I Need an Adult Helper

A blogger should never even think in the deepest recesses of her mind words like "I wonder what I will write about tomorrow." Because in so doing, she becomes her own fodder.

So here's a little peeksie at my day yesterday.

Ryan went to work, and I did chores around the house. I hadn't bothered to get ready yet because I didn't have to. (Terrible reason. Don't use it. Trust me.)

My lunch plan was to make a sweet potato/sausage/egg/cheese casserole, so about 10:30, I headed into the kitchen to start assembling. It needed about 45 minutes to bake. I decided I wanted to matchstick shred the sweet potatoes, so they were kind of like shredded hash browns. By the way, why don't they sell sweet potatoes in that form? And if they do, can you PLEASE tell me what store I should be shopping at to find them?

For my birthday, I'd gotten a gift card to Bed, Bath and Beyond, so several weeks ago, I went there and bought this nifty multi-cutting tool that cuts disks and matchsticks and such for veggies. I got it all set up and tried to put the hand guard on the sweet potato. I learned (on the first potato) that when the potato was still full size, the hand guard didn't work so well. It was better to wait until the potato was shorter and it would hold its grip on it.

I put in the second potato and found my stride in the shredding game. I gave it one last swipe before pausing to put on the hand guard, and it was one swipe too many. I shredded my thumb.

It didn't hurt right away. I put pressure on it with my left hand and danced a little jig around the house. I pulled my hand away and could see I'd nearly cleanly torn off a hunk of my thumb, and I could also see that releasing pressure released flood gates. Or is it blood gates? Both.

Now I can handle blood. Just not mine. My own freaks me out. I tried to reapply the pressure but it was starting to get messy. I ran to the linen closet and got an old washcloth. I tried to text Ryan lefthanded to tell him I needed to come to the hospital to see him for cleanup on aisle Bekah. He said that was fine.

But remember that little part where I hadn't gotten ready for the day? Well I couldn't exactly go to the hospital in my jam jams, so I tried to figure out how to even go about getting dressed without separating my hands. Can't be done.

I also couldn't leave my bleeding thumb unattended, so I peeled open a band aid with my teeth and slapped it over the wound. It wouldn't last long and I knew it, but I hoped it would last long enough for me to get dressed.

It did.

I mean I wasn't winning any beauty pageant awards, but at least I had on street clothes.

By this time I could feel my heartbeat in my thumb, and the thought of the whole thing made me a little dizzy. I got to Ryan as fast as I could and sat down in a chair. He was just about done treating his patient, so I waited for my turn to be the patient. (HA!)

I'm a terrible patient. (STOP NODDING, RYAN!)

He had to rinse my thumb, and the pressure of the water wasn't my favorite part of the day. Then came the peroxide, which he declared would not hurt, but I disagree. I knew it had to be done, but I didn't have to like it.

He bandaged me up and sent me home, where I determined I would get on with the day - and with a plan B for lunch. We had gotten into the 45 minute baking window, and I hadn't even assembled the thing yet.

So I switched some laundry and remembered right about then that I needed to drink another 30 ounces of water. I was behind, thanks to my...ahem...interruption. I grabbed my tumbler, put some ice in it, and stuck it under the water spout in the refrigerator.

At the twenty-eight-ounce mark, the bandage on my thumb slipped and I dropped the entire tumbler full of 28 ounces of water plus ice alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll over the kitchen floor. Sigh.

Three bath towels later, I had it cleaned up, but the cleaning had aggravated the thumb and I started to bleed through the bandage.

I texted Ryan and said, "I need an adult helper. I need rebandaged at lunch."

He decided not to mess around:

So the good news is, it doesn't affect my keyboard typing. I can't feel the spacebar, but I can hit it with my super-sized thumb. Texting, though, has reached stunted levels. So if you text me and I respond with something inappropriate in any direction, please accept my apologies. I blame the vegetables.

(Please let the record show I've never had an ice cream injury.)

And though it didn't happen the same day, I did also receive a goose egg on my shin earlier this week when a jar of coconut oil fell off the lazy Susan in the cabinet and nailed me in the leg.

So...….anyone want to come supervise me for a while?