Okay, people. Whose God WAS that? Seriously!

Y'all remember how ON FRIDAY (it was Saturday when I meant to start this post, due to the fact that it's 12:30AMish on Sunday right now, that WOULD have been only YESTERDAY if I'd done my blogging on time. but I digress) on just this FRIDAY I posted a call for people to pray to whatever kind of God they wanted (I was desperate; desperation leads to open-mindedness) for my open wounds to friggin start to close and not be open anymore already.

Here's the thing.

Overnight, they shrunk more than HALF. In HALF, people! OVERNIGHT. (in HALF!)

And these are wounds that had not shrunk at ALL for more than THREE WEEKS. And this happened OVERNIGHT. Within ONE DAY of asking y'all to pray.

So I want to know: Whose God was it?

So far our only confessors are my SIL, Barb (most of us know her religion) and my blog pal Majato whose body is his temple and whose religion is his beer.

Fess up. Conversion is on the table.

And also, thanks for praying. To all your Gods.

See, I'm just too lazy to be a billionaire.

They gave me this one ointment for my graft--they said that it might help any irritation. And it wasn't so bad. Not great. But not bad.

But it turns out that there was something better that it did.

I don't know what made me try it. Genius, maybe. But I put it on my *heels.* And something amazing happened. My heels went from looking like this:

to looking like this:

Seriously, people. My heels look good.

OMG, I thought. I could sell this stuff and be a BILLIONAIRE. Because nothing has ever, not even once, made my heels look this good. And I've tried *everything.* Because who wants to be the lady with the bad looking heels? I used to judge those ladies in my head all the time. And then I was one. And there was nothing I could do about it. Until the magic cream came along.

One problem:

The cream is actually *incontinence* cream. i.e., it's meant to help protect your skin from your *pee.*

That's right. IT'S PEE CREAM.

Which means that to be a billionaire, I'd have to either convince people that it's not gross to buy and use buckets full of pee cream, or I'd have to, like, do a massive re-branding thing. Or something. I actually have no idea. Which is probably why I am most definitely NOT a billionaire.

So, lazy girl that I am, I'll just give you the Amazon link. And since I get like 1% of whatever anyone spends when they buy something (anything!) after clicking a link from my blog, you could help me make $0.50. And, also, you'll have really amazing looking heels. Which is almost as good as being a billionaire, right?




ps: Just so you know, in two years I have made $2.35 from Amazon links! Oh, yeah, baby.

pps: sorry that the link is to a 12-pack. That was the only link that had the exact product number that I have on my bottle. but the cream is totally worth it and you'll use the 12-pack, I promise.

[post edit ppps: after I bought the cream they changed the price to $140! it probably is *that* magical, but WTF? good thing I ordered early.][but bad thing that I was going to buy another box for christmas presents. $50ish I can do. Not $140, though.]

I *think* this may be the same product, just a bigger size:

Steve says I should blog because I haven't blogged since, like, *Monday.*

There's a simple reason: I'm stoopid now. The first time I wrote blogged up in the title, for example, I spelled it bloggled. And it looked right.

The nice thing about being stoopid is that it means I'm not in pain.

The bad thing is, I'm not cranky enough to post rants. Which is kind of a bummer because I've got a modesty rant brewing.

I guess we'll have to wait until I'm less stoopid.

If you desire, send up a prayer to your own preferred divine being (depending, of course, on your personal faith traditions). Tell them that Dr. S is tired of having big fat open wounds. She is tired of looking at her skin graft and wondering when it will stop buzzing. (Yes, it buzzes. A nerve thing, I think. Or they implanted an alien device on me. Also a possibility.) And so Dr. S humbly requests that the skin graft close up, the buzzing stop, the stoopidness be tapered down, and life be calm and happy and full of blog posts and stuff.

Here's a funny thing: I think I might try to do yoga next week. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Things students will do for paper extensions:

make me supercute jewelry out of trash. 

In my continuing effort to keep posting while simultaneously avoiding anything with, like, *sentences,* (I'm talented that way) here are a bunch of supercute pictures of Lily

From Sam's Door

(thanks for the picture, Barb.)

This picture (of Sam's first day of first grade) prettymuch sums up Sam and Lily's relationship:

Lily: Adoration
Sam: (Reluctant) Toleration

ps: Sam is literally twice as big as Lily. (80 pounds versus 40 pounds.) But they're only two years apart. Crazy, right?

We told her that in order to have hair like this in real life, she'd have to stop giving herself so many do-it-yourself-cuts.

Lily and her new wig:

It's not unusual for Lily to lock herself in the bathroom.

But when she'd been there for forty five minutes, we were concerned. So Steve knocked.

"Go away!" she said.

Steve knocked again. "Are you OK?" he asked.

No response.

So Steve found the special screwdriver to unlock the door. When he opened it, he found this:

poor kid. we think it was something she ate.

The thing about being stupid

is that it's really nice.

I've been telling my students this, when I apologize for how stupid I've been lately, and they sort of laugh uncomfortably. That's OK. Students laugh uncomfortably around me all of the time.

But it is really nice to be stupid.

See, I've been on and off pain killers, waiting for my open wounds to close up. Sometimes my wounds are on the edge of getting infected and they hurt a lot so I have to take a lot of pain meds. But sometimes they don't hurt all that bad and I don't have to take a lot of pain meds. I get a lot more done when I'm pain-med free. Because the drugs really do make me stoopid.

But here's what's so nice about being stupid: you never get bored. You stare at the wall (sometimes literally) for an hour or more and you don't really care. You don't think about how you're trapped in bed or of what you should be doing. There's no room in your head for thoughts or anxiety. You're not really happy, but you don't really care because caring requires *thought* and having thoughts requires you not to be stupid. All of the voices in your head--the lines of books you just read that keep spinning around nonstop, the ideas for the story you're working on, the line from your last academic article that needs revision, the mental reminders that your house is a mess and that your children have not done their homework in weeks--all of those voices are gone.

It's quiet in your head.

Just quiet.

I think I read somewhere that there is, like, a linear connection between intelligence and general unhappiness. Having been smart and having been stupid, I think there might be some truth to this.

So the next time you run into someone that's really stupid, instead of getting angry at how stupid they are, or appalled, or determined never to be.like.them, the next time that happens just remember:

they're probably happier than you'll ever be.

Shameless Promotion of the Literary Ambitions of my Progeny

Sam has written a new Fastboy Story.  Fastboy is a character he created to battle all the evils in the alphabet.  Today's story is about Mr. T.  (We've been on Mr. T for awhile, but he's a particularly evil letter.  I mean, you thought *Mr. M* was bad...)  Check it out.

What my surgeon said after our planning meeting today:

"Think of it this way.  Your forties are going to rock." 

The Walgreens Has So Much Awesomeness!

I'm just overwhelmed with the awesome.

Buy it through this Amazon link and they'll give me like $0.20

which makes my life even more complete, right?

I'm glad we all agree on this. Such an agreeable evening.

What I found at the Walgreens.

I'm thinking that for $19.99, it will make my life complete. What a deal.

I am either not cool or not a girl. Lily won't specify.

me: "Hey, you wrote you name on your arm."

Lily: [Holds up arm and examines it.] "It's not writing. It's a tattoo."

me: "You're going to grow up and get ten thousand tattoos, aren't you. There's nothing I'm going to be able to do to stop it."

Lily: "All cool girls get tattoos."

me: "But I don't have any tattoos."

Lily: [shrugs, sort of glares at me--Lily's default look when she's looking at me.] "Yes, because *COOL GIRLS* get tattoos."

me: "I see."

Sam has started a blog.

He says he wants to be awesome. He doesn't need a blog to be awesome, I told him, but he persisted. Here it is.


(Sam says, looking over my shoulder as I type: "Mommy, I can read you know." And write, too. Enough to blog at least.)

I have been schooled.

me: [holding a white skirt]

Sam: "You better just throw that away, Mom."

me: "Why?"

Sam: [like I've asked a very dumb question.] "It's Labor Day."

me: "Yeah?"

Sam: "You can't wear white after Labor Day."

me: "OMG I swear I never taught you that."

Sam: "Doesn't make it not true."

My Mom has given me permission to ask strangers to rub my feet.

Totally true fact.

So how bout it?

Miss Provo still needs help with her part-time modeling career.

Because she wants to model t-shirts and stuff. And yet, needs your votes to get her there. Vote again, will y'all? She lives with me. So we need her happy. Kisses.

See this picture?

It was taken on labor day weekend TEN years ago. Weird, right?

It's a WOOT!

check the personal essay section. yay for moments of happy!