Typing left handedly

In the immortal words of Shaggy

"Like yowza, Scoob!"

Yowza was the most mild of terms, used by me, as I broke boards (and quite possibly my hand) at Tae Kwon Do class last week. Hence the one handed typing. UGH! The agony. The bruising, ego included. The big ugly wrist brace is quite a hindrance to well, say any task requiring the use my right hand and arm really. I look pretty funny twisting my whole body around all wonky-like just so I can use a fork. Yeah, I know what was I thinking? I was thinking I could totally break that board and I did break it, on the first try too. However, I was not thinking about my Fibromyalgia or that fact that I am in my thirties and out of shape...nuff said.


So, while I sit around waiting for my hand to heal, know that I am dreaming of the good ole blogging days when I actually could (even though I didn't) blog and the day when I can whip out a great blog and not have it take me an hour to type it out one handed.

Well...poop! and a back ache.

My, how time flies when you are having fun... or are in immense pain and taking copious amounts of Tylenol and Advil.

Well, the return to normal has been an easy transition if you don't count the huge pain in my butt back or the cat poop littering (HAH!) various spots around the house. Our family returned home from a wonderful visit with family and friends to find that all of the animals had weathered the storms unscathed and frankly all those creatures did was poop. Every last one of them. Imagine that. The chicken house and rabbit cages are chock full of...yup, poop. The cats were left to range free about the house, where they only got the runs after eating an entire package of DOG (blasted dog anyway) treats. Good heavens, I am so grateful to the manufacturers of Fabreeze! And Clorox Wipes. And rubber gloves.

I have yet to download all 4 gig's of photo's that I took whilst out gallivanting the countryside. And no, I didn't take any shots of the poop. At least, not yet.

All the poop aside, the vacation was well worth the hassle and mania. I can't wait to tell y' all about the adventures we had but it will all have to come in fits and starts as I can't sit for too long and I write S.. L.. O.. W.. L..Y.. Did I mention that my butt back hurts?


So, I'm off to nurse my back with the help of my trusty heating pad and more pain killers. And, I just pray that I don't find any more poop.




Ah, it's good to be home....

Where oh where, has Katie gone...

Since I have been enjoying my own personal version of Hee Haw, I have forgotten to blog.

GASP! you say. What could have befallen Katie to bring on such craziness?

Just a little Christmas Crack and some travel. A tiny bit of chicken butchering and some terrible back pain. The fun never ends...



Well, I will be returning to blogdom before you can say:


Heeeee! Hawwwww!

Have a Happy New Year!

Thoughts for a Thursday

I was dragged from my slumber at about 2 am this morning.

I was SLEEPING!

Actually being asleep is a big thing for me. I don't sleep, I nap. I have Fibromyalgia and laying down for long periods is painful.

So, needless to say, I was sorta ticked off when my 4 year old came crawling into my side of the bed. Icy cold! "I am fah,fah, fahreeezzing, I need to sleep in your spot" he said. Being all sleepy and such I obligingly rolled over to make room, and am shocked out of my whits at the ice cold feet planted firmly on my behind! I had forgotten that I went to be in a tank and unders. Now these were not the normal everyday underwear us girls choose over those "special" panties. My washer is on the blink and has been for nigh on 2 weeks. Yes, you guessed it, I was wearing date night chonies. Around these parts we call them Friday Night Panties. These are much smaller than my day-to-day's, to which I lovingly refer to as my "Grannies".

I suddenly feel exposed. Very exposed!

So I decide that maybe I could tuck the blankets between us. What was I thinking? This disturbed the Inspector General who scoops up our poor frozen offspring and carts him off to his own bed, screaming like a mimi.

Well, I am a smart girl, so I stayed put and tucked my flabulous self back into the blankets. Several LONG moments later hubby comes back "freezing". Snuggling into my bubble space, he for some reason grabs a hold of my baby paunch. Not just that sweet little snugly fondle thing but a full on football hold. (Was he thinking touchdown??) I laid there frozen. Mortified. Should I jerk away in my shame, or just act like it wasn't me he was grabbin' and play dumb in the morning..........a thousand different escape plans ran through my head. Not one of them was feasible.

"Think... think. Think like James Bond!!" my mind screamed.

By now my darling husband is snoring like a lumber jack, hand still firmly grasping the hated pouch. After a few failed attempts to loosen his grip, I try to get up. The man won't give up. I am beginning to think that I will be stuck like this 'till 5am, or until he rolls over~heaven forbid! Visions of flying through the night air, not unlike a football to touchdown, flood my sleep deprived brain.


Now my hubby drives truck for a living. As a side effect, he also drives truck in his sleep. On many, many occasions I have been jerked (literally) awake, while my love is peacefully shifting his dump truck in his sleep, grasping a huge chunk of my hair!!


** Gasp you say? I have to agree.**


The fat glob grab is no different. With a firm hold on the "shifter" (IE: fat glob) he commences to "shift". I had to stifle a scream~leaping from the bed, I make haste for the commode. Trying to tuck my grossly stretched out fat back into my less than adequate undies.

( I am sure it wasn't that floppy before)

Lest I raise suspicion, I return to bed. Contemplating the purchase of a girdle and a new job for hubby.

I did not go back to sleep for fear of being "shifted" again.