On How I Tweaked My Hand...

I wrote a post last week about how my son was forced to endure cruel and unusual punishment. His horribly mean Mom made him try on all his clothing to see what actually fit. The result was a well organized closet and dresser, and a bag of clothing that I donated to ARC.

What I neglected to tell you in that post was that I suffered an injury as a result of that torture. The boy, who was trying to remove a pair of his jeans, fell over like a tree when his feet became entangled in the pant legs. Unfortunately for me, he fell directly on my right hand.

After the immediate popping sound and intense pain that followed, my hand felt moderately better. I went about my business for the remainder of the day, chocking up any discomfort to the fact that a 72 pound child crushed my hand.

As the days passed, the pain refused to subside. In addition to the acute pain in one specific spot on the side of my hand, I began to have a dull ache that covered the entire back of my hand. Any movement would make the pain worse.

My hubby and son kept telling me to go get my hand checked out, but I refused. Part of me was worried that I would be required to wear a cast or other apparatus thus restricting the use of my hand. I am right handed, but am in no way ambidextrous. I often joke that my left hand could be removed with little or no effect on my way of life.

I also have an extremely high tolerance for pain. I passed a 4 mm kidney stone two days before the boy was born and was accused by the on-call physician of faking it because I apparently wasn't writhing around enough, but that's another story. As a result, I sometimes have a hard time determining what pain warrants further inspection.

Today I bit the bullet and went to see the hunky Dr. W. at the Bone & Joint Clinic. Yes, that's the same Dr. W. that fixed my boy's finger when he severed his tendon in December. The boy begged to go along so he could show Dr. W. his completely healed finger.

After a few x-rays and a quick examination, Dr. W. informed me that I had a partial tear of the tendon that attaches to the base of my 5th Metacarpal. I was thrilled to learn that nothing was broken.

Dr. W. fit me with the ever so attractive brace you see in the picture, and told me to come back in four weeks if my hand doesn't improve. The brace is surprisingly comfortable and doesn't impede the use of my hand all that much. It just keeps the injured tendon stationary so that it can heal.

My boy finds it rather amusing that my hand has been rendered partially useless. In a gesture of goodwill, he offered to help me button and zip my pants if needed. While I was appreciative of his generous offer, I politely declined.

I think I will try to wait until I'm about 92 before I ask the child to help me get dressed.

Freckles!

One of my favorite things about summer vacation is the effect of the sun on my boy's complexion. Despite slathering him with gallons of SPF 50 sunscreen, a few UV rays still manage to hit their mark. The result is amazing.

The beautiful milky white color of the boy's skin has remained unchanged. What I really love are the countless freckles that now cover his sweet little face and arms. I think it's adorable.

The boy doesn't seem to mind his freckles, at least for now. He has, however, voiced one small concern. As I was putting him to be last night, he asked, "Do you think my freckles will get so thick that it looks like a big brown smudge of my face? I don't want a big smudge. It would be really embarrassing."

It may not matter either way. If any more freckles appear, I may gobble my boy up in one single bite. He is so stinkin' cute.

Car Sick

My eight-year-old son hates riding in the car. HATES it.

I think he secretly wishes that, like Dorothy, he could click his heals and be instantly transported to his desired location. If only it were that easy.

To be fair, the boy didn't always despise the car. At first, he would only complain when I had to drag him all over creation on series of boring errands. I would simply tell him that this was just a part of life... that there would be countless things he would have to endure in the future.

As the years have gone by, his disdain for car rides has grown. At the mere mention that we might be going somewhere, the boy's immediate question is, "Do we have to DRIVE there?" As if we are going to walk home from Costco carrying 900 rolls of toilet paper, 40 gallons of pure maple syrup and a 20 pound block of cheese on our backs.

I am convinced that if I told the boy that after a ten minute car ride he would arrive in a magical land where he could play drums while simultaneously fishing in a snowstorm and watching Muse perform Supermassive Black Hole while enjoying a delicious meal of sushi, waffles and Reese's peanut butter cups that he fed to himself using his beloved pocket knife, the child would choose to stay home. Or he would try to walk there... or maybe ride his bike. Seriously.

Most parents lose sleep at the thought of their child getting a driver's license. Not this Mom. I am actually looking forward to the day when the boy can drive himself around. At least then I won't have to listen to all of the grumbling.

Sunday Links

Scratch That | Slate Magazine
Make or Buy? Which is more cost-effective?

50 Summer Crafts for Kids | The Long Thread

Open a Banana Like a Monkey | Lifehacker

Drum Corps

Every July, Drum Corps International holds a two-night competition at MTSU in Murfreesboro, TN. The hubby and I had the pleasure of watching one of the Corps rehearse at a local high school several years ago, but have never attended the big event.


At the suggestion of our dear friends, A. & J., we decided to make the drive east to take in all the action. A., who is a drummer by trade, made a few calls to see if he could come up with some comp or discount tickets. Boy, did he ever deliver.


The wonderful people at Zildjian just happened to have five tickets available for each night. Dumb luck? I think not. As you can see from the pictures, our seats were on the 50 yard line.


You may be saying to yourself, "Drum Corps? Isn't that just a glorified marching band?" Let me tell you, nothing could be farther from the truth. For starters, there are no woodwinds in the corps. The marching unit consists of percussion (snare/tenor/bass drums, marimbas, xylophones, glockenspiel, tympani, cymbals, gongs...), brass (two-valve bugles in a variety of keys) and color guard.


The skill and precision of the World Class corps was awe inspiring, a result of the grueling rehearsal and touring schedule. The scores earned at each DCI competition are tallied, with the top twelve corps earning a chance to compete for a gold medal at the DCI World Championships in August.


We were able to enjoy incredible artistic performances by all of the top-ranking corps such as the Blue Devils, Phantom Regiment, Cavaliers, Holy Name Cadets, Santa Clara Vanguard and Carolina Crown, just to name a few. Let's just say that I had goosebumps.


The boy is already talking about attending the show next year. Who knows, we may have a drum corps member in the making.

Trying on Clothes is Torture

My boy was forced to endure the semiannual let's-try-on-all-your-clothing-and-see-what-fits-because-you-are-growing-like-a-weed extravaganza. Let me tell you, the child was not happy about it.

Nothing sends him spiraling into the depths of despair like being forced to try on clothing... or shoes. He immediately begins to writhe around on the ground begging me not to torture him. Forget waterboarding, putting on clothes should become the interrogation device of choice.

I kid, I kid.

We usually partake of this ritual sometime before school starts. It provides me with an opportunity to survey the boy's wardrobe and make purchases to fill in any gaps that are found. It also allows me to purge any worn/stained items, organize the boy's closet/dresser and set aside clothing that will be saved or passed down.

Overall, the boy handled the situation quite well. He managed to maintain his composure, except for the three times he collapsed on the floor and pretended he was suffocating because his pants were too tight.

Maybe he should consider a career as an actor.

Skating

I have lived in Nashville for fifteen years. Every summer it's the same thing... one day of record setting temperatures after another. It is miserable.

Yesterday was a pleasant change. According to one of our local meteorologists, it was the coolest July 21 on record since 1877. As a woman who yearns for fall-like temperatures year round, I couldn't be happier.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, and because I had to pick up our tickets to the Mute Math concert, I decided to take the boy ice skating in Nashville.

When I was a child, my sister and I would spend two weeks at our Grandparent's house in Colorado Springs. One of the highlights of our visit would be a trip to the Broadmoor Skating Club. We would watch Olympic skaters practice and then take our turn on the ice. Memories.

I hadn't been ice skating in years, so I started off a little wobbly. Thankfully, after about ten minutes the muscle memory came back and I was gliding around the ice.

This was the boy's first time ice skating. At first, he drug himself around the rink, arms slung over the wall, and his skates barely touching the ice. He then tried to stomp around, hoping that it would somehow provide better traction. It was quite comical.

I am proud to say that I only wiped out once. The boy was having trouble standing up after a tumble and tried to pull himself up by forcefully yanking on the back of my shirt. The end result was a tangle of arms and legs on the ice.

The poor child fell too many times to count and was completely soaked as a result. He had a great attitude in spite of it all and was making multiple laps around the rink without falling by the time we left.

He has already begged me to take him skating again next week. It may become one of my favorite summertime activities.

Fishing Bait

These wiggly little worms have taken up residence inside my refrigerator. The boy is on a bit of a fishing kick and having bait available at the drop of a hat is a top priority. Oh, the things I do for my favorite little man.

After spending countless hours digging the poor unsuspecting creatures from the ground, the worms now make their home in an old yogurt tub. Not to worry, it has been boldly marked with a sharpie so as not to surprise and unsuspecting snack seeker.

I will be curious to see how long the worms can survive in the frig. Any ideas from all you people out there in internet land?

In related news, I am happy to report that the boy and I have discovered a new fishing spot that is just minutes from our house. Although we love heading down to Whippoorwill Lake, the hour-long drive made a quick outing nearly impossible. We can no go fishing just about anytime the mood strikes.

The little pond we now frequent is stocked full of sunfish. In two short hours on Friday, the boy and I managed to catch and release almost two dozen of the little guys. It was great fun.

I have to go now. I just caught a glimpse of my boy dragging a shovel towards the middle of the yard. He must be concerned with the current status of our worm supply.

Sunday Links

There, I Fixed It | Epic Kluges + Adventures in Home Ownership

The Photographic Dictionary

How to Compost Without Raising a Stink | Squawkfox

CrazyHotJob.com | One day. One job.

40+ Tips to Improve Your Grammar and Punctuation | Dumb Little Man

Crunched Cars

The boy was digging through his extensive collection of matchbox cars this morning and came across two crushed autos. When he showed me the mangled toys, it brought back a flood of memories.

The hubby was in a horrible accident four-and-a-half years ago. It happened at a little after 6:00 on a rainy January morning. A man, on his way home from working the night shift, ran a red light going 60 mph.


The hubby's car was completely crushed, except for the spot where he was sitting. Surprisingly, he walked away from the accident with a few minor cuts and one heck of a bruised torso thanks to his seat belt. It was one of those "it-clearly-wasn't-your-time-to-go" kind-of moments.


A few days later, I heard a lot of racket on the back patio. Our boy, who was three-years-old at the time, was really into playing with matchbox cars. He had somehow managed to sneak a hammer outside and was beating the snot out of a few cars.


When I asked him what in the world he was doing, his reply was, "I wanted to play car wreck like Dad, so I'm crushing some cars." I quickly took the hammer away before a smashed finger was added to the carnage. He happily played "car wreck" for several months.

The boy and I had a good chuckle as we took our stroll down memory lane. We also talked about how glad we were that God spared the hubby's life that day. It was a good reminder to be thankful for each and every day. They are truly a gift.

A Morning at the Creek

The boy woke up Saturday morning in search of an adventure. After pondering his options, he invited me to take a walk down to the creek. He had one thing on his mind... hunting for crayfish. I brought along my camera to capture all of the excitement.


We spent several hours exploring every nook and cranny of the winding creek. I was surprised by the frosty temperature of the water, though it was a welcome contrast to the steamy July air.


The recent lack of rainfall meant that the water level was quite low. The rocks that were still submerged were covered in thick algae. Despite his best efforts to remain on his feet, the boy took several tumbles into the water.


I was secretly glad that he decided to wear dark colored clothing. Over the years, I have realized that bleach and stain removers are powerless against the greenish-brown slime. Many favorite articles of clothing have been reduced to rags after a fall in the creek.


When I was a child, my sister and I used to catch crayfish using liver on a string. We would easily pull dozens of the tiny creatures from the water as they latched on to the hunk of meat.


My boy prefers to catch crayfish the old fashioned way... by hand. There were numerous coves and pools in the creek that were the perfect hiding places for our unsuspecting targets. The outer shells of the crayfish were the exact same color as the rocks, making them nearly impossible to see.


After turning over countless rocks, we finally hit pay dirt. The boy managed to capture two of the tiniest crayfish I have ever seen. We did catch sight of a few larger specimens, but as in all good fish tales, the big ones got away.


An unexpected rain shower brought an end to our adventure. My boy loves to be outdoors, so there will, no doubt, be countless trips to the creek in my future. Anything that allows me spend more time with my boy sounds wonderful to me.

Sunday Links

The View Master | Antique Mommy

15 Awesome Tutorial Websites You Probably Don't Know About | Dumb Little Man

World In View : Best Pictures From Around the World | Sky News

The Ultimate Mac Setup for Photographers | AppStorm

Search Google just like Elmer Fudd

Cujo?

Our dog, Brick, is a rather imposing fellow. At a hulking 87 pounds, he strikes fear into the hearts of nearly all who enter our home for the first time. For most, their worry is short lived when they realize what a sweet dog we have.

Sadly, not everyone is willing to look past his beastly exterior. In fact, a very nice man who lives around the corner has given Brick the nickname of "Cujo." Stephen King would be so proud.

I recently watched the substitute mail carrier fall and claw her way across our yard after hearing Brick bark when she knocked on our front door. It was like a scene from a horror movie, except for the lack of creepy music and the simple fact that no one was chasing her. Brick and I just stood on the front porch and watched, dumbfounded.

I have to admit that I find this phenomenon slightly amusing. The beast is such a gentle giant that I cannot imagine him hurting a fly... well, except when he decides to actually eat flies. Seriously though, Brick is a pretty good judge of character and generally only growls at people that have no business being on our property.

The hubby, who is a hermit at heart, loves the fact Brick makes people nervous. He would say that it keeps all the bad people away. If that doesn't make him a prime candidate to volunteer with the Welcome Wagon, I don't know what will.

I'm off now to drag poor Brick inside for the night. He is out in the yard making quite a racket, no doubt defending his turf from intruders like the dreaded opossum or squirrel. I will sleep peacefully knowing our yard is varmint-free.

***In the interest of full disclosure, I cannot take credit for the photograph at the top. That warm and fuzzy shot was taken by the boy, who managed to catch the beast mid-yawn. I thought it would be a perfect addition to this post.

How I Spent My Day

If you have been lurking around this blog for a while, you will know that my boy is a huge Star Wars fan. While he loves the movies and video games, he is truly crazy about the action figures. An enormous washtub in his bedroom is piled high with them.

First thing this morning, the boy asked me if I would like to join him for a massive Star Wars battle. Not wanting to miss out on one of these moments, for they will pass all too soon, I agreed.


Once our bellies were filled and I was sufficiently caffeinated, the boy and I headed back to his room to get started. As hard as this will be to believe, it took the boy and I two entire hours to set up the battlefield.

Yes, two hours. Just to set up. The child knew exactly what how he wanted things and would settle for nothing less.


The boy used wooden blocks to build a mountain and various other obstacles to slow down the attack that would be led by Darth Vader. Each block was meticulously placed to provide numerous hiding places and lookouts.

Meanwhile, I dug through the washtub trying to locate all of the members of the Rebel and Empire armies. I was also asked to find all of the appropriate weapons, a task that I was unable to complete without extensive help from my son.


Eventually, even the boy grew frustrated by how tedious it was to get everything perfectly arranged. He pondered aloud, "I wish I could just imagine how I wanted everything to look and it just would magically appear. Wouldn't it be cool if trees would just grow out of my rug?"

I nodded my head in agreement. I secretly wished that Yoda would appear, use the force, and finish the task. I desperately wanted to get on with the actual playing part.


After what seemed like an eternity, the action began.

The battle was fairly evenly matched at the beginning. Then, just like in the movies, Vader's army gained the upper hand. If not for Yoda's incredible skill with the light saber, all would have been lost. He handily defeated Vader, and not a moment too soon.

My legs had nearly gone numb from sitting on the boy's bedroom floor for the better part of the day. It was, of course,worth it. Spending time with my boy is one of my favorite things.

Flies Beware!

As I've mentioned numerous times before, our dog, Brick, is the laziest creature on earth. He spends his days going from one nap to another. The beast is so lethargic that he is frequently mistaken for a pooch with one foot in the grave, the other on a banana peel. He is truly and old soul.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the living room and saw Brick leap into the air. He did it not just once, but three or four times. I stood there, with my mouth hanging open, wondering what in the world he was doing.

Then, in once graceful move, the beast sprung into the air and caught a fly in his mouth. In addition to being slightly grossed out, I was speechless. Was this the same dog?

Over the past few days, I have seen this behavior repeated time and time again. Thanks to the boy's tendency to leave the door wide open, winged intruders have been plentiful here at the Ha house.

While I am delighted with Brick's skill in the pest removal department, one thing has me puzzled. The dog refuses to eat crumbs off the kitchen floor, but happily chows down on insects that he snatches from the air. Can someone explain this phenomenon to me?

I secretly wish that some of the beast's enthusiasm for flies would translate into other areas... like taking up his canine vacuuming duties or playing catch. A girl can always dream.

Oh, What A Night

I have chosen to preempt my normal Sunday Links post to tell you an exciting tale. It's story of fun, fireworks and torrential downpours.

As I mentioned yesterday, the boys and I decided to brave Nashville's Fourth of July crowds in our quest to enjoy the perfect fireworks display. After partaking of a delicious meal with some friends, we made our way towards downtown. Our good friend, A., was along for the ride.

Our plan was to view the fireworks from the east side of the Cumberland River, across from Riverfront Park. Within minutes we had located a parking space and a premium spot to set up our chairs before the show began.

Around eight o'clock, a few drops of rain began to fall. Scanning the sky to the west, we could tell that bad weather was heading our way. The hubby voiced that he wished the show would start early in light of the pending rain.

As if on cue, the first fireworks exploded into the air. The boy, along with the crowds gathered along the river, began to cheer. The Nashville skyline made the perfect backdrop for the colorful show. Minutes passed, and we began to notice that the skyscrapers that were once within view began to disappear behind a wall of water.

It was at that moment that the sky opened up. A literal flood of rain was released from the heavens. Shouting over the noise of the rain and fireworks, the hubby proclaimed, "We are not going to leave... no matter what!"

The incredible display of fireworks continued, despite the unceasing torrent. The four of us just stood there, enormous smiles plastered across our faces, as the rain poured down. It will, no doubt, go down as one of the most memorable experiences of my life.

Never have I seen the boy so filled with joy. Never have I heard him cheer with such abandon. Never have I been so wet. It was as if I were standing at the base of Niagara Falls.

After the last burst of color had faded from the night sky, we made our way to the car and headed towards home. The boy, who was chilled to the bone, took a hot shower before climbing into bed. As I walked out of his room, the boy shouted, "That was totally wicked!"

I had to agree. It was totally wicked.

A Little Fireworks Fun

We made the executive decision to light the majority of our fireworks a day early here at the Ha house. The reason? The boys and I will be out late enjoying the Nashville's massive fireworks extravaganza. And what a show it will be.


The fireworks display in Nashville is consistently ranked as one of the "must see" pyrotechnics displays in the country. Shocking isn't it? This year's show promises to be the biggest one yet.


As in years past, the Nashville Symphony will be on hand to play an amazing selection of music while the fireworks light up the night sky. There is just something about watching fireworks while the listening to Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. It gives me goosebumps.


The hubby and the boy ventured out this afternoon to purchase their arsenal of pyrotechnics. They came home with a large assortment of bottle rockets, Roman candles, firecrackers, smoke bombs, jumping jacks, fountains, and sparklers. I love living outside the city limits.


My boy, who is a pyromaniac at heart, was beside himself with excitement. We had to insist that he refrain from asking us how much longer it would be until we lit our stash. Once it was sufficiently dark, the fun began.


Lucky for me, our mini show created enough smoke that walked away with only three new mosquito bites. Unfortunately for me, I am incapable of resisting the urge to scratch my itching skin during the night. That means I should have three attractive scabs by morning.


I'm off to slather some cortisone cream on my bites before I head to bed. I hope everyone has a wonderful Fourth of July!

My View Last Night

There is nothing like snuggling close to your Dad while simultaneously surfing the web.

My New Favorite Coffee

As I've mentioned previously, I am a coffee junkie. What could be better than starting the day with a big mug of piping hot coffee with cream. I'm getting a happy feeling just thinking about it.

When it comes to purchasing coffee for my own home consumption, I have always had two preferences: Bongo Java (my local favorite) and Peet's. That all changed last week.

The hubby, who recently turned 40, received a giant bag of Miscela d'Oro Gusto Classico Espresso Beans as a gift from my sister. The aroma that poured out upon opening that bag was amazing. We could hardly wait to taste our first cup.

After one sip, I knew that I had found my new favorite coffee. Miscela d'Oro's flavor is bold and aromatic yet incredibly smooth. It is not bitter or sharp like so many other dark roast or espresso beans that I have tried in the past. And the crema... you should see the crema on top. It is, in my estimation, the perfect coffee.

Miscela d'Oro, located in Messina, Italy, has been a family owned and operated business for three generations. While the company has grown considerably over the past 60 years, they still hold fast to their core philosophy of quality, elegance and simplicity. The result is an espresso that is authentically Italian.

My sister was kind enough to send me a link to the online retailer that she used. Rest assured, I wasted no time in placing an order of my own. You can never have too much of a good thing.

In case you were wondering, I don't have a problem. I can quit drinking coffee any time that I want to. Really. I can.