Win the lottery next time
Chris’s new year started off with a bang. Yesterday at work he was climbing around on his computer tables hanging his album covers on his classroom walls, when he slipped and fell on the edge of a fold up table that was, for reasons I can’t quite account for, folded and standing on end, so that the edge of the table rather inconveniently connected with his face on his way down. Evidently he bled like a stuck pig for quite some time, and the office staff actually rolled him downstairs to the nurse’s office in another teacher’s rolling desk chair—he actually got dizzy, which goes to show how hard he hit.
I was home, repotting an orchid, with moss and dirt all over the counter, when the phone rang—the first time the school nurse has ever called me to come get my husband. Laura and I picked him up and spent the afternoon with him at the oral surgeon’s while they x-rayed him twice to see if he’d broken the roots on any of his teeth, and then stitched up the inside of his mouth. His teeth look ok now, unless the nerves were damaged, in which case he’ll have to have a root canal later.
In any event, he’s on a soft foods only diet—no chewing at all—for a week. I put the ham in the freezer for later and bought all kinds of jello and pudding and made soup tonight and stock for another soup for Thursday night—and finally got all the orchid moss wiped off the kitchen counter. Maybe tomorrow if I’m lucky I’ll get to the floor too. In the meantime, Chris feels bad enough that he’s mostly parked on the couch, where he’s getting meals hand delivered on a tray while he watches The Daily Show and hurts himself trying not to laugh.
It’s odd—one of the quirky Chris 2004 productions I considered for the Christmas letter was a faux journalism piece he wrote for the high school paper (he’s the advisor) about another teacher beating him up. They staged a fight and had pictures taken of it, and then he Photoshopped his face all bruised up. He says next fake article he writes is going to be about us winning the lottery.
I was home, repotting an orchid, with moss and dirt all over the counter, when the phone rang—the first time the school nurse has ever called me to come get my husband. Laura and I picked him up and spent the afternoon with him at the oral surgeon’s while they x-rayed him twice to see if he’d broken the roots on any of his teeth, and then stitched up the inside of his mouth. His teeth look ok now, unless the nerves were damaged, in which case he’ll have to have a root canal later.
In any event, he’s on a soft foods only diet—no chewing at all—for a week. I put the ham in the freezer for later and bought all kinds of jello and pudding and made soup tonight and stock for another soup for Thursday night—and finally got all the orchid moss wiped off the kitchen counter. Maybe tomorrow if I’m lucky I’ll get to the floor too. In the meantime, Chris feels bad enough that he’s mostly parked on the couch, where he’s getting meals hand delivered on a tray while he watches The Daily Show and hurts himself trying not to laugh.
It’s odd—one of the quirky Chris 2004 productions I considered for the Christmas letter was a faux journalism piece he wrote for the high school paper (he’s the advisor) about another teacher beating him up. They staged a fight and had pictures taken of it, and then he Photoshopped his face all bruised up. He says next fake article he writes is going to be about us winning the lottery.
posted by Lisa at 1/05/2005 11:17:00 PM
<< Home