Oh, how I love dial-up. I cannot sing its praises enough. Actually, I can't sing its praises at ALL. (Technically I can't even sing anymore, what with the trach and all, but forgive me, I digress).
I have a laptop, which I love. But I do not love the little mouse thingy in the square below the keyboard. Don't like it at all. So I have an external mouse. Well, it took a poop. A mouse poop. (ba ha) So I'm left to shuffle my fingers around and try to find the cursor and get it where I want it to go. Patience is NOT one of my forte's.
So I'm trying to figure out this new website that I'm going to be writing on (Take Root and Write, part of Christian Women Take Root). Every tutorial is a video. Well, God Bless Dial-Up, I can't download videos. Well, I could, but I can't view them, so what's the point? I've spent hours blindly foraging through these two new websites trying to figure out which end is up...and I"m clueless. I"m supposed to make my own text box and moderate a group and post and do all this on the one website before I write my column on the other one. I'm so confused. Calgon take me away!!
To add to my joy, last night I was painting with Jacob. Jacob was painting himself, his chair, the table, his clothes, me, and oh, yeah, he got a little on the paper. Well, I've had a gnarly cough pretty much since I've had the bigger trach, and as I was having a massive coughing fit (without covering the trach because my hands were full of paint) there it went flying out of my neck. Luckily, my cat-like reflexes kicked in and I actually caught the thing, paint and all. I started my phht phhht phhht thing trying to get Doug's attention, as I can't talk without the trach in.
He must have heard the desperation in my PHHHHT and came running. I just freakishly gestured to my hand, my trach, the gaping hole in my neck, and our paint-covered child. (All at once without talking....let's see YOU do that!)
So I go to the sink, clean it off, go into the bathroom (mirror) and pop it back in, and cough and hack and gag and all that good stuff. Let's just say painting time was SO over. So I get Jacob cleaned up, put the TV on, go into the kitchen by Doug and start to bawl.
Doug being the compassionate nurturer that he is said, "You're okay, you got it back in, you knew how to do it, Jacob's fine, all you're doing now is wasting body fluids."
Did I tell you the guy is like McGuyver? Well, what he has in spades in that category, he lacks a bit in the comforting department. (He admitted as much that night when we went to bed.)
Honey, next time just hug me, say it's okay, and rub my hair or neck or back or something. I think we're good for next time.