Concussion. I'll be damned. Oh, sure, I suppose it seemed obvious to you. Blow to the head followed by visual disturbance, headache and vomiting but for some reason... now I feel guily and kinda dumb. You know what else? Apparently "keep an eye on him" is one of those phrases (like "maybe I should see someone") that I understand imperfectly. I was, like, ok! Great! I will keep an eye on him! So at intervals I would go stare at Patrick while he slept and think, "I wonder what I am supposed to see?" Does a concussed person swell? Turn purple? Thrash around? Would I notice if he was slipping into a coma? You should have seen me trying to pry his eyes open so I could shine a flashlight into them.
It was one of those nights when I contemplated the fact that every adult is basically a fraud. Nothing makes me more sympathetic to people blundering around running companies or ruling nations than these times when I look around and discover that *I* am the closest thing in the room to an expert on lasers or Rhodesian Ridgebacks or head trauma.
Patrick slept for twelve hours and when he woke up the next morning he was normal. Even his lip looked better. So - apart from a little sloshing of the brains - he continues to survive my parenting. He's taken it a little easy this week, though. Just in case.
In other news you can use:
an ice dam is a ridge of ice that forms on the edge of a roof and it prevents the melting snow behind it from pouring safely onto the ice-and-dirt beds below. When this happens - in the absence of a miracle - the water seeps under the shingles and given enough snow and just the wrong combination of extreme cold followed by unseasonable warmth; you get water sluicing down the walls of your living room.
I tried to explain this phenomenon to my Mid-Atlantic mother and my Pacific Northwest brother and from their murmured condolences I realized that there is something about having to put plastic pitchers on your window sills that is... shameful. Vaguely indecent. Like ice dams are the STD of home ownership.
"Really? Water? Pouring from the ceiling? Don't you have insulation? I mean, doesn't the house have some kind of... external barrier? Weren't you protected?"
I felt the need to explain that it's not like our house has been hanging out with crack houses and it has never happened before and, really, even well-constructed, energy-thoughtful homes can fall victim to an ice dam when we have THIS MUCH SNOW and it has been THIS COLD and the weather abruptly turns tropical.
Seriously, check it out. It's like Spring around here.
The upside was the fact that it finally got above fifteen degrees and the down was that we developed an unexpected water feature four feet away from our couch.
Steve came up with a temporary fix before there was too much interior damage (he climbed on the roof and swore at the ice until it melted) but it sucked nonetheless. As I fell asleepp I forgot what was going on and thought, ah, the relaxing plinkety-plink of summer rain on a tin roof and then I snapped out of it and realized that my lullaby was actually the steady ka-ching of water damage.
I don't want to jinx anything but I might have found a babysitter. I asked if she could do this weekend or possibly next weekend and she said she could do BOTH. In the past we have always used a nanny service (nanny professionals in St Paul - they're great and we've had wonderful people) but the hour minimums plus the mileage plus the hourly rate have placed them outside our austerity budget range unless it is an emergency. So although preschool affords us the time to occasionally - how did you phrase it in the comments? take a hike? - spend time together during the day; the last time Steve and I went out at night alone was... I don't actually know. It has been at least six months. We did meet some work people before Christmas and that was fun (we went to burlesque show because nothing says Business like tassels and a well-placed feather boa) but just Steve and me and a no-stress evening? It's been forever.
Patrick made a very clever box for his valentines. I continue to find him exceptionally witty.
Somehow that picture reminds me of Edward's latest culinary obsession: lemons. As in, lemons.
I love his diabolical eyebrow. Love it.