Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Breathing through my ear

Even if you had tried to explain to me, you couldn't have succeeded. Or perhaps it's that I couldn't have understood.

I've got a fat lip and my nose is sore and feels closer to my left eye than ever before. I feel a fatigue that makes it seem as if my bones will liquefy, my limbs will flop and I will end up on the floor like a wet mop.

Last night, while reading stories to Jewel, she cracked me right in the lip with the spine of one of her favorite books ("Baby Food," if you must know), but that was nothing compared to the blow 3B landed on me the night before.

It was my fault, really.

Well, sort of.

We were having a tickle fight, launching gootchy goo attacks on each other, in the confines of his bed, which is the lower bunk. Never a good idea to have an MMA match in a cave. OK, sure, in a wire cage at the center of an arena--but not on a lower bunk with a merciless weasel. Actually, he's not at all merciless since he's always laughing too hard, but he is a squirming weasel, which is why he almost broke my nose.

Or did.

But I don't think so.

But after the back of his head hit my nose sideways, I felt like I was breathing out of my left ear for about five minutes. The crack was something like a musket shot and both of us froze like we were frozen in carbonite. And, to be fair, his head was still sore the next morning.

On top of the injuries, we had two--count them: two--playdates last night. One neighbor came over and we went over to another neighbors, so at least they were all in the building, but still. Is there anything so tiring as weasel wrangling?

No.

There isn't.

Especially when you have to breathe through your ear.


Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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