Greetings, Meetings and Beatings

Hi. How are you?

I'm fine, thanks.

Good...

If I were to run into you at church or Walmart, this would probably be our conversation. At least to start. Then it would depend on you to be a good conversationalist to get things going, because I would likely stare at you dumbly for a moment before running away. I'm not the best at small talk, okay?

But don't you find it interesting how we don't often tell how we really are? I mean come on, how well does "fine" describe you at the moment? How well does "good" describe your week? Is the other person even wanting to know how you are? If so, the conversation would be more like this:

Oh hi, Friend! How are you?

Ah, well, it's been a very interesting day. Would you like to sit here on this bench with me and I'll tell you all about it?

Sure! Let me just move my grocery cart out of the checkout line.




Hmm...
I think we do want to know how people are doing. Just on our own time. In the comfort of our own homes.

And that's why God invented Blogging.


Yep. I wandered all the way through that thought process just to tell you how my week was. Thanks for asking. It's a crazy world inside my head, people, just go with it. And, incidentally, my world outside my head has been a little crazy, too.


On Sunday, we came home from a weekend of wedding mania. Seth's brother (one of many so don't worry too much about keeping track) got married in Melbourne. His dad was the officiator. Um, the guy that did the marryin'. I spent much of my time taking pictures and edging warily away from drunk people.

On Monday, Seth was still suffering from endless dizziness--a problem that had been going on for more than a week without knowing why, and is still going on. He went to work anyway, spinning like a drunk man at a wedding. Added to that, he began to develop boils on his head, neck and hip. I'm sure that's not the scientific name, but what do you call painful, red lumps the size of Texas and of unknown origin? (And don't you just love hearing about my husband's many strange and unexplained medical problems? He never fails to provide blog material.)

On Tuesday, well, not much of interest happened that I recall. We did our school work. Noodle had a friend over. Went to gymnastics. Blah, blah, blah.

On Wednesday, Noodle was playing out in the front yard. Hopers was inside watching a DVD. I was cleaning the kitchen. (Wait, that's where I always am!) Suddenly, I hear bloody-murder screaming coming from the front yard in Noodle's voice, "Help!! Help me!! Helllllllpppp!!" I run to the door, throw it open, and there is my seven-year-old with a pit bull attacking her. The dog stops and looks at me and I shout, "Get in here, Noodle!" She bolts into the house, the dog runs off, and I begin to attend my crying and shaking daughter. I get her into the shower, because she's covered in dirt. The dog (it was the next door neighbor's) had bit her in the shoulder and the shoe and had scratched up her chest so that she had bloodblisters and bruises. I called animal control, but the neighbor came home and hid in her house with the dog when they came. (I'm so glad I'm moving.)

On Thursday, I got up out of bed and went to the kitchen. The girls were already awake and vying for my attention. Hopers, wearing little plastic dress-up shoes, ran to hug my legs like she always does. Three-year-olds can be so sweet. They act like they haven't seen you in days rather than just overnight. As she stepped away from the hug, her dress-up shoes (which have zero traction on the bottoms) caused her to slip, and at the same time, she tripped over my feet. Hopers went down like a wooden plank, somehow unable to get her hands out in time, smacking her forehead on the tile floor. She cried one enormous, lusty cry as I picked her up, but then was silent. I thought for a moment that she was gathering up breath for another one (you know how little kids do), until the next one didn't come. She went stiff in my arms and then limp, with her head hanging back and her eyes rolled back. I, of course, freaked and started screaming for Seth (who was in the bedroom). But by the time I made it to the living room couch with her, she came to, and was crying heartily. Now, if I'd been home alone, I probably would have rushed her off to the emergency room. But I had my husband there, who is an emergency worker, to tell me that she was fine, and don't worry, people get knocked out all the time, and gee, she definitely won't be in the UFC when she grows up because she gets knocked out too easily. On the upside, she didn't even get a lump on her forehead.

On Friday, we met again with our realtors who brought out yet another counter-offer from the buyers to our counter-offer to their counter-offer to our.... um, did I mention we've been trying to sell our house? We've been negotiating a contract for weeks now, but Friday was the day when I think I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. And there were people actually buying our house in that light. Oh, and Seth went to the doctor and had a boil lanced. EWWW. And Obama got the Nobel Prize. Huh??

On Saturday, I stayed in bed and wrote this blog post. But now it's 9:40 and I have to peek my head out into the world to see what awaits me. Pray for me!!

Have a nice day.