Hot cheese and sauce splashed from midway below my elbow to my fingertips. The word ouch just doesn’t do justice to the screaming-white-hot-over-the-top-pain coursing over my arm at that moment. Thanks to my lucky star I was standing close to the sink, and thinking quickly for someone in a pain-induced haze, I plunged my arm under the faucet and turned on the cold water. Ok, this is supposed to help, well let me tell you, it didn’t, at least not at first.
Standing there with tears forming in my eyes, I looked around to see if I could reach the phone without taking my arm out of the stream of cold water flowing over it. I knew in my mind, the air hitting this burn would only increase the throbbing, and therefore attempted to formulate a plan which would bring help without leaving the safety of the sink. Mental note: have hubby relocate phone closer to sink.
After about ten minutes of holding my hand under the faucet, I decided I had to brave the pain and find some burn cream. Of course we had none. Carefully cradling my injured arm against my body, I picked up the phone and called…yes you guessed it, my twenty-year-old daughter, Renae. The conversation went something like this.
“Hello.”
“Remember that burn cream we bought for your sunburn in Florida, do you have any left?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring it over please, also some gauze if you have any?”
“I don’t have any gauze.”
“Ok, then just bring the burn cream.”
“Why?”
“Because I burned myself.”
“How?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Did you want me to bring it right now?”
“No, I want you to bring it ten minutes ago.”
“Huh?”
“Oy, just bring the burn cream over here, please.”
“Ok mom, I’m on my way.”
A little history at this moment…my daughter lives next door. On a slow day I can cross the yard in 5.67389 seconds to arrive at her front door. Ten minutes after I made the call, my lovely daughter finally walked in.
“What took you so long? I’m dying here,” I cried.
“You said you wanted gauze.” Holding up a bag with gauze in it, Renae smiled. “See I found some. It was in the back of the closet buried under several boxes and old coats. I knew I had some, just took me awhile to remember where I’d put it.”
“Great.”
“Does it hurt?” This question was posed as she walked into the kitchen to take a look at my arm which by this time I had again placed under cold running water.
“Yes it hurts.” I was carefully drying my arm in anticipation of applying soothing burn cream to my entire body if need be to get out of pain.
Taking my hand in hers, Renae squeezed a generous amount of cream onto my burns. Clicking her tongue, she asked for an account of what happened, which I gave. It was at this point she made her “What were you thinking?” statement.
Like I have a clue. “I believe it had something to do with hunger; however I’m no longer sure of anything except it HURTS!”
With my face screwed into a series of pained expressions, her wisdom rang out. “Now you know what it felt like when I got my sunburn in Florida.”
Does this child of mine think this is the first time in forty-eight years I’ve burned myself? Her comment didn’t deserve a reply, so I just smiled weakly and allowed her to place fifteen yards of gauze over my burns. She wound it between my fingers, over my wrist, up my arm, then back down again, before starting over. By the time she had completed her task, looked at it in satisfaction, and declared me ready to return to my desk, I needed a dolly to help move my arm from the kitchen to the office.
After about thirty minutes of trying to type with one hand, unable to remember the feeling of lust necessary to write a love scene, I gave up. Lumbering back to the kitchen, my bandaged arm dragging the floor behind me, I found the aspirin and took three. Going to the living room, I sat in my favorite recliner and put my feet up to try and sleep off the pain.
It was about this time hubby returned home. Looking at my bandaged arm, he quickly inquired about what happened during his absence, showing what can only be called—‘assumed concern’. My hubby has always believed me to be a consummate klutz, so he was not surprised to learn I had done such a thing. He gave the proper sympathy, asked if I needed anything, than announced he was taking a nap.
I really didn’t expect him to do anything else. In reality I just wanted to sleep and forget about the pain, which I did. The next morning I carefully unwound the gauze to assess the damage to my hand and am pleased to report, while it still hurt like hell, it appeared I only have second degree burns in a couple of places. While typing is still painful, I’m determined to get back on the horse and use the microwave oven again soon.
Note to self: Buy oven mitts!
Chapter 11
Yes son, your chin!
Its 2:36 p.m. on the west coast, the sun is shining and the temperature is a beautiful 73 degrees. It's hard to remember yesterday was cold, wet, and dreary.
When the yellow orb arrives (the sun to others), we who choose to live in this delightful state peer out of our homes with wonder on our faces and ask “Who turned on the lights?”
James will be happy at this afternoon’s football practice because the grass should be dry for the first time since they started the new season. Today his practice jersey will not be covered in mud, his legs will not be covered in mud, and hopefully the rest of him will be mud free as well.
The bruise on his chin is almost gone. Wait, did I tell you about that? No! Well let me back up then. Last week when he got out of the shower after practice and there was no longer dried mud covering his face, I noticed a rather large, long, red welt on his chin. Like any concerned mother I inquired, “What did you do to your chin.”
“What's wrong with my chin?”
“Perhaps looking in a mirror might give you a clue, son.”
He dutifully went back in the bathroom to examine his injury. Walking back into the office he stated. “Hum, not sure.”
“Hum not sure what it is, or not sure how you got it?”
“Both.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Nope.”
Ok, about this time I realized we were at our standard one word answer to every question I might pose, so I decided I'd try one more time to extract information.
“Did you get hit or maybe stepped on? Did your chin strap get caught? Did one of the girls at school clobber you?”
“It’s football mom, how am I supposed to know?”
Well it wasn't a one word answer, you gotta like that. “I know it’s football, James. I'm just trying to figure out how you ended up with a welt that large on your face, and how you could get it without knowing.”
Giving me that look, which clearly said here we go again, trying to explain to mom things she has no hope of understanding, he stated. “It just happens sometimes. You end up at the bottom of the pile and get stepped on. It's no big deal, I'm fine.”
That pretty much ended the conversation, well that and the fact he went into the kitchen to find something to eat.
A few minutes later I joined James in the living room. Sitting on the couch, I hit the mute button on the TV and asked him, “so how was practice?”
“Fine.”
“Do you like the coaches?”
“Yes.”
“Are you getting excited about camp next week?”
“Yep.”
That’s it; I know when I’m defeated. Smiling, I handed him the remote and allowed him to go back to his cartoons and pizza rolls.
It wasn’t until the next morning on the drive to school that James filled me in on all the details of his practices. I found out the coach has made him a strong side outside linebacker on defense. I now know they have him lining up against the varsity offense and he is holding his own against guys a lot bigger than him. He told me he’s still trying out for the position of wide
receiver on the offense, and finally he told me not to worry about his chin because it really didn’t hurt.
Note to self: Wait until morning to ask questions!
Chapter 12
Happy Dance
Last evening I received a call from one of my husband’s friends. He asked what I had gotten my hubby for father’s day. When I replied, “Nothing,” he asked, “Why not?”
“Because he is not my father.”
“Yes, but he is a father.”
“True, he is a father with three children. It’s their job to buy him gifts, not mine.”
“Well did you make sure they knew what to get him?”
Ok, this conversation was getting out of hand in my opinion. First of all, I haven’t told my kids what to get their father for years. I taught them at a young age to ask their father what he wanted, and left it to them to make it happen. When my father was alive I had to find out what he wanted, go to the store and buy it, then wrap whatever the gift was and give it to him. There was no way I was going to take that joy away from my children.
Wondering why Don was calling with this question, I inquired, “Did he tell you there was something he wanted that perhaps I don’t know about.”
“No, I just wondered what you planned to get him.”
“I don’t plan to get him anything. Is that the only reason you called?”
“Nope, I was wondering if you guys wanted to get together tomorrow for a BBQ?”
Hating to disappoint again, I had to tell Don we already had plans. He talked a little longer about things I had no interest in (he is also a contractor) like the price of lumber, what jobs he did last week, and such.
After about five minutes of listening, I asked if we could have a rain check on the BBQ, then hung up.
Don’t think I’m mean or anything, it’s just that I had the house to myself for two hours and I didn’t want to spend a moment of it on the phone. Not really sure why I answered it in the first place.
Anyhow, we had had the yard sale this past weekend. Two days of hard work, heat, and stupid people. I was done in, and all I wanted to do was check my emails, take a hot bath, and hit the bed to watch a little television before sleep.
After hanging up the phone, I turned on the computer and hit the icon for Outlook Express. For some reason it took a few moments to open and keeping to my normal routine, I became side tracked from my mission. Not sure why I walked away from the computer at that moment, however I did. Heading into the bathroom, I ran a tub of hot water, added lots of bubble bath and climbed in.
I have no idea how long I soaked, I just know the water got cold and I finally stepped from the tub. After dressing, I headed back into the office, remembering I had started to check my email. Sitting at the desk, I scanned the list of messages and came to one from Liquid Silver Books. The subject line read: Submission.
I’m sure all of you have had a moment in your life where you wondered if you really wanted to know what a card, letter, or email said. I wanted to open the email and yet was a little nervous. After all, there was always the chance the publisher might not like the book.
Biting my lips between my teeth, I moved the cursor over the email and did the double click to open it. There in front of my eyes on the screen were the most wonderful words known to man (or woman): “We want it!”
I sat there staring at the words, feeling very lucky. My second book accepted by Liquid Silver Books, and I have to tell you I’m as excited and amazed as I was the first time.
Now I’m off to do the happy dance.
Note to self: Good things can come via eMail!
Chapter 13
Double nothing is still nothing!
Some days, my darling husband drives me to distraction. I’m sure most wives feel the same way at times. I however have the added bonus of being his, hmmm…girl Friday.
No that’s not right… his secretary, yuk…that’s not it either.
Well, my official title is Vice President; however that’s just a title he gave me when I asked for a raise. It was great, he said, “Ok sweetheart, I’ll double your salary and give you a new title…you can be Vice President.”
“Wow, that’s very nice, however double nothing is still nothing. I wanted a real raise…you know the kind that actually puts money in my purse.”
“You don’t carry a purse, so what’s the point?”
“There is no point; it’s just nice to know I’m worth more.”
“You’re worth so much I can’t afford to pay you!” Ok, I know what you’re thinking…and yes I accepted the title.
My duties as Vice President are pretty much the same as a secretary—type invoices, estimates, pay the bills, answer the phones, etc. This brings us to last evening. Mr. Wonderful walked in the door at about seven, he looked tired. In my typical fashion I greeted him. “You look terrible, good day?”
“Sure, if you say so.”
“Did you get the contracts signed?”
“YES!”
Ok that was yelling.
What’s that you say? You need some background information…well don’t fret. One of my jobs is to keep the paperwork in order. My instructions were passed down from the all-knowing ‘Attorney’. As a contractor it’s very important, underline very, to get a signed contract before you start working, underline before. Sometimes this is difficult, because not all the people we work for live here. Case in point—yesterday’s job. The owner of this lovely property lives in Missouri of all places. This meant the real estate agent needed to send the contract via fax, have the owner sign it and fax it back. This is not a complex thing to do in most cases, especially since the contract was delivered to them over two weeks ago. In typical fashion however, they waited until ten minutes before the crew arrived on the job site to try and fax the contracts.
This is where it gets sticky. My darling hubby agreed to start the work, as long as the real estate agent got the contracts signed right away and delivered them to the job site.
Four hours later I got a call from said real estate agent (also known as pain-in-the-ass) telling me the contracts were ready for me to pick up. Well hell, I didn’t have time to go running all over the place picking up paperwork, and I told them that. You would think I’d asked them to swim the English Channel, instead of driving two blocks to the job site to deliver the paperwork as agreed. After a ten minute discussion on their job vs. my job, they delivered the contracts.
That’s one for me.
Now where was I, oh right…he was yelling.
“Yes I got the contracts. We finished the job so you can bill it and get the invoice to the escrow office tomorrow.”
Now in my opinion, what with the yelling and all, I assumed (big mistake) this meant he wanted me to get right on typing the invoicing so it would be ready to deliver first thing.
While the light of my life stood in the shower for twenty-five minutes…I think he can sleep standing up…I went to work typing the invoices. Having completed them, I put a copy on his desk to review, shut down the computer and spent a quiet evening reading. Oh and staying out of ‘old yellers’ way.
Fast forward to the next morning, ‘old yeller’ is up and moving very early, I can hear him in the office pushing paperwork around on his desk, making phone calls to the crew with job locations and starting times. I soon realized he’s making so much noise because he wants me up and in the office with him…oh jOY!
As I climbed out of bed I made the mistake of looking at the time, 5:26 a.m. Well hell and it wasn’t even for sex, this sucks! Oops got sidetracked again, back to the story…
I climbed out of bed, put on a very sexy robe and strolled down the hall to the office. Do you think Mr. Lunkhead even noticed the robe?
“Where did the contracts for ‘B’ Street go?”
“Good morning to you too, sweet cheeks.”
“Yes, sorry, good morning. Where are they?”
“In the completed jobs binder with the invoicing.” I said this with a note of wo
nder in my voice to indicate he should have already known that.
“You TYPED the invoice already?”
“YES, I typed the invoices last night. You said they needed to go to the escrow office this morning.”
“I didn’t expect you to do it last night. There are some changes.”
Oh great, I thought. Why is it he can never tell me these things when he gives me the paperwork? “Ok I’m confused.”
The look on his face made me want to launch a stapler at his head. “What’ new!”
“Listen shithead, last night you gave me the contracts, there is nothing in them about any changes. This stuff is supposed to be written down and signed.”
I can’t repeat what he said about contracts, lawyers, and paperwork in general, suffice it to say I just stood there as he unloaded his frustration. Once he’d expended his energy on the general state of the world, he finally looked at me for the first time.
“Wow, when did you get that?”
“Yesterday.”
He took a step in my direction, now smiling.
I’d tell you what happened next, but this book is PG13, so you’ll have to use your imagination.
Chapter 14
Family Reunion…an annual event to bore the younger generation!
My one and only trip to a family reunion was anything but…boring.
It was my first trip to the state of my birth since my parents moved us lock, stock, and barrel to sunny California when I was five. Every year from the time I turned eighteen, I received an invite to the family reunion and every year I had the same question, “Can’t you hold it in January, when it’s not hot and muggy in Michigan?” My auntie assured me, “Summer is the best time for a family reunion”. Having diligently said no for over thirty years, I finally decided maybe I should go. Of course, I planned on dragging my sisters Terri, Yvette, and Suzy with me.
The jOYs of Life Page 4
