Chicken Carnage

We have had chickens for a couple of years now and were always told to watch for the pecking order to get out of control.  We raised our little brood from chicks and thought for sure our little ladies were the sweetest things ever.  They are little egg laying machines and my kids have named them all.  I told them not to name their food but they felt compelled since we no longer have a dog.  They play with the chickens and hold them.  "Look mom, they are so sweet!" 
A week ago, I went to check on the little dears to see how they were doing in our arctic weather and found them to be happily pecking below the roost.  Except, I noticed one of the leghorns was not down getting her morning drink of water.  "She must be laying," I naively thought.  When I opened the top of the coup I am sure the neighbors could hear me gasp.  Blood bombs looked like they had exploded all over the coup.  It was on the ceiling, the door, the wall, and a very large frozen puddle was sitting in the nesting box in the straw.  The leghorn was sitting, barely alive and covered in blood.  The white of her feathers and the white of the snow only increased the horrific scene.  The best part was that it was so cold all of the blood immediately froze where it landed.  She was covered in frozen blood and staring at me with a desperate look to save her. 
I called for my son to come and help me and as I was registering the damage two of the dear chickens came up to check out what I was doing.  They started for me as if to say, "she's ours, we are here to finish her off".  I had to shoo them off and work quickly.
 I have never been so thankful for Google and the internet.  We gently lifted our patient out of the coop and tried to asses the damage.  She had so much blood frozen all over her we couldn't find the wounds.  The cold probably saved her life because it slowed the blood loss down but we had to get her inside. 
As I held her little body I struggled with what I might have to do to "help" our little friend.  I am a wiz at cutting up a chicken that has already been processed but starting at the beginning was something I wasn't ready to embrace.  I checked online to see what to do.  Do you know you can Google, "how to clean up an injured chicken"?  Armed with some information, I decided to call my husband and seek his advice.  He is the kind of man that would come home from work to kill a bug for me if I needed it so I knew he would save me from the inevitable if it came to it.  He told me she would probable live if she made it through the night.  "Make her comfortable, and see what happens", he said.
Me and the kids worked calmly and I was so impressed with how unaffected they were by the carnage.  We set up a little pen for her in the guest shower and decided if she was going to live, she needed rest. 
The transition from saving the chicken to dealing with the aftermath became a nightmare version of "Dirty Jobs".  I learned online that chickens are attracted to blood.  Who knew?  I had to try to clean up the coop.  If you haven't ever had to clean frozen blood up in freezing temperatures, then you simply haven't lived.  The solution was screaming hot water in a spray bottle and Clorox wipes.  It loosened the mess, but Tilex was the real winner.  I bleached what I could get cleaned off and tried to mask the blood smell.  The only problem, trying not to kill the rest of the chickens with bleach fumes. 
We cleaned the coop as best we could.  It was at this point I decided chickens were horrible. 
I have since come back around to liking them again but I am jaded and am having a hard time seeing them as very cuddly anymore. 
Our little patient stayed in the guest shower for almost a week.  Chickens are not inside pets!  We had to slowly introduce her back into the brood and they wouldn't take her.  This presented another problem.  Where does she live?  The house smelled of chicken crap and I wasn't letting her back in.  We built a small extension to the coop that allowed the others to see her but not kill her.  Hopefully, we will be able to have her join the others as soon as her injuries are healed up.  For now, she has to look longingly through the chicken wire at the others.  She wants to be with them and doesn't seem to care they tried to kill her.  We didn't have a top on the little pen at first.  She figured out how to jump out and hopped her way through the snow and ice all the way to the back door where she pecked on the glass to be let back in. She knew she had it good inside.  The pen now has a roof.
The final task; I got to clean out the inch deep chicken poo from the shower.  There are some jobs that are so distasteful, cleaning hardly seems enough.  I feel like I need to replace the shower.  After bleaching and scrubbing over several days, honestly, the shower has never been this clean.  However, all of the kids have proclaimed they will never use the shower again.  Good thing we have other bathrooms in the house. 

Holy Crap!

I can't remember the reason why I decided to prepare two completely separate dinners that night, but I was having one of those "I am woman" moments and decided it was doable.  Alan and the boys were out picking up the flags from the latest patriotic holiday the scouts are required to post flags for, and Sarah was playing outside with her friends.  I was in the zone.  Chopping and cooking, sauteing and steaming.  I don't remember even remotely what I was making.  I suppose the trauma blocked all of that.  All I remember is my favorite knife for chopping onions was dirty.  So, rather than wash it, I pulled out the giant chef's knife I rarely use and went at the onion with chef like speed.  Julia Child would have been thrilled to see me fly through that onion.  I have been practicing and am developing a feel for the rhythm.
I was so into the chopping, I failed to notice exactly what I had chopped that evening until I began scooping up the onions for the pot and noticed clearly, the tip of my finger laying on the cutting board!  I am sorry, I know that is graphic, but there it was.  Plain as day and mocking me for my chopping arrogance.  The blood came quickly after my brain realized what my knife had done to my finger. 
I have cut my fingers before and it has hurt, but this was epic!  My middle finger had a distinctive flat side where the tip use to be.  I had the presence of mind to remove the non-onion part of my recipe and grabbed a paper towel and applied pressure.  At this point you would have thought I should stop cooking, but I didn't.  I continued with my injured hand gripping a paper towel and raised above my head (to slow the bleeding of course) and my other hand continuing to cook.  I wasn't going to let all of my hard work go to waste! 
Sarah had come in from playing by now and was confused as to why my arm was raised over my head.  "What are you doing Mom?", she says.  "I cut myself, again."  The immediate look of recognition washes over her face and she asks me if I need help.  A sous chef!  Yes, I needed help.  Sarah was a champ and helped me finish cooking dinner.  The bleeding of course didn't improve with my first aid efforts and I started to get worried I had really done serious damage this time.  There are several nurses on my street and I wondered which of them I could call to assist me.
The embarrassment  because of my stupidity took priority over my gushing finger and I  refused to call anyone, let alone go to the urgent care.  I know how to handle this.  Cayenne Pepper stops bleeding!  I begin to search for the Cayenne and can't find it anywhere.  My plan is foiled.  How can I be out of the giant Costco container I have had for years!  I am going to have to tell someone about this.  I can't leave my dinner to go to the store because it isn't quite finished.  And, the bloody stump at the end of my arm might alarm the Walmart people.  I can't leave Sarah in charge of finishing dinner; she's eight.  I have to call Alan and confess to him what I did.  Telling Alan about my injuries is worse than getting sent to the principals office.  He has has too many calls from friends about me at the emergency room.  He never knows what is around the corner with me.  Or, how much it may cost us.
So, after a very matter of fact phone call assuring him it is nothing, Alan arrives home with a container of Cayenne Pepper.   The bleeding has been steady for about 30 minutes so I was getting desperate for it to stop.  After pouring the pepper into a small bowl, I dunk my finger into the without even thinking.    The tip of the human finger has some pretty powerful nerve endings.  When they are exposed just to air it is painful.  When Cayenne Pepper is applied to the exposed nerve endings... insert expletive here.  I have experienced all different kinds of pain and this ranks second after my kidney stone with child birth a distant third. 
My heart rate exploded and I had to leave the presence of my family.  The pain knocked the breath right out of my lungs.  Crying seemed appropriate, but the only noise that escaped my body was something like the yelp dogs make when you accidentally step on them.  I am pretty sure I was in shock but happily, the weather was still fairly cold outside and it seemed to help with the pain.  I proceeded to pace around my house for 20 minutes or more waiting for the pulsating pain to subside.  My neighbors have been considering my sanity and I am sure this episode helped them realize I am nuts but committed to my work. 
Cayenne Pepper is a miracle.  The bleeding stopped immediately and my finger healed up rather quickly.  I really am so cheap that I would put myself through all of this rather than pay a doctor.  Home remedy's do work, they just require effort.  It has been several months and the tip of my finger is still tender.   Our bodies are amazing and the layers of skin grew back so I don't have a weird, flat looking fingertip.  And, dinner was fantastic! 

Appliance Whore

I have recently learned something very important about myself.  I am an appliance and kitchen gadget whore.  I am not ashamed to admit it but it may surprise you how much I really love kitchen accoutrements.  Every year when the holidays roll around we all take time to reflect on what we may enjoy receiving on Christmas morning.  My father sent me a funny commercial which highlights the consequences of poor gift giving by husbands.  A husband dared to give his wife a top of the line vacuum for their anniversary.  The horror!  She put him in the dog house where he was forced to fold laundry for an eternity unless a panel of wives could be convinced he should be paroled.  All I could think of while watching this humorous clip was how much I would love to have my husband give me the top of the line vacuum for a Christmas gift. 
My dear husband in an effort to be thoughtful and loving, gave me a gift certificate for a day at a spa several years ago.  Massage, facial, manicure, pedicure; the works.  I was touched he would give me such a thoughtful gift but that gift certificate sat on my desk for almost a year before I cashed it in.  I know, you think I am crazy.  I just couldn't do it.  I really don't like people I don't know touching my and the thought of being sanded and tenderized just isn't appealing at all.  Not to mention that fact that I would need to be hypnotized to overcome my germophobia ifor the pedicure foot bath.  Eeewww!  It just sounds so yucky.  Whose feet have been in there before me and what weird skin disorder could I potentially catch?  Was it cleaned really, really, really well?  The spa just isn't for me. 
On the other hand, I can drop some serious cash in a Kitchen or appliance store.  To this day, the most thoughtful gift my husband gave me for Christmas was the Viking Food Processor and matching Blender.  I was completely surprised and I still get a thrill from using them.  My latest acquisitions include a balloon whisk, a very large wooden spoon, a huge ceramic bowl-I really love it!- and the mother of all roasting pots.  A Le Creuset Oval Roaster in Red.  It is beautiful and I have been carefully considering which recipe I will use to christen this amazing kitchen tool.  I even got it for 1/2 price which makes it all the better.  It sits in the center of my kitchen table so I can admire it while I consider where its home will be. 
I realized tonight I would rather have a Food Saver than a diamond ring.  I rarely wear the one I've got because I generally have hands that are covered in something wonderful (I wash the wonderful off them immediately of course). I would rather have a 6 burner, gas Viking stove with a double oven than a new car.  They cost about the same.  I would be in Heaven if I could get my hands on a stainless steel, 24 cup commercial muffin tin. 
For one of my anniversaries my husband gave me a diamond anniversary ring.  I loved the ring but secretly I thought I was getting a new washing machine.  I was momentarily disappointed.  He has since learned my compulsion for kitchen tools and that is why for my 20th wedding anniversary, I am patiently waiting for my Cuisinart 14 inch wok skillet to arrive in the mail.  We special ordered it of course for the free shipping and got it on sale! 

Graters of all kinds really work!

It has been sometime since I have indulged my clutzy side but alas it was time again.  Last weekend was a big one for our family as my daughter was being baptized into our church.  As with all milestones in life, a big family meal was necessary and I was only too happy to oblige.  I made chicken and pork tamales that I will never be able to duplicate of course and we barbecued corn on the grill.  Watermelon and chips and home made salsa and guacamole rounded out our meal.   The buffet was glorious to behold!  Of course we had small people there who wanted their corn taken off the cob.  I have a nifty little gadget designed just for such a job and thrilled at the opportunity to show off my fancy toy.  It is very sharp.  Yes, incredibly sharp and cumbersome to use sometimes.  I started planing the corn off the yummy, charred to perfection cobs and was really getting into a rhythm.  Unfortunately, I was working a bit too quickly along with talking too much and forgot to move my finger.  Did you know you can grate the skin right off your finger in addition to getting the corn off the cob?  It hurt, bled and made me mad  because I still had to finish the corn and couldn't use my newly lame hand.  I was going to have to go back to a boring knife to get the corn off and put my cool gadget away.  The truth is the knife was just as effective and easier to use.  It has taken a week for the wound to even close up and I am a little corn gadget shy now.  Don't worry I'll get back on the horse. 
Today, I decided it was finally time to shred all of the zucchini I still have lying around.  I pack it up in ziplock bags and freeze it for future muffins and breads.  My food processor works great to shred all but a little, tiny piece which can't make it to the grater from the feed tube.  So I end up with all of these small pieces I couldn't possibly throw away because it would be wasteful!  So I got out my hand grater and started trying to grate the small pieces.  If you grate vigorously enough, you can't even tell you have grated your finger until the blood starts pouring out everywhere.  It is amazing how clean of a cut a graters makes.  This time I got my thumb.  I suppose I will live and all will be fine.  However, I am running out of fingertip bandaids and if I simply stopped hurting myself, I wouldn't have to tape all of them up all the time.  Life would get too boring if I suddenly became cured of my lack of grace. 

We didn't need that anyway!

My streak is over.  I have gone for months and not broken, permanently damage, injured or otherwise harmed myself or others.  However, I suffer from the same monthly weakness that all women everywhere are afflicted with and throw in no sleep and a tiff with the hubby and I am officially dangerous.
Last Saturday I got up early to go work at the produce co-op I am a member of.  The trade off for helping is that you get to have an extra piece of fruit or a veggie.  The work is invigorating especially because it is the cheapest way to buy produce and you feel so darn good about it.  The price is amazing and I revel in frugality.
My son and I got into our van and I started pulling out and realized too late that I had parked over a little too much to the left.  It is amazing how you can normally use multiple parts of your body at one time.  But, when you realize you are going to do something wrong your commitment to isolate the offending body part seems to increase to really drive the point home that damage will be done.  In this case it was my foot on the gas pedal.  I knew I was too close yet I punched it harder and went even faster out of the garage so as to ensure maximum damage.  I am not sure what came over me but it was probably panic. 
My side mirror made a shatter crunch noise and my son looked at me like he was bracing for me to really loose it.  I figured there were worse things going on in the world than me cracking the frame on my mirror so I said, "CRAP!" and sat there for a minute before we went on our way.  I looked at him and reminded him that it is just a mirror and things like this happen.  There is only so much time in this life and I choose not to devote any more of it to this particular incident.  I am happy to say that it was a good lesson for me to teach my son.  You have to pick your battles and decide what you are going to devote energy too.  I can't go back in time and fix the mirror but I can move forward and when we have the money, repair it.
After examining the mirror more closely, I noticed I was able to click it back together and you can't really tell there is a crack there now.  Hurray for small miracles.  The garage door is not damaged either.  So how do I prevent another one of these incidents?  You may think it is don't drive large vehicles when I am crazed to begin with, but I think the take away is simply slow down and pay attention. 
I casually told my husband later that day and then quickly walked away.  I figured if I acted like I didn't care, then maybe he wouldn't either.  It is like ripping off a bandaid, you have to be quick.  He cared, but I wasn't there to witness how much.  He hasn't mentioned it at all since so I figure the issue is officially dead.

Professional Clutz, Don't Try This at Home!

There are many things that should never be done at the same time because the results could be disastrous.  For instance, texting and driving or in my case talking and walking. 
Most morning are hurried in homes full of children that need to get to school and parents who need to get to work.  How we all make it out the door some mornings is a miracle.  As the "mom" I spend most of morning shouting exclamations to my children.  "Get dressed!", "Eat breakfast", "Stop talking and just eat!", "Brush your teeth", "Brush your teeth now and stop playing in the bathroom!", "Get your backpack!", "Don't forget your lunch!", "Let's go!".  There are many more but you get the idea.  No normal conversation occurs between me and my children in the morning.  I suppose I have conditioned them to be this way but I don't know how to do it differently and get the same outcome.  Perhaps Dr. Phil could weigh in. 
This morning was no different than any other except for the fact that I needed to get to work.  I volunteer in the kitchen of the Ogden LDS Temple every week.  I wanted to go to cooking school, but we can't afford it and I already have a full time job helping my children to successfully reach adulthood so getting paid doing anything is out.  I figured the next best thing was to work in a kitchen and learn from other people who had already gone to cooking school.  It has been fabulous!! 
I digress.  This morning I needed my children to be on time so that I could be on time.  I woke up early, showered, got dressed, put on make-up (this rarely happens), did my hair (this happens even less than the make-up) and began to race down the hall yelling orders at my children to get out of bed, I had to go soon.  In my haste to get down stairs I failed to factor in the skill required to carefully navigate stairs so as not to kill yourself combined with mommy nagging. 
I hit the top step with a bound and went for the second step only to find it didn't quite connect with my foot;  my really clean, dry, bare foot.  My bare feet had absolutely no traction and the dry winter weather doesn't help.  My foot went out from underneath me and I fell on my posterior and began to slide down the stairs rapidly.  Unfortunately my arms were already gripping the stair rails and I just grabbed them harder to try and stop myself.  This produced rather acute pain that I am really starting to feel now in my arms and neck.  My lower body launched down the stairs while my upper body was trying to hold me back.  Trying to change the laws of physics is painful.
When I finally stopped.  I noticed my husband standing at the bottom of the stairs staring at me with that horrified look I know so well.  It is a combination of how much is this going to cost and what part of her will be damaged now.  I assured him I was fine and I am pretty sure I was embarrassed.  Although, embarrassment isn't an emotion I express regularly anymore given the many opportunities I afford myself to be injured. 
Now that night is upon us, I can tell you my neck and shoulders are really sore.  I may need to see a chiropractor but I probably won't.  I have taken great care to pay attention as I have encountered stairs through out the day.  Doing this twice in one day would probably get me membership in a 12 step program.  Oh well, as my mom always says, "this too shall pass".

When Teeth are Shattered

In my oldest son's eighth year, he had just gotten his permanant front teeth in.  They were so big and beautiful and big!  He was also experiencing the joys of the big kid playground at school and how glorious a game of tag could be with more room to run.  One such game of tag, ended the existence of his newly aquired teeth.  I imagine him laughing and running, then throwing his head back in glee, huge smile on his face as he looks over his shoulder to seen how close his attacker is only to then turn just in time to smash his beautiful smile into the pole of the outdoor patio cover.
The call I got from him at school was timid and I could hear that he had cried a little.  He was more concerned with whether I would be mad at him for causing careless damage to himself rather than the fact that he had shattered his two front teeth and they were barely hanging in his gums.  I wasn't mad and felt so bad for him.  They were as new and perfect as teeth get and now they were forever ruined.  I was sure he would have a broken face too, but the only damage was to his teeth.  He must have been having a marvelous time to have that big of a smile on his face.  The prognosis was that he had not only completely broken out a moon shaped section of his two teeth, but the part of the teeth that were left had microfractures all over them.  When the Dentist told me this, I was reminded of those cartoons where the character gets hit in the mouth and his teeth fall out in sections onto the ground leaving nothing but jagged shards.  That is kind of how he looked.
What did I learn?
First, when you go to the dentist with an emergency, they can bill it out under your medical plan usually.  This way, the cost is significantly less.  I had an emergency dental copay that was $60 instead of having to pay the 20% for the entire reconstruction.  My son needed two porcelin venirs for his teeth and the cost of that for us was going to be $1200 under our dental plan.  But under the medical plan we only paid two $60 copays.  One for the intial visit to have his teeth x-rayed and prepped and then the second visit to apply the venirs.  I wouldn't have known about this were it not for the dental office receptionist mentioning it.
The down side to going this route is the dental office didn't get paid for six months because the medical insurance requested more proof for the work than the dental plan would have.  The dental office was patient and I had to call the insurance company a few times to make sure they were processing the claim.  Ultimately, if the insurance company had denied the claim, I would have to pay the bill.  It is always the patient's responsibility to know what their coverage is and what their part of the bill will be.
If you find yourself in a dental emergency, check with your medical plan to see if the cost of the coverage is better than under your dental plan.

"Mommy's Coming Baby!!!"

Tucson was a wonderful home for us but our neighborhood didn't lend itself to letting the kids just run out and play on their own.  Luckily, there was a huge, beautiful park in the middle of our neighborhood that was directly across the street from the elementary school.  A tradition developed of meeting at the park on Fridays with all of our friends to let the kids play for as long as they wanted.  It was a chance for the adults to get together and the kids and just relax from the busy week.  There were moms and dads that would come and we even had friends that had moved away come each week because it was so much fun.  We all brought snacks and drinks for the kids and stayed for hours.  The sun stays up for a long time in Tucson so there was plenty of time for the kids to really get their energy out.  I miss that now that we have moved on from Tucson.  It was wonderful. 
This idealic experience wasn't without its bumps and bruises and we made sure to bring first aid kits too.  One such day, my then seven year old son was just learning to master riding a Razor Scooter.  He was borrowing a friends and scooting around the little circular sidewalk next the play ground equipment.  I was up on the slide with my daughter, helping her develop her courage to slide down when I hear a scream.  My son had fallen and smashed his face into the sidewalk.  He did one of those slip and falls where there wasn't anytime to catch himself.  He just went down hard.  My maternal instincts went into overdrive and I grabbed the bar that you hold onto to get situated before sliding down the slide.  I  launched myself down this slide and realize just as I was coming to the bottom of the slide that I was going to catch some air.  I am don't think I even touched the slide till the bottom.  Sure enough I hit the bottom of the slide and went air born.  I went so high I actually hung in the air for a moment.  It is amazing what we are capable of being aware of all at once.  I hadn't taken my eyes off my son this entire time and was thinking simultaneously, "I am going to wreck myself and I have to get to him, Mommy's coming baby!".  I hit the ground with a splat and found myself on my belly for a moment, then desperately crawling on my hands and knees gripping the ground to try and get to my screaming little man.  You would think my spectacle would have distracted him a bit, but he is very focused about his angst and wasn't the least bit deterred from his pain. 
After crawling for a few feet I finally was able to get to my feet and run over to him.  It was one of those stumble, stumble, walk, stumble, run movements.  The entire time, the dad that was closest to my son was so alarmed by my gymnastics he was just standing there with his mouth open.  He had completely forgotten about the little guy for a moment and was worried he was going to have two people to attend to.  I finally reached my son and was able to tend to his fat lip.  My friend came out of his alarmed trance and walked over to help and just looked at me like I really was crazy.  I apoligized for my antics and he just started laughing.  I believe I have mentioned before, my name is not Grace.
I am sure everyone else at the park saw what happened but were kind enough to not bring it up again.  I was rather embarrassed about my over reaction.  Especially since I could have just climbed down from the slide in the same amount of time.  I suppose the show wouldn't have been as good if I had responded like a normal person.  My son's lip was fine and I didn't buy him his own scooter until he was ten years old and more coordinated. 

Leave Broken Windows to the Experts

My children like to remind me on occasion about my mishaps, and of course giggle.  It usually goes something like this.  "Mom, remember when you got glass in your eye?".  "Hee hee!".  These conversations are usually preceded by some new klutzy thing I have done to injure myself.  There is a tremendous resource of life experiences for my children to draw on in my little and big emergencies.  I suppose now that I have brought it up, you are wondering about the glass in my eye?  Alright, I will share.
In our old home, old meaning previous but also very ancient, we had windows that were comprised of many small panes to create the one large window.  The window panes were single pane glass and provided little protection from the outside world.  They were also held in by something called glazing.  Glazing is a putty type product that you roll between your hands and make long snake like pieces.  It is like working with play dough.  The glazing is then pressed and smoothed into the frame on top of the glass and molded into the corners to hold the glass in place.  When it dries it becomes very hard and becomes airtight, if done correctly.  This hardness makes it difficult to get a pane of glass out that has been cracked or broken and needs to be replaced.  Real window pane experts will also use very small tacks to help keep the glass secured to the frame which makes freeing the broken glass even more difficult. 
I was in our bathroom moving something long and skinny around and I hear a pop!  I had broken the window.  This really wasn't that big a deal because there were several broken windows at all times in our house.  If the wind blew too hard a window would crack.  I decided I would save my husband an addition to his "honey do" list and fix the window myself.  It couldn't be that hard, right?
I pulled the larger pieces of the broken glass out and started scraping the glass that was bonded to the frame by the glaze.  In order to do this the only effective tool to use was a Flathead screwdriver.  I am feeling pretty good about myself at this point.  I am replacing a window pane.  I am sooo cool!  There is a reason safety glasses are recommended equipment when doing home projects.  You just never know how your enthusiasm is going to get the better of you when you start really going at something.  Well, I was getting frustrated with getting this glass cleaned out of the frame and really went at it, without any eye protection.  I was scraping like a crazy person and all of sudden, I feel something ping/stab me in the eye.  My first reaction was to freak out but I didn't.  I just stood there holding my eye open waiting for inspiration to come as to what to do next.  I was probably making a bit of a commotion because my oldest son ran into the bathroom and screamed, "I'll call 911 Mom!".  He looked like Kramer from the "Seinfeld Show" entering the room.  His eyes were a bit crazed and his voice cracked.  I thought he was going to have an accident himself.  He had the phone in his hand and started to dial, because he has had to do it for me before, while I am yelling at him, "No! No!, I don't need an ambulance!".  It was then the idea hit me to flush my eye with water.  I ran into the other bathroom, because the one I was in was under construction, and began throwing water into my eye.  If you have ever had to not blink for a while, it is really hard.  Those muscles work independent of regular brain commands and I had to hold my eye lid up so it wouldn't come down and move the glass shard around on my eyeball and cut it up.  Happily, a cool head prevailed again and the glass washed right out.  It was pretty big for an eye ball and I was relieved no medical personnel had to be involved.  My eye wasn't even sore because it came out pretty quickly.  I then had to calm my son down and reassure him no damage had been done. 
So what are the lessons here?  Stay calm and listen to that voice that God sends to tell us how to handle things beyond our abilities.  Teach your children how to dial 911 and how to check if you are unconscious.  This saves them from calling if you are taking a nap.  Wear protective eye wear when doing household repair jobs or anything where something could fly into your eye.  Also, Try to evaluate whether what your are attempting is going to help or cause more work for the person that actually knows how to do the job right. 
By the time my husband had come home from work, I had picked up all of the broken glass and taped a file folder into the window for him to repair.  And yes, I apoligized for "helping" him.
I am happy to report, I have had no lasting effects of the glass in my eye and that I learned how to properly replace the broken windows in our house just in time to fix the five other broken panes before we moved.  I wore protective eye wear this time. 

Grace is Not My Name

I am left handed and therefore always hurting myself.  You may wonder what being left handed has to do with it?  Well, nothing really.  It is just how I make myself feel better about the fact that I am not terribly graceful.  I have always aspired to be graceful, but it just comes out as a kerthunk! most of the time.
I am usually healing from a would of some sort, and I try really hard to stay out of the ER.  My husband appreciates it when I do too.  My lifetime of experience in the area of pain has given me a certain perspective and I rarely get upset about the ouches anymore.
My 12 year old son told me the other day that he has really gotten klutzy.  I just apologized and told him it is all my fault.  He thought I was joking and laughed and then saw my face and knew that life was going to require good health coverage so he better do well.
My latest injury involved tomatoes.  It is rather funny now that I think about it, but I am pretty sure it is the closest my husband has come to a heart attack in a while.  It do cause his ticker to beat rapidly from time to time.  And not because I am a super model.  I am laughing as I type.  It isn't nice to laugh but wow, you should have seen the look on his face.  This accident was a perfect foray into the Halloween Season!
I had been canning tomatoes all day and they had finally cooled off enough that I wanted to rinse the jars before putting them on the shelf.  I picked up two jars and headed to the sink.  It sounds like a long distance but really it is only about 3 or 4 steps.  I should have just held them in my hands, but no, I had them resting in my arms like a baby.  Just as I get to the sink to put them down, I realized it was stupid to carry them this way.  The larger jar clipped the sink and shattered in my hands as I was trying to set it down.  Tomatoes went everywhere.  It was like the jar exploded on impact.  There were tomatoes running down the counter and pooling on the floor.  I made a mess.
After getting upset that I had just broken a beloved canning jar, I realized I was bleeding on both of my hands.  Uh oh!  My 10 year son was sitting at the table and I calmly asked him to get his dad.  My kids don't mess around when they see I have hurt myself, it happens way too much.  He immediately ran upstairs and ordered his Dad downstairs, "Mom needs you Dad, now!".
I was nursing my wounds at this point and discovered I had little slices all over both hands.  The paper towel was covered in blood, not because of volume but all the tiny cuts everywhere.  My husband came downstairs with the what did you do now look on his face and then he went white.  I was starting to explain what happened when I noticed him turning white at what he thought was a puddle of blood on the floor at my feet.  Then he starts yelling.  "What did you do?!"  I, of course didn't know what he was so upset about.  I just had a few little cuts on my hands.  He starts working on me like I had hit an artery and then asked rather angrily, "Are those tomatoes!?".  He had noticed I just wasn't bleeding enough to justify that big of a puddle at my feet.  "Of course they are", I say.  Then it all came together for me.  I smiled at him and reassured him I was fine.
I had to apologize a lot that night for scaring him.  Next time I'll make sure I am carrying pickles!
I suppose I need to add a post about how to can tomatoes now!   It will have to wait until August when my tomatoes are ready.

Handmixers and other things that can make you bleed

I have learned to keep the appliances unplugged in my house.  My son decided to inspect my hand mixer (the kind that you can chop things with) one morning while I was in the shower.  I had left it on the kitchen counter, plugged in and he couldn't resist.  He was 10 at the timeand waiting for me to shower so I could take him to school.  Just before I started washing my hair, he came into the bathroom holding his hand up with blood running down everywhere.  I am, of course, aghast at the scene before me and tried to get the details of his injury.
He had picked up the mixer, which is ergonomic, and flipped it upside down to examine the bottom.  His masculine instincts to play with things sharp and power driven took over.  He stuck his finger on the blade and proceeded to spin it around.  At this same time, his other hand ergonomically placed on the start button, tensed and pressed the on button.  The blade spun around and cut the top of his finger.  The only thing that prevented it from getting sliced off was his fingernail, and the impulse to drop the mixer.
Looking at all the blood, I jumped out of the shower to deal with the gore and tried to stop the bleeding as best I could.  I spent about 20 minutes calming him down and bandaging him up, all while naked and dripping wet.  There just isn't time for clothing when a mom is faced with the chopped up finger of her son.  Happily, I got him calmed down and was able to get dry and dressed.  He was too traumatized to notice I didn't have on any clothes.
Fortunately, the doctor's office had just opened and he could look at the finger.  No stitches, just a tight bandade and he was off to school.  He got there before the morning bell.  I've decided that the military slogan, "We get more done before 9am then most people do all day" really should apply to mothers. 
The moral of the story is.....unplug your appliances when you aren't using them and don't shower until after you have taken the kids to school.