Squeeze Play

Guess who went to her dentist appointment this morning and threw out her back?

That'd be me.

Naturally, I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle! I blame the hygienist; who had me tipped so far backwards in that goddamn chair, I was practically standing my head! I felt fine the entire time, until she began to raise the chair back. I got about half way up and felt the pressure building in my sacrum. This would be when I turned to Rebecca, my waif of a hygienist, and said: You're going to need at least three more of you to haul me out of this chair, Sister.

Perhaps I should have mentioned my recent back injury in July when Rebecca asked me if I'd recently suffered any physical ailments and/or injuries?

Yes? I should have?

Oh.

My bad.

I made it to work but the 20 minute ride in the car; followed by hauling my fat ass up three flights of stairs apparently did nothing to alleviate my sacrum situation. By the time I got to my desk and signed onto my computer, I was in tears from the pain. It literally takes your breath away.......and because I can't hold myself upright, I find myself holding my breath.......an apparent attempt to "puff myself up"-right.

I made it to noon and then called it quits. My 30 minute commute home was torture, what with the not breathing and all. At one point, a semi truck threw a HUGE rock into my windshield. The sound was unbelievably loud and not expecting it, I jumped in my seat....which jarred my back. Which made me start to cry......which left me yelling Goddamnit! aloud. Once home, I shuffled myself into the house much like Tim Conway's character "The Old Man" from the Carol Burnett Show.
(Seriously, one of the greatest television shows of all time.....Coo coo, pigeon!)

Thursdays are Mark's short days. He walked through the front door about 45 minutes after I shuffled in and found me on the couch. Sitting ramrod straight and icing my back.
(And swilling vodka whilst downing Advil.)

Mark: How's My Girl?
Me: Broken.
Mark: Whatcha doin?
Me: Becoming the poster child for alcohol and drug dependency.
Mark: I'll join you!
Me: Before you do, I called Soapy Paws and if you take Benelli right now, she can have her usual wash & blow dry......... (insert me clasping my hands in front of my face whilst giving Mark the doe-eyed look)

Without batting an eyelash, Mark says "C'mon Bitch", to which Benelli JUMPS up from the floor and heads for the door.

Upon his return and after Mark settles in next to me, I broach the subject of Perhaps you'd like to go pick out a Christmas tree before you pick up the kids since I just happened to have found what looks like a really nice, local tree farm not 5 miles from us.....?

After some minor discussion as to the pros and cons of this idea; directions to the tree farm; and me taking an oath that I would not be pissed if he picks out a tree I end up hating; Mark sets off to find the perfect Xmas tree.

And comes back 10 minutes later without said tree but with our kids. Whom he decided should help in the tree picking process (thus spreading out the blame should they all fail in picking out a Christmas tree!). Insert kids changing clothes and shoes and promises of finding the best tree ever!

I retire to the bedroom with my cocktail where it takes me 10 minutes to get on the bed and into a comfortable position. I have no idea where the remote is and there is no fkn way I'm going to move in order to find it, so I proceed to stare at the wall.

And feel sorry for myself.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember the room was dark and I can hear my kids stomping up the stairs screaming: WE FOUND IT! WE FOUND THE PERFECT TREE!!!!
I'm told to "wait until Daddy gets it in the stand, and then come down to see." Considering it took me 10 minutes to get IN the bed, I'm confident it will take twice as long to get OUT of it, so against my children's orders I begin my struggle to stand upright.

When I get the signal from my Monsters, I make my way down the stairs where I come face to face with the prettiest Noble tree, ever. It's exactly how I like them: not symmetrical, but thinner at the top and gradually becoming thicker at the bottom. Sturdy branches to hold my heavy ornaments, with clearly tiered spacing throughout the tree. It was, indeed, perfect.

Somewhere in the middle of me admiring the tree and the kids carrying in my many, many boxes of Christmas decorations, their Dad slipped out to run another errand for me. Only this time, his errand wasn't my idea. Or suggestion.

Marky came home with a Frank Sinatra Christmas cd & a half gallon of Rum. Said he was pretty sure His Girl could use a little of both.

So here I am......on my second round of Advil; sitting ramrod straight while icing my back; with Frank singing to me whilst I swill Hot Butter Rum and stare at my perfect tree.

And here's what I know:

The fact that I am one big control freak-pain in the ass most of time is not lost on me. Thankfully, I've got a husband who can appreciate my need to organize, delegate and plan......even when I'm on the injured reserve list.

The fact that I've managed to injure myself while sitting......(twice now!), just adds insult to my injury. But look at how productive the day turned out to be!

My Sister gave me major props for relinquishing my need to control everything and handing over the Christmas tree task. It's amazing the rewards one can reap when you aren't squeezing the life out of......well.......Life.