I am currently on Vicodin for a fractured rib. Apparently having a fractured rib makes it difficult to laugh, blow your nose, do the bunny hop in your daughter's dance class, carry children, reach into the washing machine (good excuse, yes?) and well, breath. It also requires one to get creative while engaging in intimacies with one's husband.
"How do you fracture a rib and not know it??" my husband asked.
The same reason the toenail on my big toe is bruised and falling off. I have no idea. I don't have time for pain. If I stub my toe, I can't sit down and cry and roll around on the floor, holding my foot like I'd like to. I probably stubbed it while rushing into the kitchen to remove the baby from the knife drawer and any pausing on my part may result in disaster. By then, I've forgotten about it, because I now have to rush into the bathroom before my daughter tries to wipe herself. And then the someone knocks on the door and I realize it's the Schwan's girl and I really, REALLY need ice cream. Then the phone rings. And so on and so forth. I figure the same thing applies to my rib. Either that or my husband kicked me when I was asleep.
My husband and I just finished billing for his hours for the past two weeks. A mere 162 hours in 15 days. Yeah. 162 HOURS IN 2 WEEKS!! I try not to complain. Fortunately, it is a job and he does get paid. Unfortunately, he doesn't get paid for overtime. And that's a helluva lotta hours. It makes family time...difficult. Last month he had 288 hours. I try not to complain.
But I frickin' hate his job.
Today is my little brother's 31st birthday.
Born with a collapsed lung, he then developed a staff infection and after a lengthy hospital stay, he was able to come home. But he's never been normal...*snicker* (Kidding Andy, just kidding) He is one of my favorite people and would be, even if he were not my brother. He's one of my best friends, and someone I can always go to when I need to talk. I could call him at four in the morning and I know he'd be there. My kids adore him; he is the perfect uncle. He lets them drink pop, play violent games and eat candy. (Revenge is sweet, brother...just wait until you have kids!)
Happy Birthday kid! I love ya! And now I'm off...I have a cake to bake!