Every Thanksgiving weekend in the Stiff house is an adventure…
There was the year that Ray’s family decided to visit. I was so angry with Arleigh because she was being so lazy and not helping. I yelled. I was frustrated. Ten minutes later she threw up the entire contents of her stomach and maybe some toe jam. One of my many bad mother moments.
There was the year that we were invited to someone’s home. I noticed liquid snotty looking something in the floor close to Bria about 15 minutes after we arrived. I look at it. Then realize it was coming from her diaper and all over her. I grab the closest thing to me to get it off the carpet, a green paper napkin. The light tan carpet starts to turn a lovely boogery green. Mortified, I go to the kitchen and ask for a real rag. I clean the carpet up and prayed. I was blessed. The carpet was clean. Bria was not. I told Ray to pack pajamas because we would be there for so long. I pull them out. She was little over a year old. The pajamas were 6-12 months and did not fit. It was cold but my baby had on a short sleeve onesie and capri pants.
Let’s not forget the time 3 year old, potty trained Hanan was upstairs at the same person’s home on Thanksgiving. Her tummy was hurting but she was upstairs playing. She couldn’t get her tights off fast enough. She tried to clean it up herself. I won’t go into any more graphic detail other than to tell you it was a number two and I had a scrub someone’s bathroom then put my three year old into clothes that would fit a 10 year old and rush home. You would think I would learn at some point to pack extra clothes.
Actually, I have learned that lesson. This year it was another sort of bodily fluid all together. Every year I’m asked to make sweet potato casserole. I make 2. One with marshmallows for the host family and one with praline topping for my family. When I realized just how cheap the giant can of yams was at Sam’s and that it was the exact amount that I needed, I was all over it. Mistake! It was a mistake because I’m too stupid and lazy to pour the yams into a colander. I tried to drain the giant can with the cut lid. You see where this is going. The weight of the yams was more than I expected. The can started to slip and flip. Sort of like the tray of sundaes in Fancy Nancy but without the trip and with a razor sharp edge. I reached at the wrong spot or the wrong moment. Either way, I was all the way wrong and bleeding profusely. I couldn’t grab a bandaid. The paper towels were doing nothing. All my rags were dirty. (Hello. Thanksgiving Day…lots of cooking!)
At some point Ray heard me yell, “Holy Crap! Somebody get the bandaids.” He knows that means, “Grab the phone on the way, you may need to call 9-1-1 and be ready to act as a field medic and put a pressure bandage on stat!” Sometimes that military training comes in handy.
He took one look and my finger and knew we were in trouble. We couldn’t get it to stop. The pressure bandage finally seemed to be working. At some point we realized that redressing a bandaid was not good. It reopened it every time. We got everything covered and went along to Thanksgiving dinner. I took some pain meds and was able to ignore the painful throbbing for most of the day.
Time to go home… I needed to check things out. All I can say is God blessed me 1000 times over with a resourceful husband. The second skin patch worked wonders. My finger looks nasty. It will probably hurt for a couple of weeks. I am pretty sure my finger nail will be a goner just before the Christmas parties. I am ever so thankful that I still have the tip of it.
Sorry if you read this with your breakfast. Some day I’ll tell you how I managed to break my ring finger in the grinding part of a vacuum. I think that’s enough for today.