesson God wanted me to learn, I think he could have found and MUCH less painful way to do it!

I hope you all liked this story.  I know it’s a little long winded.  I will be posting it on my new blog, which I encourage you all to check out at crazymichy.blogspot.com.  It will be filled with my take on all the crazy things that happen in my life and all the things I find interesting.  I swear I just attract funny, so check it out!

Michy

A Funny Thing Happened – Part 3

So.  Turns out I didn’t just “break” my collarbone, but smashed it into 4 nice little pieces.  The doctor told me that this would be an extremely painful injury, which made me feel better since I was blubbering like a baby.  The doctor and nurse who were on call at the Almonte Hospital that night were THE best!  They made me feel so much better (and not just with the drugs).  At one point I lifted my head and slurred at them, “I just love you guys”!  I meant it as an expression of gratitude, but I really ended up sounding like a drunken frat boy.

Anyway, I was told I would have to see a surgeon to have my bone repaired and they said they had made an appointment for me on Thursday.  Thursday.  It was Saturday.  And what was I supposed to do in the meantime?  That’s what, 5 days!!  “Just try not to move too much”, they said. Oh ok.  Well, that was the doctor’s orders and believe me I followed them pretty much to the letter.  Jenn drove me home and I crawled into my bed and said, “I am going to sit here and not move until Thursday”. Ow, ow, ow.  Sitting hurts.  Ok, laying. OW, OW, OW!  Laying is so much worse!  And that’s how it went, from Saturday night to Thursday, I sat there trying not to move too much.  It is very hard to sleep sitting up.  My dear sweet hubby had to be my nurse.  He did a great job. Amazing. And somehow we made it to Thursday.

Jake took me to the hospital for my appointment.  I was very nervous.  I was afraid the doctor was going to try and touch my collarbone.  That was a big no-no.  I didn’t even want the pressure of his eyes on it, forget his pokey fingers.  (I literally shiver at the thought)!  Then I met him.  Wowza.  He was hot.  His name was Dr. Phan, but we’ll call him Dr. Phan-tastic.  Not many people know this, but I have a special thing for good looking men of the “Asian Persuasion”, and the good Dr. Phan just jumped right to the top of my lust, I mean list.  “Oh, you want to see my injury?  Well let me just rip all my clothes off”.  Well, it didn’t go exactly like that.  But he did book me for surgery, so that’s kind of like a second date, right? I spent a miserable few days back in my bed until, finally, I got the call to go in and get put back together. 

And thus began my decent through the seven circles of Hell.

When Jake started his most recent job and we sat down to discuss his medical plan, we decided that coverage for a shared hospital room would be sufficient.  This was the first time, believe it or not, that he had ever had to actually pay into his medical plan and we were shocked at how expensive it was.  I figured, I’ve had my children, I can’t imagine any reason why I would ever need a hospital room again.  (I am shaking my head at my own naiveté).  So we bought into the shared room plan.  

When we got to hospital I was assigned to what I refer to as “Room 666”.  My roommate was sleeping so I kissed my hubby and my precious babies goodbye at the door and went in alone.  As I sat on my bed waiting for the nurses to get me all checked in, my roommate, Satan, started moaning and groaning.  Then she started cursing and swearing and carrying on about how she had to pee and, “screwthemgoddambasterswhodidn’tcomeandhelpherthosemotherfuckerswillgetwhatcommingtothemIhavetopee”,etc, etc.  Wow.  Nice lady.  Lucky me.  Finally I peeked over to her side of the curtain and asked her if she needed any help.  Apparently she had to pee and had buzzed the nurse 3 hours earlier to help her,  but the nurse never came.   I can’t imagine why.  She was so nice to be around.  Now a non-psychotic person would probably just press the call button again, but not Satan.  I think she physically sustained herself on a steady diet of bitching, and believe me, she was pigging out!  I reached over and pressed her call button for her and low and behold, a nurse arrived to help her pee.  All the rest of that afternoon I had to listen to her bitch out the nurses, orderlies, food delivery people and cleaning staff.  She was, hands down, the most miserable, nasty, horrible person I had ever met and after 4 hours of listening to her I wanted to take my broken bones home and just forget the whole thing.

Now, I have bad days like everybody else.  I can be cranky and out of sorts and short tempered, but overall I think I am a fairly pleasant person.  I treat people nicely and I’m friendly.  Apparently Satan did not appreciate my treating the hospital staff courteously.  In her opinion the nurses liked me and answered my call button because I was a, “suckasslittlesuckup”.  Hm.  Did I mention that she was the Devil incarnate? I probably heard that about 100 times during my stay.  I really wanted to go home, but finally it was time for my second date with Dr. Phan-tastic.

 The good doctor and is equally handsome anesthesiologist explained to me about all the possible negative side effects of the surgery and I explained to them how they would not do any of those things to me and then they began.  For the first time in a week I was blissfully, painlessly asleep.

It didn’t last.  Before I knew it I was back in room 666 with the Devil woman.  Satan did not shut up all night long.  Screaming and hollering and cursing everyone in sight.  I have never met anyone who had to pee so much!  At about 2 in the morning she started wailing again.  She had to pee and the nurse just wasn’t coming fast enough.  Finally she decided to get up on her own.  Sigh.  I told her to just wait.  I told her the nurse would be here in a minute.  I told her to be patient.  But nobody tells Satan what to do.  She starts trying to get up on her own. “Idon’tneedthosemotherfuckershelpingmetheydon’tknowanythinggoddambastardaregonnapayfortreatingmethisway”, blah, blah, blah, BAM!  Satan’s miserable ass lands on the floor.  I reached for my buzzer and called the nurse. 

Apparently it’s a big deal when someone falls out of bed.  Before I knew it there were 5 nurses in the room all taking abuse from the devil woman and trying to help her pee.  She unloaded on them like a hurricane, screaming and yelling and cursing.  Now, let me digress for a moment.  I am not a patient person.  Just ask my family.  I have no patience.  None.  So you can imagine the amount of restraint I had must have been using all day long in dealing with Satan.  I was tired.  I was in pain.  And I had just barfed on my nurse.  I had had it.  So when Satan started screaming at the nurses, “whatda ya want me to do? whatta ya want me to do?”, I told her very precisely what I wanted her to do.  I screamed at the top of my lungs, “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DO WHAT YOU’RE TOLD!!!!!!!!!!!”

The entire floor of the hospital went silent.  Our room was like a tomb.  The nurses got her finished up and put her back to bed and all but one left.  After a few minutes Satan rolled over and tried to make nice.  “Are you ok over there?” she asked.  I very testily told her to shut up and go to sleep at which point she turned to her nurse and said, “Well.  Obviously she has mental problems”.

Obviously.

Stay tuned for Part 4!

A Funny Thing Happened  . . .   (Part 2)

So, where was I?  Oh yeah.  Whipping down the Black Diamond like an Olympic hopeful, leaving Jenn in my dust.  Funny thing about skiing on ice, which I didn’t know, because I AM A BEGINNER.  Skis just don’t “cut in” the way they do on fluffier snow.  Turning quickly becomes quite the craps shoot.  Or, in my case, your turning just turns to crap.  At some point while I was hurtling downhill, I decided that I was going waaaaaaaayyyy to fast for comfort, so I drew on all my grade 7 field trip experience to try and turn to slow myself down.  Well, I did turn, but I didn’t slow down.  Instead I went hurtling toward the tree line at an alarming speed.  I believe at this point I may have started panicking and screaming obscenities.  I knew that this was not going to end well.  I dug in again and tried to turn back the way I’d come, but, as ice is a solid and not so super grippy, this plan did not work.  Now, I’m a little unclear how I managed it, but at this point my skis decided to leave the surface of the hill and fly up over my head, taking my body with them. Oh yes.  We were airborne.  

I remember at the start of the night, Jenn telling me, “remember, if your going to fall, fall up-hill”.  Hmmmm.   Interesting theory.  Reality is, however, a cold uncaring bitch, and as I was flying upside down through the air I remember thinking, “this is NOT up-hill)”!  Then I remember thinking, “I am gonna hit my head any minute.  I hope I don’t hit it too  . . . WHAM”!  Wow.  That was hard.  Really, really hard.  Then I started into cartwheel number 2.

You know, I really thought the worst was over.  I thought, I’m not unconscious, I’m not dead, now if I could just stop this never ending crash, everything would be fine.  Ah, naiveté.  Reality reared her ugly head again and ended my second cartwheel on my clavicle. 

You know those videos they show on tv of nuclear bomb explosions?  That big mushroom cloud of destruction that erupts from the earth?  Well, something akin to that occurred in my collarbone.  This huge bloom of pain exploded through me.  As I hurtled into my third cartwheel I was trying to assess the damage.  “Oh that was not good”, I said. “That was very not good at all!  My collarbone might be damaged.  Wow, it hurts!  I hope I don’t land on that again”.   It was as that thought floated through my mind that I came down for the third and final time.  Directly onto my already agony ridden collarbone. 

You know that scene in Return of the Jedi, when Darth Vader aims the Death Star at Alderon, and the resulting explosion obliterates the planet.  That is approximately the size of the pain explosion that erupted through my clavicle.  Finally I came rolling to a stop.  I could hear Jenn way behind me up the hill calling, “Michelle, are you ok”?!  Well.  That was a good question.  Was I ok?  I started taking an inventory.  Head can move, check.  Legs can move, check.  Arms can HOLYWHATTHEFUCKSHITCHRISTFUCKSHITOHMYGODMOTHERSONOFABITCHSHITSHITSHITFUCK!  Ok.  Arms not good.  I yelled up the hill, “No! I’m not ok!!!”.  There’s an interesting thing about the nature of a broken bone.  The initial pain of the break really sucks, but that is nothing compared to the pain that comes about five minutes later.  Holy smoke.

All of a sudden a skier pulls up beside me.  He flips up his goggles and says, “Wow!  That was quite a fall!  Are you ok?”.  My rescuer was a former snow patrol member and EMT, who we’ll call Angel, who just happened to be skiing right behind me.  I told him I was pretty sure I had broken my collarbone.  I was pretty calm at this point.  Then he suggested that I roll over so I wasn’t laying directly on the broken bone.  Moving was not a part of my plan.  Not then, not ever again.  I would just lay on that hill forever thank you very much.  But he wanted me to move.  Then Jenn made it down to us. “OhmygodareyouokohIcan’tbeleivethishappenedareyouokohmygodthisishorribleareyouinpainohmygodIfeelhorrible . . . “.  Now I started to panic.  The pain was very intense and I was squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I could.  Angel said, “Open your eyes”, and I said “No”. He said, “You need to open your eyes.  How many fingers am I holding up”.  I was not opening my eyes.  Jenn said, “Michelle.  Open your eyes.  Tell me, is he good looking?”  Well now.  I cracked an eye.  Hmmmm.  I cracked the other eye. Hmmm.  Smooth skin, 5 o’clock shadow, bright blue eyes.  I opened both eyes for a better look.  Yep.  Definitely good looking. “Yes Jenn” I said, “He’s definitely good looking!”  Then I snapped my eyes back shut.  Angel seemed satisfied that I did not have a concussion. 

Finally The Ski Patrol arrived.  Funny thing, but earlier in the evening during a ski lift mix up, I ended up riding to the top of the hill with fella who, as it turned out, was on ski patrol duty that night.  I was joking with him about it being my first night skiing since the 7^th grade.  I actually said, “You better stay close to me tonight, because I just might need you”.  Ha, ha.  Well guess who was the first ski patrol on the scene.  It was like a big ol’ reunion. Jenn was like, “hey, remember us from earlier tonight?” and he was like, “oh yeah!” and she was like, “blah, blah, blabbity, blah, blah . . .” and I was like, “Aaaaaaahhhhrrrrgrgggghhhhhhhh!!!!!”.

OK.  To speed things along, Snow Patrol MADE me rollover onto a back board so they could load me onto their little toboggan thingy and ski me down the hill.  MAJOR panic and tears ensued.  Ride to the bottom was extremely bumpy and painful.  More tears.  When the ambulance came they actually made me stand up and climb onto the gurney on my own, broken bones and all.  I didn’t think it was possible, but the ride in the ambulance (which carried no drugs), was even bumpier than the ride down the mountain. Cue the tears. I was bawling from pain, from anger at myself, from pain, from my failure as a mother, from pain. (I can be a tad dramatic).

I’ll let you in on a closely guarded secret.  I am a huge wimp.  HUGE.  By the time we got to the hospital, I was a bawling mess of tears and snot.  The paramedics made a crack to the ER doctor about my having a, “very low pain tolerance”.  Thanks guys.   Blessedly I was pumped full of drugs and sent off for an x-ray.  I just cannot say enough about the wonderfulness of modern narcotics.  About ten minutes after my xray, as I lay on a gurney, stoned out of my tree, I heard the doctor and the x-ray technician discussing my x-ray.  All I remember hearing was, “Oh My!”.

Stay tuned for Part 3!

A Funny Thing Happened . . .

A Funny Thing Happened the Other Day  . . . at The Ski Hill

I have not been skiing since my grade 7 school field trip.  I remember doing the hour and a half ski lesson and them being set loose on Mount Everest.  At least that’s what the Devil’s Elbow near Peterborough looked like to me.  I had no snow pants ( I was waaayyyy to cool to wear those), no googles (Nerds wore goggles), no helmet (nobody did) and worst of all, no skill.  I remember having some spectacular wipe-outs.  I would go flying through the air and I could hear the people on the ski lift ooing and ahhing as I flipped end over end down the hill.  One friend kindly noted that I, “fell just like a professional”.  She meant the skiers you see wipe out during the World Championships on tv, when skiers crash through safety fencing in a big ball of snow and flying body parts.  Great.

Needless to say, I was in no hurry to get back on the ski hill.  Until recently.  For a couple of years I have been thinking of trying again.  I wanted to get out and enjoy winter.  Find a winter sport that would be fun and exciting and get me off the couch in January.  In retrospect, maybe bird watching was the way to go, but hindsight is always 20/20 isn’t it.  Well, this year I finally got my chance to see if I remembered anything from that 7^th grade ski class.  One day in February my friend Jenn called me up and said, “I’ve got two night skiing passes for Saturday night.  Wanna go?”  Hell yes!  Outside, in winter, at night, getting exercise.  Sounded great.  Jenn’s been skiing for a couple of years, so I figure she can show me some things.  Maybe I won’t look like a newbie loser.  What the worst thing that could happen, I fall?  Been there, done that.  No probs.

Now this time around, I didn’t let my vanity get the better of me.  I pulled out my snow pants.  I bought them about four years ago and never wore them because they are about 7 inches too long for my short little legs.  They are also very puffy and make me look like an enormous blue marshmallow.  When I added my puffy winter coat I could barely squeeze myself into Jenn’s van.  But, I thought, comfort before appearance.

We arrived at the ski hill and got my rental skis and poles.  Jenn had brought me her son’s helmet and goggles.  So there I was in all my gear, just like everybody else.  Now, there is no way I could be confused with some perky snow bunny, but at least I didn’t stick out.  I was rearing to go.  Until just after my first ten steps in my ski boots.  Um.  Someone, (Jenn), might have warned me that walking with ski boots on is a torture comparable to having a leg sawed off on a civil war battlefield.  Holy Ef!  I hadn’t even got on the hill yet and I was ready to go home.  Ef this!   Who the Ef needs to be outdoors in the winter?  Winter is for curling up on the couch with a good trashy romance novel and a bottle of scotch.  This was torture!  Finally we made it to the area were we could put on our skis.   As I looked back over the 12 loooonngggg feet we have just traversed, I really wasn’t sure I had this in me, but, it turns out, once the skis are on things are much better.  Whew!

First up was the bunny hill.  Jenn wanted to make sure I wouldn’t kill myself on a green run so we tested out what I remember from 7^th grade first.  One thing I had never experienced before was a tow rope.  This amusing little torture device is someone’s brilliant, (CHEAP), idea for getting kids, (who are too young to sue,) up the bunny hill as quickly, (and violently,) as possible.  It is a thick rope that loops up the hill and back down and is pulled along by a motor.  You straighten your skis, bend your knees and grab onto the rope, at which time your arms will be yanked out of your shoulder sockets and you will be whipped up the hill at alarming speed until you reach the top and pry your fingers off the rope.  Failure to keep your skis straight will result in you be flipped over a dragged up the hill on your ass.  Failure to keep from screaming like a baby will make all the kids on the hill point and laugh at you.

Turns out I remembered lots from the 7^th grade.   I whipped down that bunny hill like a jack rabbit on crack!  I remembered the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, thing and how to snow-plow and everything!  I was ready for the black diamond run!  But Jenn said no.  Party pooper.  We did hit the green runs though, which looked positively enormous to me.  They were quite steep and it was very icy.  Very Icy.  And in case I ran out of things or people to run into, there were ski lift pillars all the way down the hill.  But, I did great!  There were a few scary moments, like when the hill suddenly plummeted in to a really steep part, or my skies flew across ice, but I did it.  Yeah!  Let’s do that again!  The second time down I went much faster.  I knew what to expect.  I even beat Jenn down the hill by like a minute and a half!  She did this leisurely swoosh, swoosh down the hill.  Me?  I raced down that hill like I was escaping the Zombie Apocalypse!  I was jazzed!  I felt confident, like a real skier!  Maybe I should have reigned myself in a bit, but no!  It was full speed ahead for me!  Blue runs up next.

Again I was amazed by my own skill.  Wow!  I am on fire!  At one point Jenn and I had a mix up at the ski lift and I ended up riding up with a strange fella, who turned out to be on the ski patrol.  I explained to him that this was my first time skinning since the 7^th grade.  He was polite enough not to comment on just how long ago that must have been.  I told him I was doing pretty good, but, I said jokingly, he may want to keep near me tonight, because I was eyeing up that black diamond run, and I might need him later.  Ha ha.

After a few more amazing turns on the blue run, I finally talked Jenn in to the Black Diamond.  She did not think this was a good idea, but I was going anyway (just try and stop me), and I figured she should go too so that if anything happened she could ski around and pick up the pieces of me from all over the mountain if need be.  First run down was a smashing success.  It gets a little steep there near the bottom and it was very icy.  A couple of times I thought maybe I had made a bad decision, but I made it down and was basking in my own success  when Jenn leisurely swooshed down a couple of minutes behind me.  I was like a little kid.  “Please, please, please Jenn.  Please can we go again, pleaseeeeeee?”   Second time down and I was thinking of trying out for the Olympic team! 

The third time down.  Well, let just say I won’t be in the next Olympics.  Things were going great, until I hit the lower part of that damn icy hill.  That when . . .

Oh, there’s the dryer.  Gotta go do my day job.  Sorry, but we are all on our last pair of undies.  If I don’t get that laundry done, we’ll be turning these one inside out and wearing them again tomorrow.  I’ll finish this story later.  Stay tuned for Part Two!