The bike ride was good. I averaged about 21 mph for over 27 miles. Best average ever for me. The last two miles of my ride my computer was showing I was sitting with an average of 20.9 and I was hell bent on bringing my average up to the 21 mark. I cranked it as hard as I could and two blocks from home the magic number appeared on the digital read out. Satisfying.
As soon as I pulled up in to our front yard on my bike Cherity told me that Owen got taken out by Molly and she thought his nose might be broken. Apparently
I felt pretty bad for Owen. He was laying on the couch sleeping when I got home. I got him to perk up by talking to him about a few of the things he loves to do including fishing which we will do tonight if the weather permits... if not, then tomorrow.
Owen was happy again. I was tired and sticky from sweat so now it was time for a shower. I headed for the bathroom only to be greeted by a bathtub pasted with shredded zucchini. It actually looked like coleslaw without the mayonnaise. I spent the next hour and a half taking pipes apart in our kitchen and basement. The veggies that went through the garbage disposal drain in to the same pipe as the bathtub. Fortunately, this was all one fascinating project for Owen. He loved the whole ordeal. The buckets of veggie juice; the water on the basement floor; unscrewing and re-screwing pvc pipes; shoving coat hangers in to holes.... what's not to love. Owen was back to his old self pretty quickly and nothing gets Owen in to a more zen/relaxed place than a good project.
Anyway here's a picture of Owen's injury:
3 comments:
Trying to wrap my head around this one! =)
I was commenting earlier about Tatum's similar injury, when the kids needed attn and I posted some total gobbledygook. It looked just like that and was from skidding, face first on the side walk, one of the first times we ever left him with a sitter actually. We ended up calling his birth mom because when Tate gets a scar it's the weirdest thing. It's like the black gets scraped off and underneath is a layer of "white" (or what looks like the bottoms of his feet) And the black was taking forever to come back. (Weird problems your social worker never warned you about.) So when we called Kesha, she said to "bring his color back" you just had to rub it with witch hazel. It worked well. The cross cultural stuff you just can't know (don't even get me started with his hair, I am totally incompetent in that realm.) Another time we were glad to be in touch with his birth family.
I bet you never thought you'd be grateful for veggies in your bathtub. Isn't life strange.
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