that turned out to be a lot more involved than i thought. as soon as i sat down, the doctor started the laughing gas and told me he would numb my arm before putting the IV in. i've been giving blood since i had capacity to give my own informed consent 12 years ago, so i've been stuck with a lot of needles in my lifetime. when i was in law school, i used to donate platelets because you could bring a DVD and watch it on your own little TV while they popped you popcorn and generally treated you like royalty, which was the closest thing i ever had to a vacation, so i've been stuck with giant needles that pump your guts out, filter them out, and pump them back in many times. and then of course there's the whole giving-birth thing, where you're practically begging someone to drill a giant tube into your spine. since i was already kind of doped up, i felt free to let the doctor know that i thought his numbing spray was a little overkill.
he agreed that i have giant veins with no excuse not to hit it on the first try, but then pointed out that those hundreds of needles were placed by professionals, who are skilled at those types of things. he's an oral surgeon. he gets paid to bust your teeth into little pieces and pry them out of your face. he doesn't get paid to place needles. wait, what?
i was too high on the laughing gas at the time to register the blood spraying out of my arm before i fell asleep. and woke up with my first-ever bruise from a needle-poke. he showed me ... turns out, i do believe people should stick to what they're good at. i will spend the 20 minutes each it would take to train me on the fax machine, postage meter, typewriter three-hole punch, etc. making money to pay my staff to just do the same thing in 5 seconds or less.
i used to think that i had a high pain tolerance, having suffered my fair share of avoidable and ridiculous injuries. what i realize now is that i have a high pain threshhold. it is a slight but crucial difference. basically, i don't feel pain ... until i do. and when i do, it gets ugly fast. back up. throw the narcotics at me from a safe distance. preferably accompanied by a tub of chunky monkey and an original futurama episode. and try not to speak until spoken to.
of course, this plan has limited utility in my household. ice cream must be shared. the tv is ruled by little monsters dancing to the beat of a skinny black dude in a furry orange marching band hat. mohs has figured the exact right place on my jaw to repeatedly bash his little head when he's wrapping his arms around me to grab the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck and gnaw mercilessly on my shoulder. and panzer never, ever stops talking, usually to report on other people's business. side note: i have concluded nosiness is inherent in human nature and those who hold onto it into adulthood cannot be blamed. P could give 2 shits about the soup sitting on his plate right in front of him (until you take it away away from him and then it is "MINE!"), but will spend the entirety of a meal talking about how daddy's soup is hot and daddy's soup has carrots in it and daddy's soup is yummy.
on the plus side, having two teeth wrenched from my skull and subsequent week of weeping while slurping down yogurt and broth kick-started my holiday diet, obliterating the last five pounds and then some.
in another news, i have been trying to let panzer help me with the cooking. i always enjoyed baking things as a kid (and remember marathon christmas cookie rolling and cutting and baking and decorating days on the kitchen floor where we could all reach) and have been looking forward to sharing the kitchen with panzer. it has been a challenge, because 2-year-olds aren't careful and if given a choice, would actually prefer the mess they made to any other options. stirring things? maybe if you had a really huge bowl with a tiny bit to be mixed in the bottom. cracking eggs? maybe if you like your quiche to be crunchy and frantically cleaning raw egg out of your toddler's fists before he can lick it off. pouring ingredients from the cup into the bowl? sometimes ok (again, need big bowl with small amount of ingredients) but a fleeting joy. placing pre-made balls of cookie dough on a sheet? ok if you like each cookie to have a perfect little bite missing from it.
we're pretty much down to washing things and peeling things. P helped wash the potatoes i mashed. he sat on the floor, dipped his wash cloth into a bowl of water, and wrung it out on top of the potato. P helped me shuck corn. he pulled each leaf, one at a time, being careful not to touch the tassles at the top which seriously grossed him out. P helped me shell walnuts. he sat next to me, taking a turn with the nutcracker and using them like chopsticks to pick up the shells in the garbage bowl. and eating every third nut i put in the bowl. takes 10x longer and creates at least 2 additional messes to sop up, but ... that's his job and he's good at it. :)
do you smell what the rock is cooking?
