When the Daffodils Bloom. . .
When the spring flowers emerge, it’s generally a good idea to pack away your Christmas decorations. My Mom always taught me that proper etiquette called for Christmas things to be gone by the end of January (Hers are usually down by January 2nd). I strictly adhere to this policy. It looks lazy and tacky if you don’t. If I’ve offended you, please take a few minutes and put away your Christmas decorations before reading the rest of this. I thank you and so will your neighbors.
Today we had another Open House. With about an hour to go before start time, I hustled to Home Depot, bought a bunch of flowers and filled up the pots in front of my house. I made sure to buy some yellow flowers. Apparently that color puts people in the "buying mood." When I was finishing up planting and as Mr. BBM was about to suck up the last of the leaves in our front yard, we noticed that our neighbor still had not put away her rather large plastic light up snowman decoration. This tends to not put people in a buying mood.
Like clockwork, this happens every year. The local Britney Spears just can’t be bothered with undecorating from the holidays. I should mention here that Christmas is not even a holiday that her religion celebrates. A couple weeks ago, it was the box that had been growing appendages on her front porch. We let the Christmas decorations slide since it was still rather cold. This week is April. It’s time to let go of Frosty. It’s time for the yearly reminder, yet again.
Since she wasn’t home, Mr. BBM pulled her "BRRR" sign out of the yard closest to our walkway and stood it up in her doorway, concealed from would be house buyers. He also uprooted another Christmas sign in the yard. He left Frosty to me.
For years now, I’ve been saying that Frosty needs to meet the dumpster. His plastic colors have faded from being kept out in the sun until, usually the 4th of July, and he doesn’t even work anymore. When we get a little wind, he sometimes ends up blocking our path to our front door or camping out sideways in our front yard. I can’t blame him for trying to get away from her yard, but enough already.
I boldly walked into her yard, grabbed the tired old Frosty and concealed him deep within the untrimmed bushes in her front yard. Truth be told, she probably won’t even notice; and if she does, she’ll definitely be too lazy to retrieve him from his forest hideaway.
If our Open House traffic from today is any indication of how our home selling is going to go, this may be the last year I have to get involved with Frosty and "Britney." Here’s hoping.
Blood Letting
Lil C decided she’d wake me up this morning by stealing my nose. Mr. BBM does this to her frequently. It’s their little game and it works quite well when the two of them pretend to take each others noses and then put them back. It didn’t work quite as well with me.
Instead of grabbing my nose, Lil C stuck her finger so far up my nose that she scratched my brain and caused what can only be described as a gushing hemorrhage.
I have never had a nosebleed in my life. For a brief instant I grabbed my nose in pain and then I felt it, the hot gush that was filling up my hand, as I made my way to the bathroom. I guess that’s one way to wake up on a Saturday morning. I think Lil C got far more than she bargained for when she tried to grab Mama’s nose.
I also have a gash on my neck from Lil C’s daggerish fingernails. There are some days she’ll let me trim them and some days that she just won’t. Earlier this week, she grabbed my neck on one of the "won’t" days, dug her nails in and twisted. I dripped blood for a few minutes before it finally stopped. My two-year old is seriously kicking my butt these days.
Somebody put her in a ring. I think we’ve got the next UFC champion in the house.
Don’t let that innocent face fool you.
Seven going on 17
Yesterday, the day before Big I’s official 7th birthday, she curled up on the chair with her pen and notebook and told me there was a page in there that she didn’t want me to see.
"Why not?" I asked her. She’s forever showing me something new in her notebook.
"I wrote something about this boy," she said. "I think I’m fallin’ in love with him."
Flustered, I asked her for a name. She hesitated. She really didn’t want to tell me. I knew it could only last so long though. Thirty seconds later, she volunteered that he’s a new boy in her school and he’s in her grade (Thank God).
I asked her what was so special about him and she responded, "I don’t know. There’s just something about him Mommy."
I informed her that she can’t talk about boys and in the same sentence say "Mommy." I prefer that she loses the boy talk to be quite honest. I asked her if she just meant that they were friends and she said, "Nope, I think I’m gonna marry him someday."
Did she turn seven today or 17, because I don’t think I can tell the two apart?
Happy Birthday Big I, but please stay little for just a little while longer. Please?
A Giant Leap Forward
Spring has brought to the physical therapy room yet another new ACL surgery recoveree. I met him last week when he was at his first visit post-surgery. It was a very good reminder for me of how far I’ve come. When he found out how long ago I had surgery (December) he and his wife were shocked that I was still there at PT. It’s a very long road; I told him to prepare for it. I also told him to get himself some prune juice.
While he worked on some painful leg raises, I worked on getting my heel to greet my butt. I am so close now. It’s hurting a lot less and my extension remains good. Yesterday I pushed it past 150 degrees. I have less than five to go.
While he was working on pushing his flexion to 80 degrees, I was standing on one leg on a foam block playing catch with a weighted ball. I told him to go to his "special place" when I noticed the pained expression on his face. That first week was horrendous, and one I don’t wish to ever relive. I made it through that week by going to the beach in my head. Staying in that PT room while working on flexion was just too painful and difficult.
When I was finished celebrating from that little feat, I rode 4 miles on the bike in 15 minutes and then moved on to my other exercises. I bumped up my leg press to 80 lbs. and for the first time in weeks, I bumped my weight up on the leg curl machine as well. It finally felt easy. Yesterday felt like real progress.
Last night, Mr. BBM and I were filming an interview tape for consideration to be on a TV show (more details to come if we get chosen), and for part of the video I put my gi on. It felt so strange putting it on again for the first time since October. Mr. BBM retrieved my belt from my belt display and I tied it on like it had been only yesterday when the injury happened. I’m getting the itch to return like I’ve never had it before.
I was adding an appointment to my calendar for April this week and noticed that I have another post-op appointment with my surgeon at the end of April. This is the appointment where he’ll determine if I’m ready to be fitted for my sports brace. I am determined to push myself really hard this month to build up those muscles and get fitted for that brace. It’s just another forward step in the process of returning to what I love.
I’m focusing on taking it in small steps so as not to reinjure myself or take a step backward. Right now though, every degree in flexion and every pound I can bump up in weight feels like a giant leap forward. Real measurable progress feels so good.
Second Showings and Death
Today we had another second showing at our house. It was our realtor showing our house. When his assistant told me that he was bringing a woman who had been at our Open House a few weeks ago, I got excited. One of the women who came to our open house told our realtor she loved this house and said, "I could definitely see myself living here." I thought it was her.
It wasn’t.
The woman who visited our house today is 62 years old and came to our Open House with her 91 year old mother. While her mother explored our house with the assistance of her cane, the 62-year old woman, proceeded to tell our realtor that she was looking for a house for her and her 68 year old friend. There’s a catch though. She’s not buying a house for herself and her friend until her mother dies. She said this in front of her 91 year old mother.
So you can imagine my shock when it was this woman getting out of her car today. My realtor had called ahead and told us to not even bother leaving for the showing. As he walked this woman down the stairs to our front door, he mouthed the words, "Just stay. No reason to go. This woman is NOT going to buy your house."
As he finished mouthing these words to me, the woman introduced herself and asked if I minded if she video-taped my house so she could show it to her would-be roommate. I gave her permission. I figured, what are the chances of her showing it to some 60 year old thugs who might come rob my house? While she walked around the house, our Realtor told us the story again, about how she’s waiting for her mother to die. Then he added that her mother currently has pneumonia and is in the hospital. I refuse to wish for someone’s death in order to get an offer on my house.
As the woman left our house, she reiterated that our house is her favorite and the circumstances under which she would buy it. I’m imaging this sales agreement with a contingency that the sale will take place "on the date of the buyer’s mothers death." How insane is that? I mean, why is she even out looking for homes? I can’t believe I cleaned all morning for that.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
