Lifestyles of the Sequestered and Never To Be Famous

Soooo… I’m bored.

I’m stuck in my room with an absolutely gorgeous snowy view of the train station across the street. I hear little voices chirping through the house and the hum of the washing machine.

And I thought, “Well, I could always blog”

So, come join me in my random thoughts as I write about the lifestyles of the sequestered and never to be famous.

–My face is swollen. The radioactive iodine can collect in your salivary glands, and apparently it has in mine. It gives me a headache, but that’s really the only negative side effect. My very diplomatic father couched the swelling this way, “Well, cutie pie, let me put it this way. If you had any wrinkles before, there aren’t any now.”

Rolling with the Punches

We have had a mouse in our house.

UGH.

We kind of knew we would. I mean, we move to an old farmhouse with an acre and a half of land behind us, so we were expecting little visitors, especially with all this snow.

This morning Brian checked the trap he had set up last night, and cheered, “Got him!” (Side note #1: For all you “save the mouse” people, yes, we killed him, so please just accept this and don’t be a hater.)

Movin’ on up

Quick guest post- Angie got a call this morning from the hospital, after yesterday’s blood work they decided not to wait until next week to do her scan. She’s on her way in now to start the process; today they will give her a dose of radioactive iodine and the scan I assume will be moved up to Tuesday. Good news, because it’ll be over with sooner. Bad news, because it means she will have to spend the weekend in isolation from the kids and I. I think she was most upset that she didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to the boys before they left this morning.

What Gets Me

It’s the whispers that get me. Or maybe it’s the bouncing eyebrows. Or perhaps the twinkle in brown eyes.

But mostly, I think it’s the feel of her molding into me, clinging to Digger Dog, as she curls up in between Bri and me under the warmth of heavy blankets.

“I love you,” she murmurs, automatically, and my heart is warmed.

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It’s the cries that get me. Or maybe it’s seeing the tears run down her face. Or perhaps it’s the frustration fizzling from my heart.