It has been a rough couple of days around these parts.  I’ve been horrifically busy at work, and not feeling well, and Miss T apparently isn’t over her ear infections and so we’re back on antibiotics there.  (And I probably need to be on antibiotics myself but I just don’t have the time to hassle with trying to figure out our new insurance right now.) 

I’m drowning in dirty laundry that I don’t feel like doing, I promised to list stuff on eBay for my dad but their site is pissing me off so I haven’t done it, I haven’t cooked in what feels like ages and we are out of groceries.  I feel guilty about AE having things like corn dogs and chicken nuggets for dinner every night since I haven’t been cooking, and N and I have had frozen pizza two nights in a row.  I’m months behind on our scrapbook, I am frustrated with the clutter in our house, and I am TIRED of not having the luxury of a solid nights’ sleep. 

So basically I have been having one giant pity party for myself this week.  WOE IS ME, MY LIFE IS CRAP.  It isn’t really, of course, and with so many feeling the fallout from Hurricane Ike and the banking crisis I feel guilty even complaining.  Especially about my *gasp* LAUNDRY SITUATION and things of that nature but I’m sorry.  In news that should really come as a surprise to NO ONE, I am a selfish brat, okay?  Okay.

*****

While AE was in the bath last night, I noticed the purplish beginnings of what is going to be an enormous bruise on his thigh.  I asked him how it happened.  Hmmm, he says.  I don’t know.  I don’t remember that.  I asked him if he was sure, because it is a really big bruise to not know where it came from.  Yep, pretty sure.

Now this is a child that seems to have an incredibly low threshold for pain.  He screams like he is being tortured if you get water on his paper cut.  A paper cut that is so small as to be invisible to the naked eye.  But he gets a giant-ass bruise on his leg – half the length of his thigh – and he has not a clue where it came from? 

Shortly after N put him to bed and turned out his light, he came wandering into the kitchen.  We asked him what was wrong.  Well, he sighs dramatically, my hand hurts.  He holds it up to show off the problem, which looks like nothing to me.  It needs a band-aid.  And sure enough, once I put the band-aid on he was immediately cured and went to bed with no complaints.  Again, I must wonder about the inner workings of his little mind.  Invisible wound = BAND-AID REQUIRED, bruise big enough to be seen from space = DOES NOT WARRANT MENTION.

What a weirdo.