And I Will Call This Cocktail The Prim Reaper

You Didn't Miss Much

Oh heavens how I have missed you! Do you want to see my new brace?


In addition to being rather sporty, it is significantly smaller than the other one; so not only can I now move the top joint of my thumb (which I am doing as we speak space bar space bar space bar) but also my wrist (crucial in the event of sudden badminton.) On the minus side I am no longer walking around as the poster child for emergency falconry preparedness. Quel, as the French say, dommage.  

[I self-diagnosed turf thumb, by the way, and think that I must've landed on it funny during one of my eleventy million falls during soccer - probably that time the other guy got the yellow card; note the pride in my voice because it means that *I* had gotten to the ball first ... before he cowped me. The orthopedist said the swelling was caused by ligament damage but my real issue is the arthritis in that joint. Who knew? Anyway. Cortisone and a brace and I'm practically out of the bandbox.

And I am officially retired from soccer. Again.]

Speaking of soccer, Patrick pointed out that my brace is Chelsea blue; an incredibly awkward observation since he knows that Chelsea and I have consciously uncoupled. Sorry. I meant to break it to you more gently but there it is. We'd been growing apart for some time (what with the unavoidable fact that they are all, more or less, a bunch of dicks) but it wasn't until I leapt to my feet with a squeal of joy when someone - Southhampton? - scored against them that I realized that it was really, truly over. Like an ill-advised first marriage I had rushed in too quickly; smitten with the idea of being smitten.

Since November I've been seeing... well, seeing someone new and although it is too soon to be sure I think this time my fandom will be forever. There is a sweetness to this new team. A touching vulnerability. A refreshing lack of Diego Costa that is leaving me heady and a little breathless. It's also possible they're going to get relegated, at which point I'm screwed because America has come a long way in their football broadcasts but not all the way down to the championship league.

What else?

Patrick is officially an inch taller than I am. It's weird. I'm not going to lie to you. You have this baby and you love them and feed them and smile indulgently when they talk about fonts and then they are taller than you are.

Caroline continues to love Crivens with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

Edward - wow, it has been a while, hasn't it - Edward was diagnosed with dysgraphia... oh! An enormous and heartfelt thank you to those of you who weighed in on the subject last Fall and encouraged me to take Edward to a neuropsychologist. Getting the neuropsych eval through our health insurance company was a lengthy exercise in You-Must-Be-Joking bureaucracy (at one point we were told that they would pay for it but only if the evaluation found issues beyond learning disabilities - chicken meet egg) but it was worth it. She identified a few things that would benefit from additional classroom support and we were able to use her report as a starting point with the school. 

Ha! Sorry. That reminds me. This came home last week and I admit that I giggled.


And on that mature and erudite note I bid you goodnight and swear upon the altar of salt I will check in again much sooner.