Another Week, Another Week

Well, it's been one of those weeks in the Phsaw household. It's been one of those weeks for like three years now, if you want to get technical.

I'm not loving this whole getting up early and having to to engage my brain and body before having a pot of coffee. Though I am realizing, getting out of bed is 3/4 of the battle. Once I'm up and moving, it's not so bad.

The oldest child called Wednesday evening from work.

"Uhh, Mommy?" he greeted me. Yes, I knew something was amiss. Either he was asking for permission to do something or he had done something. "I kinda need to go the emergency room."

Kinda? That's kinda like being kinda pregnant. Either you do or you don't. He explained he was playing momma's little Hercules, and managed to drop something on his head at work while carrying too much at one time. He lacerated himself just above his eyebrow. Someone from work was taking him to the ER, and he didn't want me there.

Naturally, my husband wasn't home, but he offered his fair share of parenting advice via the phone. I called the ER and gave them permission to treat my son. And I waited. And I waited. I waited. You see the trend here? His first call was at 7 p.m. He didn't get home until almost 10:30 p.m. They ended up gluing him shut. He's fine.

Anyway, my son works in a nursing home. One evening he was taking out some trash and called because he had to tell me what he'd just seen. In the living room/day room thing they have for the old folk, they were all gathered around the big screen TV watching....get this...the "Rock of Love 2" marathon. My son was giggling like a French Quarter whore.

Ahh, that Bret Michaels...uniting and bringing generations together while searching for love.