Given what had been going on with Doug, my parents volunteered to take the boys overnight at their house. They literally live down the lane from us so it is a quick trip to bring any forgotten items. Since I was really hoping for a night to just relax, regroup, and collect my thoughts, I wanted to try and make sure I have everything packed for both boys. As I am scrambling about gathering extra binkies, clothes, blankets, and white noise machines, I hear a thud followed quickly by scream crying. Not the, "I'm irritated because I fell down trying to get something out of reach," but the, "I am hurt! Get here fast!" cry. When I turn the corner I see Joey laying on the floor. This is a sight I see at least 3 times a day now as he is pulling to stand but hasn't mastered balance yet. Then I noticed three little drops of blood on the floor. When I pick him up I see blood in his mouth and it seems to be coming fast and in significant quantity. My first thought was of panic and frenzy. Then I quickly flashed back to the first time Gavin got hurt and drew blood. Gavin was fine after a couple minutes 2 1/2 years ago and Joey would be fine now. So I calmly tended to the very small cut in his mouth and put a little bit of ice on his lip (which he actually LOVED!) and despite a bit of a fat lip, he was fine in a few minutes. I had to laugh or else, I'd cry.

Before I left to take the boys down to my parents I asked Doug what he was in the mood for for dinner. He requested, "Real macaroni and cheese. You know? The kind with the toasted breadcrumbs on top." The only place I could think of that had that was a 20 minute drive but, it was a good excuse to be alone with my thoughts. I drove back home with dinner thinking about how I was going to spend my child-free night.

I got home and unpacked dinner. No mac and cheese to be found. None. I drove all the way there for the mac and cheese and now Doug has a side order of home fries but no macaroni and cheese. I was so disappointed in myself that I didn't think to check the bag. I was frustrated that my efforts to please my sick husband were thwarted by a Bob Evan's carryout snafu. I ate my salad and watched my husband eat an order of "too salty" potatoes. I had to laugh or else I'd cry.

Because the boys were at my parents, I slept until after 8 am. Something that hasn't happened since Joey was born. Every Saturday morning, I go to workout at a MMA Fit class. It is a challenging workout but I look forward to pushing myself and working hard. After my first class several months ago, I lovingly nicknamed my Saturday trainer, "Steroid Raging No Necker." This isn't him but he looks a lot like the guy on the right. I will warn you that the following stories are just weird but they were too funny (read awkward and uncomfortable) not to share.

In the middle of class, the trainer was demonstrating how my stance was putting me off balance. His point was taken but he evidently wanted to demonstrate how off balance I was. He pushed me in the chest to knock me off balance. Now, as I am sure when you pictured this, you imagined his hand pushing me somewhere between my breast and my shoulder, right? Um. No. His hand was planted squarely on the fleshy part of my boob. I fell backward and laughed out loud thinking that he simply forgot he was training women today and not a bunch of sweaty male fighters. I thought for sure that he was going to be apologizing profusely and blushing at what HAD to me a mistake. He didn't. He didn't even acknowledge the booby grab. He went on continuing to have me demonstrate my stance. I thought I must have been going crazy. I had to laugh, or else I'd cry.

Then, after class had finished there were a few of us chatting about self defense. (Now, thinking back, I totally should have asked him how to defend myself from booby grabbers!) The next part is the strangest and I am not sure I am going to be able to describe it well but I'll give it a shot. He wanted me to hit myself in the neck. I did while looking at him as if he was crazy. He told me to do it harder. I laughed and said, "I don't really want to hit myself in the neck." Then, like a mean and intimidating parent, he looks at me sternly and tells me to hit myself in the neck while demonstrating the action on himself. I am smiling but now it is out of sheer anxiety. I do it two or three more times thinking that if I humor him I will be able to escape. I guess I wasn't doing it hard enough or something because he gave up on telling me to do it and then he hit me in the neck with the side of his hand. He asked me what I felt. I told him that it hurt and again laughed but almost with tears because I was so confused. His behavior just wasn't making any sense, but like a group of teenagers, people stood around watching this happen and no one, including me, had the guts to tell this dude to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. I guess hurting wasn't what I was supposed to feel because he then told me that hitting me where he was, the jugular vein, it was supposed to distort my vision or something. He hit me in the neck one last time quite hard and asked me what I saw. I was so inside of my head that I wasn't seeing anything. He finally gave up. Yeah. I had to laugh or else I'd cry.

Then for lunch, my husband really wanted that mac and cheese that he didn't get to have yesterday, so I climbed into the car to drive to the restaurant. Again. We didn't have to pay for the macaroni this time since we paid for it yesterday but while the manager was working out the issue on the receipt, I decided to treat myself to a fountain Coke. After all, I got my boob grabbed and then hit in the neck repeatedly. I deserved a Coke today!



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