Lazy Saturday
We slept late today. I think this is the second time I've done this in five weeks. Last night, we actually formulated a plan on how we could sleep in.
Other than 9am therapy sessions, the main obstacle to sleeping late is the cats. Once they decide it is breakfast time, Niobe and Mister Firdusi are relentless in their demands for food. Firdusi parks himself in the hall outside the bedroom door and hollers at the top of his whiny voice. If that doesn't inspire me to feed him, he and Niobe beat each other up. Apparently, they associate family violence with getting fed. They've been doing this for years.
Robb woke up before me, and got into his brace (no small undertaking) and went into the kitchen to feed the kitties. Since he can't lean over, he created a very Robb-like device out of a measuring spoon and a wooden pasta stirrer. (The ladle's angle is all wrong, I'm told.) He fed the cats and came back to bed, and I slept through the whole thing. Heavenly.
Later, we were trying to cook brunch, and I was so bleary-eyed that I got all the ingredients together for Robb and got into the shower.
Imagine cooking if you can't bend over, or twist to reach anything. Imagine cooking if you need a walker to get to anything that's not directly in front of you. Imagine trying to cook, if you aren't able to lift anything more than two pounds (water, for example, is heavy: a pint's a pound, the world around). Imagine how you might carry anything, if you need both hands to hold onto your walker. Now add a couple of overly-curious pussycats to this mental picture. Our cats, who were never the most well-behaved under the best of circumstances, have gone rather feral since Robb was in the hospital, and I've been gone so much. All they want to do is hang out on the kitchen counters and put their faces in everything.
Imagine what our kitchen floor looks like. I can't seem to keep up with cleaning it.
I was in the shower as Robb was cooking, and he let out what sounded to me like a bloodcurdling scream. I ran out into the kitchen, shouting "What happened?!!?! Are you all right?!!?" I left a river of water in my wake. Thankfully, Robb was all right, just frustrated. He had been trying to remove the spindle from the food processor, Niobe was trying to jump on the counter, and when the spindle finally came free, it covered him with flour. We still have to find a way to get the flour our of all the crevices of his walker.
Other than 9am therapy sessions, the main obstacle to sleeping late is the cats. Once they decide it is breakfast time, Niobe and Mister Firdusi are relentless in their demands for food. Firdusi parks himself in the hall outside the bedroom door and hollers at the top of his whiny voice. If that doesn't inspire me to feed him, he and Niobe beat each other up. Apparently, they associate family violence with getting fed. They've been doing this for years.
Robb woke up before me, and got into his brace (no small undertaking) and went into the kitchen to feed the kitties. Since he can't lean over, he created a very Robb-like device out of a measuring spoon and a wooden pasta stirrer. (The ladle's angle is all wrong, I'm told.) He fed the cats and came back to bed, and I slept through the whole thing. Heavenly.Later, we were trying to cook brunch, and I was so bleary-eyed that I got all the ingredients together for Robb and got into the shower.
Imagine cooking if you can't bend over, or twist to reach anything. Imagine cooking if you need a walker to get to anything that's not directly in front of you. Imagine trying to cook, if you aren't able to lift anything more than two pounds (water, for example, is heavy: a pint's a pound, the world around). Imagine how you might carry anything, if you need both hands to hold onto your walker. Now add a couple of overly-curious pussycats to this mental picture. Our cats, who were never the most well-behaved under the best of circumstances, have gone rather feral since Robb was in the hospital, and I've been gone so much. All they want to do is hang out on the kitchen counters and put their faces in everything.
Imagine what our kitchen floor looks like. I can't seem to keep up with cleaning it.
I was in the shower as Robb was cooking, and he let out what sounded to me like a bloodcurdling scream. I ran out into the kitchen, shouting "What happened?!!?! Are you all right?!!?" I left a river of water in my wake. Thankfully, Robb was all right, just frustrated. He had been trying to remove the spindle from the food processor, Niobe was trying to jump on the counter, and when the spindle finally came free, it covered him with flour. We still have to find a way to get the flour our of all the crevices of his walker.
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