It’s been one week…

(feel free to indulge in the ear worm that is The Barenaked Ladies’ song of the same name. I certainly am…)

since J’s surgery.  He should be, by all accounts, starting to work through the discomfort.  We are sure that this has been overcome, and all he wants right now is to go to the movies and eat a whole bucket of popcorn.  Last night he had very crispy (oven-fried) chicken, and he has no trouble eating his 12 Pringles crisps for afternoon snack.  If J had any pain or discomfort at all, we’d know it.

The blister on his lip is healing.  Lips are difficult things to treat because the tissue is soft and comes into contact with food, drink, and is impossible to bandage to protect from debris.  We clean it frequently, make sure it’s improving (it is,) and do all we can to keep it from getting hurt again.

Sleep pattern is slightly disrupted.  That is: since I don’t sleep much anyway (hello, middle-age…) I can hear J talking to himself, giggling, and basically waiting for morning to start.  It has been starting rather early.  Not just the waking up, but also the going downstairs and getting the day started in earnest.

J has started asking to exercise again.  It is comforting on the one hand, and exhausting on the other.  The cold weather that followed last Friday’s very summer-like day gives me aches and pains that announce my body is not what it used to be.  I accept this, and act accordingly, but J doesn’t always understand why his mother is not particularly excited about running for half an hour.  It must be done, though…it is a necessity.

We are all looking forward to the weather improving on a more consistent basis.  We won’t be growing a garden this year (if we’re considering moving it’s not a practical endeavor,) but we want to be able to open windows, go for walks, be outside.  This townhouse is (too) big, but it’s still not big enough for me to sit through J’s repeated playing of anything performed by Pentatonix.  Yeah, you can write it down and certify it: I might just be the only person in the planet who is absolutely annoyed, irritated, incensed by, and intolerant of Pentatonix.  I can’t stand them.  They hurt my ears.  When played on repeat, they assail my nervous system in ways that had been, until recently, reserved for Mariah Carey and Rick Astley.  Some time around Christmas a well-meaning soul told me “oh, you MUST watch this youtube video of Pentatonix…it will blow you away!”

Aside from questioning the person’s good taste and sanity, I started to wonder why they thought I, of all people, would find this appealing.  And then J realized how much it bothers me, and he plays it so I won’t go into the TV room.  We were putting a Lego together yesterday, and -since he realizes I understand there is no pause in Lego-building-  I would sit through whatever he was listening to…and he chose The Carol of the Bells (a song that I only can stand when The Sweeney Sisters do the Bells Medley on old SNL re-runs.)  The feeling of being trapped in a maze that kept shifting was pretty bad, and I actually told J “dude, you are better than this…seriously…”  He laughed and giggled, and started the song over again…

That’s where we are: J is back to his normal, mischievous, annoying, funny, brilliant self, and I am hoping that getting older doesn’t impair my ability to appreciate this.

And, yes, I cannot stand Pentatonix…even worse after I actually SAW them…  I know, I know, I know…I’m a horrible person.  So sue me…


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