The Pants with No One Inside Them

Remember that Dr. Seuss story about the green pants with no one inside them?

Well…

I was walking in the night

And I saw nothing scary.

For I have never been afraid

Of anything. Not very.

Then I was deep within the woods

When, suddenly, I spied them.

I saw a pair of pale green pants

With nobody inside them!

That used to give me the heebie jeebies!

Monte too.

Later in the story:

I said, “I do not fear those pants

With nobody inside them.”

I said, and said, and said those words.

I said them. But I lied them.

Monte had a incident with a pair of pants with no one inside them.

And it creeped him out. 

Like in the Dr. Seuss story.

He called me from work a few days ago and the first words out of his mouth were,

"Something just happened that is blog-worthy."

Which is basically a signed waiver 

giving me permission to post this.

I asked Monte to write this post from his perspective but he suggested an interview type format instead.

So, here goes.

Me:  What happened?

Monte:  On my lunch break at the gym, I put my work clothes in the locker and my gym bag under the bench in the locker room. After working out and showering, I noticed my jeans and belt on the floor by my bag, which confused me.

Me:  Why did it confuse you?

Monte:  Because I didn’t wear jeans that day, my khakis were in the locker.

Me:  So what did you do?

Monte:  I thought that maybe my jeans were in my bag and had fallen out when I pulled out my workout clothes.

Me:  Did you ever think someone had rifled through your bag?

Monte:  Nope.

Me:  Why is this a blog-worthy story?

Monte:  I was still confused about why the jeans were outside my bag. But I shoved them back in and forgot about it. No big deal. No story…yet.

Me: So…

Monte:  The next day was “jeans day” at work and I pulled the jeans out of my gym bag BUT as I put them on something didn’t feel right. The waist fit right but they were too long. I took them off and looked at them closer and realized that the length was 2 inches longer than I wear and the belt was a little different. These weren’t mine! I realized I was a thief. But not a normal thief--a thief that steals someone’s jeans while they are working out.

Me:  So what did you do with the jeans?

Monte:  I was panicked. My first reaction was to throw them away and pretend it didn’t happen.

Me:  You really wanted to throw them away? In our house?! You never considered waking me up to tell me of the stranger’s pants in our house?

Monte:  No. But I didn't throw them away, I decided to return them to the stylish guy with good taste in jeans and belts.

Me:  Nice plug for yourself. So what did you do?

Monte:  I put them back in my workout bag with a plan to return them to the gym at lunch. I couldn’t help thinking of the guy returning from the shower only to find he had no pants to wear back to work! Everyone at the office thought the guy may have been swimming and had to go into the 20 degree weather with WET swim trunks on.

Me:  Wait. You told everyone in the office before calling me?

Monte:  Yes.

We stare at each other silently.

Monte:  Do you want to hear what the office said?

Me:  Yes.

Monte:  Here are a few scenarios the office came up with about the pantless guy in the locker room:

•He had to drive to the mall in his workout shorts to buy pants so he could return to work.

•He was only wearing a Speedo while swimming and 

just opted to drive home instead of facing walking around the mall
to buy a new pair of pants or into the office basically naked.

•He went to the front desk of the gym and asked for Lost & Found 

looking for his jeans.

•Upon not finding his jeans in Lost & Found he reported them stolen.

•He became irate and vowed to hurt whoever stole his jeans.

Me:  What if he was so desperate for pants that he started rifling through lockers and gym bags for any pair of pants to steal?

Monte:  So I triggered a crime spree? An evil pay-it-forward?

Me:  Yes.

We stare at each other silently.

Me:  How did you return the pants?

Monte:  I was too embarrassed to return them to the front desk because I didn’t want to have to admit that I stole some dude’s pants.

Me:  And tried them on.

Monte:  Right. I placed them on the bench in the locker room near where I found them.

Me:  Did anyone see you?

Monte:  No. I was hoping someone would turn them in to Lost & Found and return them to the guy.

Me:  Wouldn’t it have been funnier if you just returned them to Lost & Found and they could have connected you with the guy and you two could have had a big long laugh about it?

Monte:  NO!!

Me:  Why?

Monte:  NO!! I don’t know. It’s creepy. I wanted to throw them away!

So if may:

Well,

I was walking in the gym at lunch

And I saw nothing scary.

For I have never been afraid

Of anything. Not very.

Then I was deep inside the locker room

When, suddenly, I spied them.

I saw a pair of blue jean pants

With nobody inside them!

It goes on:

I said, “To Lost & Found I will return those pants

With nobody inside them.”

I said, and said, and said those words.

I said them. But I lied them.”

Sorry, Dr. Seuss.

And extra special sorry to the man who had to tell his wife the story of why he came home in his gym shorts or a brand new pair of pants. 

But I’d love to hear their side of the story.

The Lost SIZE 10 Basketball Shoe

Seriously.

This is just so

ridiculous

and infuriating.

But this is our life.


Once upon a time…

it came to my attention that McDaniel left a basketball shoe in our neighbor's car who we carpool with.

"A" shoe.

As in one.

Why just one?

Good question.

The answer came to me in a mumbled mess of I don't know's and something about a zipper not being completely zipped on a gym bag.

Okay,

somehow a SIZE 10 high top basketball shoe "slipped out" of her unzipped gym bag and was lying in the car of our neighbor who then gave it back to McDaniel on a day she didn't have basketball practice right after school.

So McDaniel didn't have her gym bag with her.

On that day after school, she and her friends were being picked up by a friend's dad and taken to the mall to shop for a gift for another friend who was moving away.

So this one SIZE 10 basketball shoe was loose in her friend's van.

It was too big to put into her
already stuffed backpack.

When McDaniel was dropped off in our driveway and she went to retrieve the loose SIZE 10 basketball shoe,

it wasn't there.

Anywhere.

They looked all over the van.

No shoe.

It must've fallen out in the mall parking lot and somehow been overlooked by all her friends getting out and then back into the van.

The petite, 
nearly invisible, 
presence of a 
SIZE 10 
high top basketball shoe.

Are you kidding me?!

I trip over these shoes all the time 

like they are a log in my path.

If these were her practice shoes it would be no big deal.

But these are her GAME shoes.

The ones we had to order from the special web site so they'd all match and get that discount where the extra money would go back to support the girl's basketball program.

And they weren't cheap.

So at dinner we decided that Monte would go to the mall parking lot to look for the shoe since he didn't want me to roam through the dark parking lot at night,

asking if anyone had seen just one SIZE 10 basketball shoe.

Like I was a character in some weird 

"sporty version" of Cinderella.

Monte ran into McDaniel's friend's Mom at the lost and found desk in the mall.

She was not happy with her husband.

The one driving the van that somehow managed 

to spit out a SIZE 10 basketball shoe unnoticed.

They looked everywhere.

In between cars.

Underneath cars.

In trash cans.

No size 10 basketball shoe.

And no mall security asking them why they 

looked like they were casing the parking lot.

Monte left our number with the lost and found desk.

We are pretty confident that no one would steal one size 10 basketball shoe.

Would they?!

We told McDaniel that she would have to pay for the new shoes and take care of talking with the coach to get the special web site ordering form once again.

She said that she'd just order ONE shoe.

Because apparently THAT is a thing that you can do.

When you are 14.

McDaniel doesn't have the money.

She blew her Christmas money on Sunday at one store.

All at one time.

Because apparently THAT is a thing that you can do.

When you are 14.

So the current owner of just one SIZE 10 basketball shoe is going to be getting a nice long list of chores to do around the house. 

And I don't care if that makes me the evil Step-mother in this Cinderella story.

There's that word SEEK again…

Seek

Lots of people choose one word to focus on for the new year. I tentatively gave it a go last year with the word "link".

I thought I would forget all about it by, like, February 1st.

But I didn't.

I thought about it a lot 

or something would happen to remind me of it.

I have to say, on many levels, that word really did sum up my 2013.

So much so that I didn't want to ruin it by choosing the wrong word for 2014.

I really wasn't "feeling anything" for a new word.

I wanted to stick with "link".

It was working for me.

I prayed about it.

Nothing.

Then, what seems to be my thing lately, I noticed I was humming this song.

Seek ye first the kingdom of God

And His righteousness;

And all these things shall be added unto you.

Hallelu, Hallelujah!

Ask, and it shall be given unto you;

Seek, and you shall find.

Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.

Hallelu, Hallelujah!

Man shall not live by bread alone,

But by every word

That proceeds out from the mouth of God.

Hallelu, Hallelujah!

Source: http://www.hymnal.net/hymn.php/ns/120#ixzz2puHiKN8U

"Seek" really popped out at me.

Then I second guessed it and thought maybe it should be the word "first".

As it is when God wants your attention,

the word SEEK showed up EVERYWHERE.

When I was looking for something else, I came across this beautiful piece of scripture art. I printed it out and it now hangs right by my computer.

Don't you love my hanger? Got it from Pick Your Plum.

I looked everywhere and couldn't find this again to link back to.

Even when we were dealing with our "blessing of lice" over the long weekend,

the word "seek" was right on the tip of my tongue.

Seek and destroy.

But also, thanks to my husband,

seek God in this

because this is His provision.

And so it is.

What is your word for 2014?

Twas A Few Weeks Past Christmas…

’Twas a few weeks past Christmas

And all through the house

Christmas was all packed away

The creature stirring? A louse!

Yes, for those of you that have been through it

or just for those of you who would ROCK at Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit,

a louse is the singular of LICE.

Yes, I said that correctly.

Lice.

Apparently other than a sleepy girl and crunched up pretzels on the basement carpet, one can also expect LICE to be left behind after a sleepover.

For the love of Pete!

Ellie came down Saturday night after her shower and weepily announced she found a bug in her hair.

Monte whipped out this magnifying contraption thingy I got at Restoration Hardware that I stuck in his stocking thinking it would look good on an end table or shelf not realizing how much he would actually use it.

Those clips can hold eyeglasses or a necklace chain.

Which is a lot as it turns out--

from fixing a necklace of Ellie’s Christmas morning,

Fixing Ellie’s necklace.

 to digging out splinters 

and, oh yeah, seeking out and identifying lice.

I wonder if we should contact the magnifying glass
manufacturer with this consumer testimonial?

For the love of Pete.

Monte determined Ellie did in fact have lice and left for the drug store as I shoved everything I could touch into the washer and/or dryer and/or big plastic bags sealed tight.

I was knee-deep in research on what else I should wash, bleach or set on fire when Monte started the shampoo and nit-picking stage.

Ellie is not happy.

Do you know that is where that phrase came from??

So,

“Hey, stop nit-picking me!”

Actually means,

“Hey, stop picking all the lice nits from my hair!”

Which I think we have gotten all turned around through time.

Nit-picking is a good thing.

A very good thing.

Amen.

Sunday morning we woke up with a clatter 

rushed to Ellie’s room 

to  find out what was the matter

Okay, I’ll stop.

Ellie still had lice.

I sent Monte and McDaniel to church and set about the process of 

stripping beds, 

clothes 

and pillows, 

laundering EVERYTHING in my sight 

and shampooing 

and nit-picking 

ALL.

 OVER.

 AGAIN.

I could tell Ellie was weary and just about beside herself.

So I cranked up some music and tried to make the process of me picking bugs out of her hair as fun as possible.

Monte and I tried to reassure Ellie that it wasn’t her fault. It didn’t make her dirty or gross.

It certainly helped that neither Monte or I are the kind of people that freak out when someone sneezes or gets sick. There are no medical mask-wearers or “Wait, these tissue boxes would make great shoes” over here.

Hey, I was raised to pick up the Popsicle from the ground and keep on licking. Dirt only adds protein, Jack!

So, Monte and I are pretty laid back about germs and tried to convey that to Ellie in her time of despair.

But bugs are bugs. And we wanted them to,

“Dash away, dash away,

dash away all!”

Yeah, I  am not done.

We told her to pray.

I read that some lice are very resistant to the over the counter shampoos and gels and a prescription might be necessary.

School was to start on Monday after 2 weeks off for Christmas and I hated the thought of Ellie missing class.

So Monte called the emergency on-call number to talk with our pediatrician.

As it turns out, she did NOT feel that lice was a reason for Monte to call the emergency on-call number to which, as the only male in our household, Monte informed her,

“Oh, it is about to get REAL over here with emergency.”

Or something like that mostly in his head.

God love him for knowing the 

importance of hair in our house.

Amen.

The pediatrician (who we love dearly) went on to explain that America is the only country "freaked out" by lice and that on any given day 40% of school children in England walk around with lice. Even higher in Israel.

To that I say,

“God bless the USA!”

So she prescribed Ellie a shampoo that she warned Monte is highly flammable and would need to stay in her hair for 8 hours.

So flammable that she shouldn’t even THINK about walking into a room with a hair dryer going or a curling iron on or a candle flickering lest she want to burst into flame.

And oh yeah, the shampoo is $150.

Take a guess which part of that was most shocking to Monte.

We spent the rest of our Sunday itching everywhere and checking one another’s hair for bugs like monkeys.

Monte bought a shower cap for Ellie for fun and she had a ball with it.

This might be when Ellie informed Monte a lot more
head was showing than she previously noticed.

McDaniel did find one bug in my hair 

to which I doused with the OTC shampoo 

saving the “fire water shampoo”, as we deemed it, 

for McDaniel should she be found with a stow away.

That girl has enough hair to provide quite a community of lice happy, warm, long-term accommodations.

Look at that prime real estate!

By dinner, we were laughing a lot.

The good Lord saw fit to blow in a mighty cold front and a snow storm that just missed us but cancelled school for 2 days due to the frigid temperatures and icy conditions.

We had more time to launder the entire house and nit-pick and evaluate everyone’s hair condition.

Which we deemed good.

So Monte tried to take back the $150 prescription “fire water” shampoo.

Which you can’t do.

So he briefly wondered what the street value 

of $150 lice shampoo would be.

Kidding!

While we were digging through each other’s hair and shampooing and nit-picking and doing load after load after load of laundry,

we started hearing of people very nearby losing power

and heat

and water due to frozen pipes.

God was so good to keep us home those coldest days and using our water, 

what seemed like endlessly,

so there was never a threat of freezing.

Monte and I talked about the blessing of lice in a cold front.

Protection from worse, more damaging problems that were happening all around us.

We were able to praise God for lice. 

And bitter cold.

And for Monte’s frozen car battery.

Because it could have been so. many. things. 

An incurable disease.

An unhealable injury.

An expensive breakdown.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, 

“plans for welfare and not for calamity 

to give you a future and a hope.” 

-Jeremiah 29:11 NASB

This is a different version than I have memorized, but I like it as it applies to our story. 

Our school doesn’t call snow days, “snow days”-- they call them “calamity days”. 

God is such a God of little things. 

To offer welfare in the form of bugs. 

And hope to a weary girl with them in her hair

and a busy family with them in their house.

Can I get an Amen?

Happy New Year to all 

and to all a good night!

That’s all, I promise.

Cluelessness

First of all,

Happy New Year!

I have taken a nice break from schedules and carpool and blogging to spend time with family.

I will recap all that later.

I have to tell you about my morning.

First of all, it is COLD here. 

Like single-digit cold.

Like wear gloves and a coat even if you are just sitting in your car with the heat on waiting for basketball practice to let out eating a breakfast wrap with this yummy roasted red pepper paste.

But eating a breakfast wrap with this yummy roasted red pepper paste and drinking a coffee with large ski gloves on is difficult

and resulted in a red and brown stain 

on the front of my white ski coat.

After Ellie and I dropped McDaniel off at home after basketball practice, we went to the grocery store to load up on a seemingly endless list of “special requests” from her friends for the sleepover that was to take place that night.

I said no to the pop tarts

and cookie dough ice cream 

because, well, gross.

As we were filling our carts with still quite a bit of junk, Ellie mentioned that she saw a camera crew and reporter from NBC interviewing someone in the bread aisle.

I said something terribly interesting like, 

“That’s nice.”

Until I realized that I needed something from the bread aisle.

I told Ellie to zoom her curious self down the aisle to pick up our needed item while I hid out in what I thought was a safe office supplies aisle.

I hadn’t even made it fully into the office supplies section when a lady with a microphone popped out of books and greeting cards.

She looked into my cart of ice cream, potato chips, dips, salsa and asked if I was loading up to watch the game tonight.

I looked at her blankly and asked,

“What game?”

Yes, with no make up on and an obvious red and brown stain on the front of my still zipped up white ski coat,

I asked the TV lady,

“What game?"

Just then, someone I knew started laughing nearby.

It hit me.

I live in a big college town.

That college was playing in the Orange Bowl.

We root for a different team at our house.

Who didn’t even make it into a bowl game, ahem.

So this game was SO not on my radar.

I was at the store to prepare 

a sleepover menu, NBC!

Not feel like this news story’s “passerby" only missing 

pink curlers in my hair and an auto-tuned version of 

my clueless , “What game?” ready to go viral.

My heckling friend hollered out that Monte would be none too pleased if his wife were to appear on the local news talking about ANOTHER football team that wasn’t, well, his team.

She knows him well.

Somewhere between my comment 

and my friend’s  heckling, 

the reporter just walked away.

So Monte spent the evening texting his fellow college friends my almost-on-air comment.

But it wasn’t a slam against the college of our town--

just pure, straight-up cluelessness.

And Monte couldn’t be more proud.

Away Into the Manger

Ellie was just in a preschool play at church.

Yes, I said preschool even though Ellie is in middle school.

The preschool at our church is run by the youth minister's wife who also helps lead a bible study that my girls are part of.

She asked Ellie to be the LEAD in the play for a few different reasons:

•She can read.

Which is good since her part was really big.

It's easy to forget that preschoolers can't read…yet.

•She leans towards the dramatic.

!!!

•She has aspirations for the stage.

She was just in the Orphan Choir for the production of Annie, as you may remember.

She rocked "It's a Hard Knock Life" with the broom.

Even though Ellie practiced her lines at home, 

unless I was willing to pull her out of school so she could go to preschool for the day, 

(which I wasn't with finals coming up)

there was no time to rehearse with the kids.

It came to my attention that Ellie would need a biblical costume.

Think nativity scene.

No big deal. 

Costumes are my thing.

Or so I thought.

It needed to be robe-like in a neutral color.

I found a cream duck cloth love seat slip cover for a love seat that we sold over a year ago.

I have no idea why I still had it

or why it was in the toy box.

I cut some arm holes and some length off the bottom and found, 

with the already-there straps tied in bows in the front--

that the costume looked just like a love seat slip cover.

With just an hour and a half before show time, Ellie and I took off to Target.

We found a long gray night gown and a long white robe.

A little lab coat/medical doctorish, but with a sash and head piece that Ellie knew was at the church, we thought it could work.

We flew to the front to checkout.

The lines were intense with people.

I looked around to find the express lane that I had never before used at a Target 

because I have always been under the impression that you HAD to get a cart and fill it.

Target's unwritten rules or something.

Just then I heard a man's voice say,

"One item or less, over here!"

I ran to him with my two items, hoping it was a ridiculous joke.

Thankfully, it was.

Although it was hard to tell because he looked just like

James Gandolfini.

Does this face scream great sense of humor?

In a red Target shirt.

If I wasn't so rushed, I would've asked him if he was in the witness protection program.

Which wouldn't have been wise, now that I think about it.

He obviously didn't pick up on my rushed, frazzled body language

or maybe he did

and asked what we had going on for the evening.

I told him about the church play.

He turned to Ellie and said she was going to look like an angel.

Imagine that uttered with every stereotypical 

emphasis that James Gandolfini had to offer.

It made me stop.

And smile.

I believed him.

It made Ellie smile too.

The outfit worked great.

As Monte and I waited for the play to start, we felt OLD sitting with all the preschool parents. 

They were all so cute with their tripods and multiple recording devices.

Luckily for us, some grandparents came 

making us feel slightly younger.

Ellie did a great job…

So much better than a love seat slipcover, don't you think?

… considering.

Considering that there was no rehearsals

and there was a chatty shepherd,

some slow angels

and a star with stage fright.

Oh yeah, and Ellie accidentally threw baby Jesus "away into the manger" a little too aggressively.

His plastic head went thunk on the side of the wooden manger.

The audience gasped.

Except for me stifling a laugh

and a silent prayer that the good Lord 

will give her some mothering skills 

when the time proves necessary.

Ellie had to say the parts of some of the kids more interested in waving at their parents than staying in character.

She also had to speak up when she asked the preschoolers where Jesus was and one shepherd kept hollering,

"Mom, do you know where baby Jesus is??!!"

Then he started pretending to shoot the wise men

and lost his head dress 

and took a really long time figuring out how to put it back on correctly 

so that we could see his face 

and he could, well, breathe.

All the while, the star started to take her outfit off 

with a bottom lip stuck out so far in a pout 

that I thought it might take out the front row.

It was not Broadway but it was cute.

And real.

And Ellie was exhausted.

But Target James Gandolfini was right,

Ellie looked like an angel.

Merry Christmas!

Tuesdays Unwrapped--#3

Here is my 3rd installment in Emily Freeman's Tuesdays Unwrapped series that I am linking up with.

Monte and I went to see Bill Cosby a few weekends ago.

We bought the tickets as an anniversary gift to each other. 

We celebrated 18 years on the 16th.

We drove through a snow storm to get downtown to the theater.

We had planned to eat at a nice restaurant nearby before the show.

Did research on places and everything.

It took WAY longer to get downtown than we had anticipated

and once we parked and Monte pointed to a tall building not exactly by the theater 

and said the restaurant was 3 blocks BEHIND it, 

we decided to go somewhere closer.

Did I mention it was snowing HARD? 

SIDEWAYS?

It was like a Christmas episode of Little House on the Prairie.

Monte and I were bundled up and I just hung on to him as he led me, 

hopefully, 

to some place that served food.

Close.

I couldn't see as there were so many snowflakes on my eyelashes, I could no longer open my eyes.

Thank goodness I brought a hat.

I am not sure you can appreciate the enormity of the snowflakes from these pictures.

Out of what seemed like the blue,

Monte pointed to this:

Not the most clever of names but the Open sign was on so it was just fine with us.

Everyone inside seemed to have made the same perilous trek as us judging by the amount of snow each of them were tracking in or still sporting in their hair.

The worst part was walking back to the theater. I was so afraid I was going to fall down. 

Bill Cosby started the show late to accommodate all those stuck in the slow moving snowstorm. 

We had great seats.

He mainly talked about marriage. He has been married almost 50 years.

He had a few things to share about the topic.

He took it all the way back to Adam and Eve, never once blaming Eve for being tempted by the snake but suggesting that Adam failed his job as husband for putting Eve into a position that she'd even WANT to talk to the snake.

Interesting.

And of course, funny.

Because, Bill Cosby is one gifted story teller.

It was a great theme for an anniversary gift.

Our whole night was like marriage in general.

An expectation sidelined by a storm.

A blind walk into the dark

having to trust one another to lead, 

hopeful, that the destination will be reached,

afraid of falling down,

and being flexible enough to drop the prior expectations 

so we could just. enjoy. the. show.

Tuesdays Unwrapped--#2

I hesitate to even say this out loud (or in type)

but I am not stressed this holiday season.

I could follow that up with a "yet",

assuming that it is only December 10th and I haven't planned the 

Christmas Eve meal 

or Christmas Day breakfast 

but those thoughts don't produce even a distant hint of stress. 

It will get done, 

just like all the gifts on order will arrive

and get wrapped,

and the crafty gifts I want to make

will. get. made.

So on this Tuesday,

just 14 days from Christmas Eve,

I will unwrap this peace.

Because we woke up this morning to a lot more snow than we were expected to get and cars needed scraped and driveways shoveled

and Ellie was so congested we kept her home from school and when I called the attendance line at school I left my MAIDEN name that I haven't had in almost 18 years

then I left the name of the wrong daughter

which I clumsily corrected and then hung up.

But today, STILL, 

I have PEACE

and I am going to enjoy it.

Paper Cuts

No, that isn't some cute play on words referring to a short cut on some paper craft

but that would be quite the sweet name for such a post, wouldn't it?

No, this is about paper cuts.

For real.

I don't like them.

Not that anyone can claim paper cuts as their favorite,

but I REALLY don't like them.

I could easily be forced to share sensitive governmental secrets with just the threat of paper cuts.

If anyone ever trusted me with governmental secrets.

But given my above confession, 
I am pretty sure I would be a threat to national security.

This paper cut issue comes with just cause.

It was the 1st day of 1st grade,

oh yeah, me and paper cuts go WAY back.

My teacher handed me an oversized coloring book and said I could pick any picture I wanted to color and tear it out of the book.

I looked closely over my options and picked a picture. As I was tearing the enormous sheet of paper out of the book,

do you see where this is headed?

I got a paper cut on the tiny piece of skin underneath my nose.

The piece that seemingly connects it to the rest of my face.

Like all paper cuts, 

it hurt worse than if a piranha nibbled my nose clean off my head.

I sat silently in my chair holding both hands to my nose,

convinced that if I let go,

my nose would flap in the wind, 

no longer connected 

by that little piece of skin.

I imagined myself going to the teacher's desk and having to talk through my hands,

in a muffled voice,

explaining my extreme pain and woundedness.

I also imagined that she'd patch me back together with a big bandage that would block both nostrils forcing me to mouth breathe the rest of the day.

Not a good start to the 1st grade. 

For me or the teacher because I remember a boy 

named Jonathan throwing up in the play area and 

then crying while he rocked back and forth in a 

balled up position by the blocks.

So why am I telling you about something that happened so long ago???

Well,

as I was getting out of the car this afternoon with a large paper shopping bag 

filled with just the cutest toys for all the little ones in my life,

lightning. struck. twice.

Yes,

I got a paper cut from that shopping bag right in the nose!

Not the tiny piece of skin underneath my nose that seemingly connects it to my face,

thank goodness!

But the still important upper part of my right nostril.

It hurt worse than if a piranha nibbled my nose clean off my head.

And it bled, people!

After I stopped sucking up all the air out of the car in a long drawn out gasp

and I finally let go of my nose long enough to look.

And after I stopped saying, 

"Not again!"

Like it was just yesterday that I was slashing the nose off my face 

on the 1st day of 1st grade.

I guess some wounds just don't heal.

Anyone else have a traumatic paper cut story?