May 29th, 2004

A Pocket Full of Murder

No Grater Love

So last night we all went to Canadian Tire after dinner, and while hubby and Nicholas were looking at tools and bicycles and such, I took Simon in the shopping cart to search for a new cheese grater. I found a sturdy, trendy-looking triangular one I quite liked, only it had no price on it. So I went looking for someone to help...

Have you ever tried to get help in Canadian Tire? Especially on a Friday night?

Anyway, after a few minutes of looking about in vain I managed to flag down one red-shirted girl as she headed down the aisle toward me, only to have her call back over her shoulder, "I'll get someone for you," and keep going. Five minutes and two squawky PA announcements later, we were still waiting for whoever was supposed to be in charge of Housewares to show up.

"Nobody loves us, Simon," I said to my son.

He gave me a doleful look. "Nobody loves me," he said, and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

"Oh, no," I protested, already regretting the joke, "that's not true. Mama loves you."

He appeared to consider this a moment, then suddenly brightened. "Jesus loves me!"

Yes, I thought as he started to sing the familiar Sunday School chorus, but I'd still like a price on that cheese grater. Still, it was awfully cute, the way he said it.

Anyway, I did manage to track someone down eventually. And the grater turned out not to be too expensive, so I bought it. I just hope it stands up better than the last two did...

In other news, the wire that the dentist had put across my teeth came off while I was brushing, a week before my scheduled appointment to have it removed. What a relief, because the thing was driving me nuts. As for Simon's foot, it seems to be completely healed. I'm very thankful.
A Pocket Full of Murder

I'll be glad when May is over...

...because this has not been a safe or healthy month for our family. I've just come back from another two hours' worth of waiting in hospital, this time for my husband.

After spending all day working to finish up a shed he was building for some friends, and successfully not injuring himself on the circular saw or any other tools, hubby decided to end the day by digging up the dead tree in our backyard. The next thing I know, Nicholas comes running into the house exclaiming excitedly, "Daddy cut his hand!"

And yes, indeed, Daddy did. It was a freakish sort of accident involving the freshly dug-up maple, our wooden fence, and my husband's hand getting trapped between the two. He now has a lascerated palm, which I think is going to need at least ten, possibly fifteen, stitches. It looks horrible, but it didn't bleed that much and hubby is being stoical about the whole thing, which makes it difficult to know how bad it really is.

Anyway, I came home after we'd sat in the (not at all crowded) Emergency room for two hours, and my husband is going to call me whenever they finally get around to seeing him...

Like I said, not a good month.

ETA: He's back now. Eight stitches.