There has been a theme lately…my new ancient and decrepit status. The nursing home is probably next, although at 34 I’m not sure they’ll let me in.
When the boys were cutting out sugar cookies I tripped over the bench by our table, sprawled onto the floor, and had several books and things from our school shelf fall on top of me. Sweet Boy#1 even went so far as to say: “Are you Ok Momma?” and he is not a mercy.
Our doggy is a Newfoundland and therefore he leaves great slobbery puddles next to his water dish. We have been following him around with the dish since getting up has gotten so difficult and it was in the kitchen. I slipped on the doggy slobber, fell, and wrenched my knee.
Then I foolishly wore sandals to AWANA this week (don’t worry my snow boots were in the car in case we got stuck) and as I was walking across the snowy parking lot I slipped and fell on my derriere. The Hunky Hubby was upset. Not because he thought I might be injured. Nope, he was upset because he had been helping one of the boys at the time and didn’t get to see it! Argh!
Finally, I also slipped in the bathroom this week. Sweet Boy#2 had a bath and I reminded him to rub some baby oil into his skin before he got dressed. However, I had a mental lapse and left the room thinking that being 8 he could accomplish this task without me. He did get oiled up nicely. But he did this with an entire fourth of the bottle and there was much dripping involved. So, when I dared to venture into the bathroom several minutes later it was worse than an ice-skating rink! At least my son’s skin was very very soft and supple.
On to the other demented and delirious member of our household.
Our Grandpa Doggy is going downhill rapidly now. He is still loving life, but needs extra care. And so as I go about my work in the house I will hear a sound. BARK! BARK! BARK! And I know that one of six things is troubling our dog. Either he wants a drink, he wants to eat, he wants help going down the stairs, he wants help getting up the stairs, he wants outside, or he has layed down and can’t get up. He barks when he needs me to come and wrap my arms around his middle and launch him onto his feet. He really has it made. BARK! BARK! BARK! And we come rushing to his side. He even stands at the top of the stairs, looks down them, thinks about how hard it will be, looks at me, and begins to bark asking for assistance. I don’t mind though, we don’t have much time left, and I think he is enjoying having a house full of servants at his beck and bark.