The Better Part of Valor...

I fully expected to be spending this afternoon curled into the fetal position and cursing humanity, but I expected it to be because I had just had a rather large needle inserted into my back, rather than because I can't take ibuprofen for another 48 hours prior to the procedure, which has been rescheduled to Friday afternoon due to snow.

That was a really awesome run-on sentennce, by the way.

So the snow?? We have several inches of it. The dog is ecstatic, at least. He runs outside and hurtles his body around the yard in apoplectic leaps and bounds, smashing into the fence as he attempts to navigate the corners on slick paws. It reminds me of the last time I mopped the kitchen floor, when Toby discovered the slick wetness made for perfect kitchen-slalom conditions. I swear that kid's gonna be an X-Games contender some day.

But really, who wants to talk about that when we can laugh at my Lucy-esque pratfalls?

Let's take, for example, my brilliant idea to decorate the house with exterior holiday lights. Oh, it all started out innocently enough -- light nets on the bushes, lights and garlands on a garden arch across the porch. Add a few plastic candy cane lights, some multi-functional blinking snowflakes. I even hung icicle lights along the lower portion of the front roof.

Then came the grand misunderestimation... Conveniently forgetting (or ignoring if you prefer) my well-documented Fear of the Heights and the Death By Falling, I decided I could make it up onto the top of the roof to attach the plastic clips along the edge of the (incredibly high) shingles and hang the rest of the icicles.

I made it exactly two paces onto the roof before the panic attack set in, and I was flat on my belly, drenched in sweat, and cursing fate that my children would be left motherless when the neighbors found me face down in the azaleas. After a few moments of pondering my circumstances, with Toby asleep in his crib and Jack parked in front of The Polar Express, I started the excrutiating process of talking myself down. Mostly this involved a lot of self-flagellation ("You are an exceptionally gifted moron. You do realize you have to get down from here? So c'mon, genius. Baby steps. You can't stay up here all day, you pansy!")

After several excrutiating minutes (spent hugging the roof for dear life and praying to several deities) my foot found the top rung of the ladder and I shimmied my way down. Then, I hung the rest of the icicles on the bottom of the bump out under the upper level of the house... about 4 feet off the ground.

Today it appears that the stress of the recent past has finally caught up with me. I think I might be ready to die. Please send chocolate and morphine. On top of the unmedicated back pain, my stomach finally joined my body's open rebellion with gusto. Either that, or a few of Santa's elves have gone rogue and are making gift bows OUT OF MY INTESTINES.

Did I mention we are also out of diapers? And that Toby is wearing pull-ups that are 2 sizes too big? Because that is going to be completely fantastic when he decides to transact some business.

In summary, my friends, I think it is a very good day to put the Christmas movies on repeat and snuggle with the children between trips to the bathroom and occasional breaks to moan pitifully while rocking in the fetal position.

Happy Thursday!