New blog readers might not know that three weeks ago, The Father and the rest of the parents were the demo crew at our new house. My husband (aka The Swedelock) continues to hold down both our apartment and our house. Contractor meetings, rent check writing (Due tomorrow, honey!), landscaping, Home Depoting. Our schedule has slowed a bit, to say the least. Or maybe the pace would have been the same, just with me making more phone calls.
One thing I know for sure is that our free professional painter currently snoozes in a hospital bed. He is well enough to announce he “feels whorish” after the nurse applies his lip balm. But I don’t think he’ll be rolling Benjamin Moore on walls this month.
All signs point toward good places. We watched/listened to a Lewis Black video today. He’s eating “food.” There is even talk of moving him out of critical care. I admit I do like the spacious private room. Bed-couch! A zillion attentive people! But getting to a regular room points toward getting him the heck home. Ugh with hospitals, right?
I leave you with the following exchange as a sample of today’s improvement:
Nurse’s assistant: I’m here to take your blood sugar counts. Which finger would you like me to use?
The Father: Someone else’s.
And, yes, I had to repeat it for her. She didn’t get it.
They never do.