Grace

My wife has asked me to guest blog on Fridays for the month of November so I thought this would be a great opportunity to give you a sneak peek at the woman behind the mask and perhaps air some dirt that she otherwise wouldn’t tell you out of fear of embarrassment. For our first installment I want to talk about grace. Not Grace as in “she passed away thirty years ago” but grace as in “lack of”. Ever since we’ve been married my poor sweet darling wife has been somewhat clumsy and can be counted on to jump out of bed in the morning and ram herself into a wall or door frame resulting in perma-bruises on her upper arms and thighs. I personally feel she’s on a mission to get placed on permanent disability in an effort to have a good excuse to stay at home and get paid for it (not that raising our children isn’t a good reason to stay at home but the pay really sucks). For you, Dear Reader, I present the following evidence so you can decide for yourself:

Exhibit A: About lunch time one day Marilyn thought she’d go and check the mailbox. This was at our old house and we had a mailbox at the street (the kind you knock off with baseball bats). Since it was lunchtime she placed our then 2 year old son in his high chair to eat and put the leash on the dog. I should also mention that the door to this house was in alcove set back several yards from the street on one side of the house. Our neighbors house was about 8 feet away creating a sort-of tunnel effect to our front door. Marilyn, with the dog in tow, stepped out onto the front step and proceeded to the mailbox, conveniently forgetting that there was an 8 inch step off the porch. I didn’t witness what happened next but according to her own account she launched herself headlong from the top of the step flying parallel to the ground and landed with a sickening thud just slightly to the left of the sidewalk knocking the breath out of her lungs. In other words she missed. If she had succeeded in hitting the sidewalk I’m sure she may have succeeded in knocking her self unconscious, breaking her neck, or any other various injuries that would have insured a lifetime of immobility. Oh and who knows how long our son would have sat in his high chair waiting for his mother to retrieve him.

Exhibit B: Our then 3 year old son acquired through a now forgotten source a small Red Rider wagon. This is the sort of wagon that’s big enough to haul legos or a small child (let’s say a 3 year old) around the living room but not so big as to be able to haul anything much bigger. Apparently it was also about the right size for a size 10 womens foot as my darling wife found out. It’s well known that Marilyn doesn’t like to get up in the middle of night and I can count on one hand the times shes gotten up for any reason other than to feed a baby (i.e. stick a bottle or boob in their mouth and go back to sleep). For some reason she felt the need to not only get up in the middle of the night but to also try and navigate our living room in the dark. The result was my dear wife placing said foot in the wagon which then zipped across the living room leaving her ass over elbows. The first thing to hit was her head on our coffee table followed by the rest of her body. She walked away with nary a scratch. Again another fine attempt but no dice.

Exhibit C: By far the most successful attempt to date was I like to think of as “Marilyn vs The Ice.” The first winter in our new house saw feet upon feet of snow around the first of the year resulting in a nice thick layer of ice in our driveway despite our best efforts to keep the snow off. Now most people would attack the ice with a thick layer of salt, which we did, but since the driveway is on the north side of our house it didn’t get enough sun to let the salt work its magic. Of course Marilyn saw this as an opportunity to finally do what she had failed to do several times before. Oh! I almost forgot to mention the pink boots. Marilyn has a pair of pink suede boots that she likes to wear in the wintertime. I find them particularly annoying because she tends to “clomp around” in them. Anyway, said boots have virtually no traction per se which are great for wearing on ice right? Long story short the ice got tired of being poked at and down went Marilyn pink boots and all. For his part our then 4 year old son responded to his mothers screams of agony and brought her the telephone with which she called me at work. Mind you this was right at 5pm so I “rushed” home in bumper to bumper traffic and called a friend that lived nearby to go to the house and find out what was going on. Marilyn and I also had a conversation about her pink boots:

Me: So do you think you broke your ankle?
Her: I’m not sure it just really hurts (moan)
Me: Okay well I’m just trying to figure out if we need to call the ambulance
Her: I don’t know. What will happen if you call the ambulance?
Me: What do you mean? They’ll take you to the hospital
Her: No I mean what will happen to my pink boots?
Me: *blink blink* They’ll cut your boot off so they can look at your ankle
Her: Noooooo (groan) I don’t want them to cut my boot off

Needless to say by the time I get there she had convinced my friend that the boot needed to be taken off so he kindly helped her get it off. God forbid anything happen to the pink boots (eventually and very recently something DID happen to the pink boots but thats another story). Anyway, 6 hours in the emergency room, surgery, and several bottles of pain killers later my wife now has a rebuilt ankle complete with titanium plate and screws as well as a nifty set of crutches and a walking boot gathering dust in our bedroom. You can see a nice pic of said ankle in the header on this page.

There are countless other examples I could provide that didn’t result in injury or near-fatality but these three stick out as the best examples. I’m looking forward to many more years of attempts at permanent disability. Until next week!