Mrs. B in Paris

She's back...

2009-04-26T15:43:00.002-05:00

soon! We're taking a trip to Paris May 18-June 1, so I may be dual posting here and at my new blog. I can't wait! So if you're still checking in, be ready for Rowan's first trip to France. (I'm a bit terrified about the flight and the jet lag, so if you have any tips for me, please comment.)

À tout à l'heure!

I am tired of doing laundry and tarting out my old blog for another chance.

2008-07-23T11:14:00.000-05:00

So I'd really like to win another 12 BumGenius 3.0's. I love these diapers, and I'm not a squeamish girlie-girl who can't handle seeing poop twice (yes, that's totally a dig on my stepsisterinlaw.) I feel better about the lack of diapers in the landfill, I love that my daughter never has diaper rash, and quite frankly she looks absolutely adorable in them. But really, I'd rather do a bigger load every 2 days than a small one every day. Pick me! Pick me!

Les Fêtes

2008-01-07T11:18:00.000-06:00

Back to reality.

Our dear friends left yesterday, after a week of good conversation, good eating, and lots of fun. The house now seems so quiet, with only 3 people and a dog in our home. We really miss them, and miss having such wonderful amis in our neighborhood, like we used to. We picked up where we left off, and shared many a laugh, baby tip, recipe, and a beer or two. They brought us a huge bag of les goodies françaises, including things to make our own pain français, cornichons, rillettes, clothing for Rowan from Du Pareil au Même, bonbons, and lots of other wonderful things that we miss. They can't put France in a bag, but they sure tried, and we had a wonderful time speaking a little, eating foie gras, and drinking champagne as we celebrated La Bonne Année. Too bad there isn't room in a bag for two adults, a baby and a 60-pound dog to sneak back into la belle France.

But, in a way, they gave us something they didn't even know they brought. They showed us our home, through their eyes. We got to play tourists, driving through the mountains, eating out at our favorite restaurants, and sharing the good things about Happy Valley. Finally, Dr. B said, he feels like this is his home. After seeing it through J's and A's and M's eyes, he can now appreciate the place we are raising our daughter. What a special gift. We can't wait for our next visit with them, whether it be here, same time next year, or there. (Donations accepted.)
Bonne Année à tous!

Photo credit: pdphoto.org.

I Couldn't Have Said It Better

2007-08-25T09:52:00.000-05:00

David Lebovitz is fun to read. He cooks. He eats. He butchers the French language. He writes books. And he lives in my old hometown.

Today, he addressed a subject that took me a long time to figure out, and one I still don't understand.

Les serpillières.
I agree, David, 100%. Yuck.

And I am convinced that this is the reason French grocery stores have that, um, well... OK, the only way to describe it is "the stank". They reek.

Wouldn' t your house stink if you dragged a dirty, sopping rag around the floor every day?

Ew. Gross.

Belle

2007-06-25T14:27:00.001-05:00

Belle
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

New photos are up on Flickr (click this photo to go there). I hope to blog soon, but certain little things are preventing me (like the baby who prefers to sleep leaning on my chest.)

New events are happening right and left, and we'll soon be packing up to move to Pennsylvania. Anyone got some boxes? We are going to need all the help we can get...

our new family!

2007-06-12T21:44:00.001-05:00

our new family!
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

She's here, after 29 hours of labor. Long story, and I don't have the energy to write it now, but know that she's beautiful, and perfect, and has a heck of a set of lungs on her! (I just wish she didn't like to give us a concert every morning from 2-5.)

Rowan Amelia

born June 9, 2007; 8:03 AM

7 lbs. 5 oz., 19.5 inches long

Light brown hair, great big eyes, and she smells like a sugar cookie.

We love her so very much.

More later, when we've recovered a bit...

More pictures on my flickr page, and more to come.

Oh, and if you've tried to call, sorry--I don't often get a chance to answer the phone. When she's not eating, awake or screaming, I'm doing my very best to sleep. It doesn't always work, but I'm trying. I would love to hear from you soon, but will need a little time to adjust.

Directions

2007-04-19T15:59:00.000-05:00

How to get to Paris, France, from Madison, WI (according to Google Maps.)

"From:

Madison, WI Drive: 4,712 mi (about 29 days 21 hours)

1.Head south on CR-D/Fish Hatchery Rd toward Catalpa Rd 0.6 mi 2 mins

(blah blah blah, through WI, IL, OH...)

Passing through Pennsylvania
Entering New York
(Blah Blah Blah)
Entering Massachusetts

(More Blah Blah Blah...)

18.Turn right at Long Wharf 0.1 mi
19. Swim across the Atlantic Ocean 3,462 mi 29 days 0 hours

20.Slight right at E05 0.5 mi 2 mins (A slight right. You know. From the ocean.)

(Blah Blah Blah and many traffic circles later...)

35.Turn left at Place de l'Hôtel de Ville

Paris
France"

You gotta try it.

BagDar

2007-02-09T10:22:00.000-06:00

Lucy's BagDar is still functioning. Read about it here.

Madeleines: A Cookie Quest

2007-01-29T12:27:00.000-06:00

(Posting this here for those who don't read my new blog...)
One day last summer, while at our local Parisian street market, I felt my morning croissant wear off. I was hungry and cranky, and had an extra euro in my pocket, so I chose a golden yellow madeleine along with my Sunday bread purchase from the good baker at the market.

I popped it in my mouth.

Then, I melted into a little puddle of gooey joy on the sidewalk.

It was delicate, light, tender. Buttery, sweet, and full of flavor. Unbelievable, indescribable flavor.

If I hadn't been married, I think I would have proposed to the boulanger.

When Flare visited us in November, she brought me a present that included a silicone madeleine pan, one of the things I forgot to get before we left la belle France.

Now, I am on the hunt for the right recipe to fill it. I tried Ina Garten's Coconut version, which despite its great reviews, was disappointing.

So I am asking. Begging. Please. If you have a recipe that will send me back to that dirty Parisian sidewalk, send it my way. As soon as you can. (Maybe it's a pregnancy craving? Whatever. I don't care.)

How to Act Parisian

2007-01-11T08:47:00.000-06:00

By playing this game, you can learn many of the expressions and gestures that might confuse you when living or working in Paris. My personal favorite is the Gallic shrug--and when combined with the little "pfft" of air that escapes the lips, you'll really be a pro! (When I finally mastered this one, I was accepted all over the city of light. No lie.)

This game is done by the tourist board in Paris, so it's about as legit is they get. Have fun!

I guess they were serious...

2007-01-10T18:35:00.000-06:00

So, France is making smoking in public places illegal.

This video shows that they were really serious!!!

By the way, you must be 18 to view it. It's a little risqué.

Man, I wish they did this in the US.

Heh.

Happy Holidays, Everybody!

2006-12-11T08:18:00.000-06:00

(Wanna make one, too? You can design your own gal from head to toe! Check out their site, here. Free ecards and a plethora of printed and printable items, designed by you. And proceeds go to a very good cause. What more could you ask for?)

*PS this doesn't violate their terms of service, because I asked if I could do it, and Jeanne from Designhergals helped me. Designhergals are super cool!

Moving Day

2006-12-10T10:54:00.000-06:00

I've got tons to do, and am at the last day of my medical leave, so (of course) instead of carefully planning my next two weeks, I have been working on my new blog. Heaven forbid we should waste productivity on things that need to be done, n'est-ce pas?

Mrs. B isn't in Paris anymore, and I figured it was about time for a change. With help from Dr. B who helped with the design of all the lovely graphics (yes, he is responsible for the well-endowed caricature), I have now moved over here. I'll leave Mrs. B where she is (I'd hate for a bot to get her), but new thoughts and ideas will take place in the clouds. By the way, those are Parisian clouds, too.

And (drumroll, please) to the first person who comments with where the name of my new blog came from (and it must be accurate, mind you), I will send you the wonderful, fabulous, stupendous (ie free) prize of my mom's easy and delicious norwegian meatball recipe (the ones people bring up every time they see me because they really are that good) AND my favorite triple-fudge so good you may get marriage proposals brownie recipe (I didn't write it, so I'm not bragging or anything.)

Come on over, fellow dreamers! The water's fine!

Did I feel the baby move?

2006-12-08T14:04:00.000-06:00

Clinic visit #3 for three days--with the surgeon, physical therapy and the OBGYN, I've really become a regular. The surgeon says my knee looks, "great!" (though purple, yellow, pink, blue, swollen and misshapen are not my idea of knee-ly beauty). The pain is still pretty bad, and I'm pretty limited in mobility, but I'm getting ready for work to start again next week. The physical therapist had some great advice: "Do what you can, and push yourself a little, but not until you puke or can't sleep at night." Sounds reasonable to me.

Today we went to my OB, for my 14 week appointment. She was impressed to see me up and about so soon after surgery, and though Lemon said everything was great, she said, "well, how do you feel about it?" I knew I liked her.

She didn't admonish me for losing 6 lbs. since my last visit, knowing that surgery can be tough on the body, though I have a feeling she will if I don't start gaining in the next month. (Yes, I'm in my 4th month, and still wearing my normal jeans, buttoned. If you saw me, you would have no idea I was even pregnant. This will change.) Since my 'morning' sickness is back, she advised watching it carefully, and coming in for a bag of fluids if I just couldn't turn the corner and keep things down.

We heard the baby's heartbeat again, though it took a little longer to find it than the last few times. Dr. B grabbed my hand as the nurse searched, moving from left to center to right along my waistline. At last, we heard it. 150 beats/minute, right on target. We were both relieved.

I did have an important question for Dr. H.

"Last night, about 3 or 4 times, I felt a little twinge in my stomach. Is this normal?"

"Yes, completely."

"Just a twinge. Not a cramp. Almost felt like the baby did a flip or something."

She laughed. "That could be! It is possible."

"Either that, or gas, huh?"

"That, too. Could have just been gas. That's all too common in pregnancy."

Well, even so, I'm choosing to believe it was a flip.

You Are What You Eat

2006-12-05T10:54:00.000-06:00

I hope not, because if so, our baby will look like this.

So much for the balanced, healthy pregnancy diet. Sigh.

How Can I Tell You...

2006-12-04T20:03:00.000-06:00

How can I tell you
that I love you? I love you.
How can I tell you
that I'm always thinking of you
when I can't find
the right words
to say...

Dr. B watches the man on the television screen, in the middle of the night, drape a beautiful diamond necklace around his wife's neck. She feels the tickle of the metal, wakes, and they embrace.

"In my commercial, it would be the same. Except, in my commercial I'd be emptying your porta-potty."

New Dreams

2006-12-04T18:53:00.000-06:00

About a year and a half ago, in a freak bowling accident, I tore my ACL. I didn't know it at the time, and some other news kind of overshadowed it. That was the night I found out I was pregnant.

I was on cloud 9. I couldn't wait to be a mom. Everything was going great--I felt great, my hair looked good, I wasn't gaining weight, and things seemed perfect. We watched the baby at the sonogram at 8 weeks, and 4 weeks later, eagerly told our friends about our wonderful news.

A few days later, we lost the baby.

Though my heart was broken, I focused on our new life in France, and got through the pain as best I could. I knew that it might be hard for me to get pregnant again, because my history wasn't exactly wrinkle-free.

I wasn't ready to start trying again until we were well-entrenched in the streets of Paris. We nervously tossed the remaining pills, and officially started along the path once again. We didn't know what to expect, but we were hopeful.

After a few months of no success, I missed my period. I got very excited, and soon bought a pregnancy test. And another. And another.

And they were all negative.

Month after month, I waited, and waited, for nothing. It was almost like I was 10 years old again--there was nothing happening. I went to the doctor, who told me, "Be patient. It will come. You are young. Don't worry!" Easy for her to say.

I had hormone testing. That came up normal. The doctor still couldn't explain it. She scheduled a sonogram.

The doctor who performed it, after complimenting me on my excellent french, went to read me the results. It seems I had cysts and tumors in my uterus. There were lots of follicles, but she wasn't sure they were "any good". After several frantic emails to a high-school friend of mine who's a doctor (and who has internist friends), she told me I likely had Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome, and this is what explained my 4 and a half dry months. She said it was definitely possible to get pregnant and have a baby, but I was still worried and quite overwhelmed. We were just about to move back to the US, and it was too much to deal with just then, so we decided to put it on the mental back burner until we were moved in, had insurance, and could focus our time on trying to find out how we could become parents.

We arrived home, and as luck would have it, things started working again just a few days after we landed at O'Hare. With a new home to prepare, boxes to unpack, jobs to start and so much to do, we decided to not worry too much and just wait to see what would happen. We waited for our insurance to kick in, and scheduled appointments with a doctor to get the process started. Due to the beginning of the academic year and all the new students and staff entering the system, our first appointments weren't set until the end of October. We were disappointed, but we knew there wasn't much we could do.

Then, on Friday the 13th, I blew out my knee again. At the ER, the doctor wanted to do an x-ray.

"Is there a chance you could be pregnant?"

"Well, I suppose, but I don't think so. I don't feel pregnant."

"Are you late?"

"Yeah, but only 2 weeks, and last time it was 4 and a half months, so it's probably nothing."

"Been nauseous?"

"Maybe a little, nothing big."*

"Constipated?"

"Um, yeah?"

He handed me a cup, and pointed to the bathroom.

There is a reason it took 7 weeks to go from injury to surgery. They had to wait until the second trimester.

I will be at 14 weeks as of tomorrow. Well, I guess I should say we.

*Note: this has changed. A lot. Ugh!

Raggedy Ann

2006-12-04T18:25:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl, my Mom sewed me a "life-sized" Raggedy Ann doll. She was my best bud. Her head was flat (perfect for napping on), her hugs were free and very comforting, and she was just the size of a 4-year old girl living in Fargo, ND. She soaked up a lot of tears, a lot of hugs and kisses, and a few other things, when I was sick with the flu.

When I was newly married, my Mom decided that I needed a fresh, non-barfed-on Raggedy Ann doll as a Valentine's Day present. Mom stitched her with love, hand embroidering her face and big red smile. Though she wasn't the size of a 23-year old, she still gave great hugs, had a perfect for napping flat head, and soaked up a lot of tears when Mom died less than a year later, from a blood infection.

When we returned from France, I eagerly pulled Raggedy out of the box where she had waited for me, and set her up on the oak cedar chest my grandfather built for me. She had her usual place, watching us live our lives, and cheerfully waiting for me to need her again.

This weekend, I really needed her.

As I got out of surgery, Dr. B started making the round of calls to let everyone know I was OK and everything had gone well. When he got to Pam, my Dad's wife, I noticed he wasn't doing much of the talking.

Then, I found out why.

On Wednesday, my Dad had gone into the hospital with chest pains. He didn't tell me, not wanting me to worry while preparing for my own surgery. Mr. Stoic lied smoothly on the phone, making me believe he was calling from his kitchen, when he was actually calling from a hospital bed, wearing an uncomfortable green gown with an open back.

On Thursday, they did an angiogram, and then chest pains got really bad. There was no choice; Dad was scheduled for open heart surgery for first thing Friday morning. He needed a quadruple bypass.

Though our family has dealt with this many times before, because it is a hereditary condition, it still scared us to the core. My grandfather, who had 2 open heart surgeries, was by his side, with my grandmother, my sister and her fiancé. I was on the couch, in pain and sick to my stomach, partially from the ineffective pain meds, partially from worry.

"Please, honey, can you bring me Raggedy?" I asked. "I really need to feel close to my Mom right now."

Raggedy wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, soaked up my tears, and listened to my prayers. And she told Mom.

And he's going to be OK.

The surgery went as well as it could have, and the doctor said he was an excellent candidate. They said we were really lucky, because he wouldn't have made it to Christmas if he hadn't gone in when he did. They were surprised he was walking when he came in, but I guess they didn't count on the power of a stubborn, tough ol' Norwegian.

So today, though I am still in pain and pretty sick on laying here on the couch, I am so happy and thankful for everything. Though I have nothing prepared for Christmas--not one present bought, nothing baked, and not even an ornament hung with care--I know I really am ready. I got what I wanted for Christmas. I've got my Dad.

Big Day

2006-11-29T11:10:00.000-06:00

So it's finally here.

Surgery.

Tomorrow at ~~7:30~~ 9:30 AM CDT, I go under Dr. Lemon's knife.

Please keep good thoughts going skyward, and I promise that soon after I will break my silence and tell you what's really been going on.

For now, I am busy being a ~~control freak~~ responsible teacher and attempting to plan for everything my substitute (for the substitute) could need. The doc suggested taking a week off, so we are erring on the side of caution and I'm out until Monday the 11th of December. Scary, since there are concerts coming on the 14th and 18th, but what happens, happens.

After all, it is middle school band concerts--not a NATO summit or something.

It's all about perspective, right?

***Update: All went well, though the recovery is NOT FUN. More later. Thanks for the notes!

Bloglines Readers

2006-11-18T12:27:00.000-06:00

If you are reading this through bloglines, and have gotten re-updates of like a billion posts, I am really sorry. I think bloglines is on the fritz--I haven't seen it yet in mine, but I assume it is only a matter of time. Nearly every blog I read has recently republished about the last 6 months worth of posts, and it's really annoying. I know my dear blogger friends are not going in and changing one little letter in each post and reposting, so I must blame bloglines.

It's quite a letdown, really, to see 90 new "Les Blogs Français" posts and actually find only 2 new ones and 88 republished old posts.

End of rant. Happy weekend!

Surgery

2006-11-13T19:38:00.000-06:00

Finally!!!

A light at the end of the tunnel.

November 30th is the day. The doc said I really don't have any choice.

Fine with me. I just want this over. People seem shocked that I'm happy about having surgery, but they don't have to live with one leg. It's been one month as of today.

On the bright side, my shoulder is healing and not nearly as painful, though it is quite weak. I can't lift my laptop with my left hand, and I have a boatload of exercises I have to do twice a day. Oh well, not like I have much else to do while sitting here on the couch. Today the PT sub (mine was sick) "massaged" the muscle to loosen it. Yeah, it hurt like heck. I'm still sore, and a bit bruised. She warned me, but it took a lot of deep breaths to get through it. OUCH.

Sigh.

But, something I will be doing is planning my sub plans for the post-surgery time. You know, for the sub for the sub. Just what I want ten days before our concert. Argh!!! But, hopefully I will be healed enough to stumble down the isle at MagE and GLove's wedding on New Year's Eve. Luckily, the dress is long enough to cover anything, and I'm madly searching for silver flats on Zappo's. Let me know if you've got any leads.

La France Vient Chez Nous

2006-11-13T19:10:00.000-06:00

This weekend, we were thrilled by the visit of some friends, who not only brought us tales of Paris, but goodies galore, and hugs, and lots of fun. We spent four and half days with Aimee and Julien, and their ".5" who is due sometime in March. We talked, we ate, we shopped, we relaxed, we watched a really silly but highly enjoyable movie, we hit the yarn store, we knitted and we pretty much ate our weight in great Madison takeout and restaurant fare. (And they didn't complain once about dragging me around in the wheelchair we rented.) It's been a long time since I've seen Dr. B that happy as he and Julien played dueling Mac laptops and sampled some of the local brews (I think the last time was pre-knee injury) and I felt nearly whole again with one of my best friends right in the same house with me (well, as whole as I can be with only one knee). What a treat! Aimee even took me to Target and let me look at clothes and shoes and really cute pajamas that have dogs on them that look like Lucy, kind of, with Milk Bones. Those are on my Christmas list. (Dr. B just doesn't have much patience for that kind of stuff.)

Wisconsin did not disappoint, either--combining 65 degree sunny weather, fog, rain, cold, wind, sleet and snow all in one weekend!

Then on Sunday, Andie, Etienne and the two munchkins came by for brunch. We had a nice meal, got a chance to talk, catch up and laugh for several hours, and Gab enjoyed watching Muppets in Space and Family Guy (he's too young to understand how inappropriate that show is), playing with his cars, and chasing Lucy--he'd pull her tail and giggle, and she'd wag it and then turn around and kiss him on the cheek. Of course, Miss Bliss is adorable, calm and very snuggly. What a treat to see her!

So today, it was back to the grindstone. After a grueling PT session, I headed to school and Dr. B came home to welcome our french stuff, that we shipped on Aug. 23 from Paris, which was supposed to arrive the first week of October. Yeah. Really prompt, no? Blame it on US customs. Grrr.

By this time, I was getting pretty tired of the 3 cardigans (1 blue, 2 black) I had been trying to keep fresh by pairing them with slightly different shirt/pant/scarf/earring combinations, so I am relieved to see our things are finally here.

Everything made it, including some extra stuff that's not ours, but the furniture did not fare well. Bottles of wine? Fine. Glassware? No problem. Click Clack Bed? Damaged. IKEA dressers? Trashed. Shelving unit? Snapped in half.

Dagnabit.

Oh well.

At least they didn't break the wine.

(Thanks again Aussielass and the Muffin Man!)

PS: my cameras were in one of the boxes--so I'll finally be able to take some photos again soon! But first, we have to get rid of all these boxes in the living room. (It seems like I've said this before...)

Right

2006-11-07T18:00:00.000-06:00

When I was growing up, I lived as the eldest child of a mixed marriage.

My Mom was a Democrat. My Dad, a Republican.

Each election, they would have the same discussion. "Why bother voting? We'll just cancel each other out anyway."

And each time, they both did vote. Secretly hoping the other one wouldn't.

So, growing up in this type of a home, I heard both sides of the story. Though they didn't talk much about politics, their personal views and ethics were clear. They were respectful of each other, and agreed to disagree. And disagree they did.

My mom died in 1998. My dad is still a staunch Republican, with Christmas cards from the Bushes arriving each year, and of course his prized possession, a photograph of himself with his uncle Melvin and Ronald Reagan, in the prime position on the wall in the den, next to the door, so he can see it every time he walks in and out. My grandparents, too, are Republicans from way back, and are proud to wear little elephant pins on their lapels and decorate their homes with American flags and red, white and blue.

On my mom's family's side, things are a bit quieter, but their political views are just as strongly held and just as passionate. Though they may not wear their opinions on their sleeve or lapel, they do their duty. They vote.

As do I. Every election. (OK, I admit that I think I missed one for alderperson back in 2002.**)

Today, I got to feel that wonderful feeling that I get each time I walk through the school doors and give my name and address. I hobbled on my crutches over to a table and folding chair, sat down, and cast my ballot. (I had to suppress the urge to cheer as I headed toward the door.)

I am proud to be an American, and I always will be. I am proud to have the right to vote. I am proud that my vote counts, even if statistically it's not very much.

But it's mine. It's my opinion. It's my values. It's what I feel and think and believe, and I have the right to tell my government. It was a right that people fought and died for, and I do not take it lightly.

And every time I exercise my right, my duty, I am filled again with that powerful knowledge that ensures me--I do matter.

And so do you. Please, if you haven't yet, cast your vote. Tell them what you think.

Because it is important.

*Image from University of Tennesee Libraries.
**Alderperson 2002: I still feel a little guilty about that one.

Dog Crack

2006-10-25T13:55:00.000-05:00

We had no idea, when purchasing a bag of natural, organic-type cheesy poofs, what we were doing. They were good, though, and when I made out my online order for Capitol Center Foods, I added a bag of baked Cheetos.

I am to blame.

Dr. B and I happily munched as we watched BBC's Robin Hood, and unbeknownst to me, I created an addict.

Lucy was looking at us, with that "I'd really not mind at all if you'd let me have some of that" look she's so good at, combined with the "but no worries, I know it's not for me--no pressure or anything" head tuck which makes her so very endearing. I tossed her a cheeto.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! Slurp! Slurp!

She had a slightly crazed look in her eye.

"No more!" I said, pulling the bag closer to me. "Now go lie down." She obliged, but kept an eye on that bag from her bed under the window, her ears perking up with every crinkle. About an hour later, she was ordered to leave the room when she let fly one of her trademark Green Cloud© farts. Seriously. These things are so potent, they could melt the contact lenses right to your eyeballs.

The next afternoon, while watching some mindless movie, I ate a few more cheetos. I must have brushed my fingers off on the blanket I had on my lap. Lucy came over to see me, and licked my fingers to get the cheez dust off them.

Then, she started to lose it.

She licked my fingers. She licked my hand. She licked the blanket. And licked it. And kept licking it. Until it was soaking wet.

"Go!" I yelled. "Get away! No more cheetos for you!"

The other night, I was upstairs, bed bound with a bum shoulder and knee. I heard her running around, crazily, from room to room, barking and letting out little yips (which she never does--she is a very quiet dog.)

"What did you do to her?" I yelled down, expecting that Dr. B would just say the usual--that she had to poop and he was going to take her for a walk.

"Nothing," he answered. "She just ate her food! All of it! She just gulped it down. Well, I did put two cheetos in her bowl..."

Enabler.

*Photo from Wikipedia.

I wasn't faking it...

2006-10-25T13:46:00.000-05:00

The physical therapist thinks I may have torn my rotater cuff in my shoulder. She was much more concerned about it than about my knee, which I kind of can't do much of anything about at this point. I must say that I liked her a lot--her bedside manner made up for the surgeon's. (Yes, I know he's good. He is still kind of a jerk, though.)

So, here I sit, again.

Sigh.

But, I have grades to work on, and Grandmas to call, so I better hop to it. (Ha)