A Cautionary Tale

It might seem like a good idea to recapture your youth by joining your kids on the sledding hill and flying down an ice-covered slope as though you are only half your age. But you're NOT half your age, and you'll prove it by injuring yourself in stupid ways. Jamming your finger, for instance, by placing it down in a frozen footprint as your sled is going approximately 30 mph, in an ineffective (and injurious) attempt to slow down.

OW.

It's HARD to take a picture with my left hand.

So I trudged back up the hill and took my tired, broken old body back to the house. The kids, however, stayed out a few more hours and came home with nary a scratch. Because they're young, unlike me.

Ice and ibuprofen are my friends right now. I don't think my finger's broken, and I am even still able to knit (oddly enough); but almost everything else I do hurts. Hurts my finger AND my pride, actually.

So, what else? We (well, our handyman, actually) applied the first coat of paint in the basement, and OMG it's bright. It looks downright radioactive. I'm waiting for Larry to come home before we even attempt a second coat. We might have to cover the whole thing with a different color. I don't know. I don't care. I'm done with paint.