An excellent start to the new year

So I hurt my back last week while putting Christmas away.  It was all going well until Sam and I were shoving the freshly denuded, overly large tree through the sliding glass door.

Sam, "It's not going to fit."
Me, "Yes, it will. You pull. I'll shove."
Sam, "It's not going to fit."
Me, "We got it in here, didn't we? Pull!"
Sam, "It's..."
Me, "PULL"
<UFFF> Down goes Fraser.
Sam, "Well, that went well."

John got home a few hours later. I'd sent him a text so he knew to expect the household operating in full Survivor Mode.  Our version of Red Alert.  Battle stations. All weekend passes revoked. All superfluous activities cease as the USS Moore limps into port. We actually work quite well in Survivor Mode.  I credit the boys' early introduction and repeated practice.  Scenario: 3 year old boys, John's out of town for the week, what really needs to happen? I mean REALLY? Okay, we all need to keep breathing....we're going to need food....and water.  Baths? pfft.  Clean clothes? over rated. Too much television? don't see an immediate problem with it. It's all about getting to the next trench without anyone dying.  It has since evolved. Now the boys can make dinner, get their homework done and fetch me a diet coke.

So John arrived home from work and I was laid out on the bed, knees elevated into the neutral back position.

John,"So how bad is it...Are you DRINKING?"
And he's got this look on his face like he's ready to say something like, "It's 4:45" or something else equally judge-y
Me, "Yes. I'm drinking. There are no pain pills or muscles relaxers in the house. I really need to relax my back and this relaxes my back. DON'T I LOOK RELAXED?!"
Then he backed out of the room and went to check on the boys.

That was on Wednesday. By Friday I was feeling much better. John had been doing the school run so I had spent two days laying on the bed staring at the huge cobweb up on the ceiling.  Wonder how long that's been there?  And who'd have thought I could knit while laying on my back.  That's gotten be the worst super power ever.  I gotta get out of this room.  And I've definitely got to bathe.  So Friday I decided to sit up on the couch in the family room but in the immortal words of Emily Bronte, "She burned too bright for this world." and this wild, wicked slip of a girl found herself back in the bedroom staring up at the....hey, where'd the cobweb go?

Saturday rolled around; our morning for Starbucks and the WSJ puzzle.

John, "Are you up for Starbucks?"
Me, "I don't think I can sit on those chairs."
John, "Why don't you come with me? You can sit in the car while I get the coffee."
Me, "Will you roll down the window for me?"
John, "Sure but no barking at the other wives or no more rides in the car."

By Monday I was back on the school run and I found myself driving the boys to school in my pajamas. This was a big deal for me because even when I was deep in the dark days of the boys early years, (I'm telling you, one smell of A&D and I'm right back in the jungle) the one thing I could accomplish each day was getting dressed.  Every day I got up and got dressed. You've got to set these goals or you'll never reach the stars. It's true.  But here I was driving to school in my slippers.  <sigh>

Tuesday saw the return of pants. Just for the school runs but still.  That evening I wandered out into the family room while John was watching t.v. Unwashed hair, baggy-assed pajamas and 5 days of stench radiating off me.
John, 'Sexy."
Me, "Fuck off."

Wednesday was the boys' birthday.  I took a shower.  I wore clothes all day.  Even a bra.

The worst part of this whole fiasco? The tree didn't even make it to the curb on time.  It laid there outside the sliding glass door.  Mocking me.