Ok, first before I go into the saga of drama that is my life, something is up with my blogger account. That last blog had a ton more points to it and was at least twice as long. I don't know what happened to them, nor can I remember what else I had to say, nor do I really think you would have been that thrilled with a twice as long, rambling, hot mess of jibber jabber.

That's right. Jibber. Jabber.

Sometimes I run out of witty adjectives.

Although, I suppose that was technically a noun......

Ugh. Where do I even start?

I'll tell you where. I'm exhausted. Utterly. Completely. I feel like my mind is ready to shut down for good and leave me in some sort of blissful daydream of psychopathy. (Which isn't sounding so bad as of right now....)

I human being shouldn't be allowed to get this tired.

Ok, let me start over. A human being that doesn't have a job, shouldn't be allowed to get this tired.

I get that all you working people out there get tired. Good for you.

The real issue is me here. And let's not count Salad Master for the time being, since I don't even have a show this entire week. Thank God. And since I snagged two, count them, two sales last week, I don't even feel bad about it.

Also, since we're talking about Salad Master. I officially LOVE IT. Not the job. Oh, no. The job is on the last legs of what I think is going to be a colossal and epic meltdown. (Not on my part....) I mean the actual pots and pans. Tonight, as I sat at my table, having some grown up time with the Bible Study I hadn't found time for until tonight, arbitrating between two very crabby, very tired little girls, and literally holding my eyelids open just to stay awake, I also sat watching my dinner, cook itself in the kitchen. Far away from me.

And not only that. When we sat down to eat, everything was perfectly cooked, and perfectly healthy. Even the perfectly fried chicken, that I spent 30 seconds flipping and that was the extent of my dealings with it. Oh praises be to Salad Master. I felt like dinner was an actual miracle tonight.

Fried Chicken doesn't sound healthy to you? What? Then clearly, you need to have a Salad Master party and I will show you how we do.

I know. I promise to never say it again.

And I promise to move on from plugging my product.

So anyways. I don't even know where to begin.

Last Thursday something happened at this house. Our Murano was hit by a deer. And yes, I phrased that correctly. As our Murano was being driven down our dark country roads one evening, a careless and obviously brain dead deer jumped from the roadside bush and hit our new car.

The deer hit our car. And if you've ever been involved in a deer related accident then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Somebody actually asked me, how a deer hits the car? There's only one way to run into something and that would be for the car itself to hit the deer. I said to this person, you've never hit a deer. Those damn, bambi-eyed, forest demons gun it for you.

Thankfully it was a smaller sized doe. And so when the Murano went all the way over the creature, there was no entanglement of antlers.

I've been asked by people who live in the country, if we brought the deer home and served it up. That answer would be no. To which then people in the country love to tell me stories about how when they hit their deer they brought it home and made all kinds of jerky and venison steaks and so forth.

I'm still clearly a city girl.

But maybe next time......

Ok, so anyways, there were tears shed over that beautiful piece of machinery. We haven't even had it licensed yet because the dealership has taken so long with the title. So the week we finally can license it, it of course meets the deer in the headlights (Literally) and now it makes an awful noise and we can't drive it and we had scheduled an appointment for it on Monday (The soonest they could get us in.) That appointment was unfortunately postponed. More on that in a minute.

But the whole experience was very emotional for me. I think the number one thought going through my head is the darn bad luck I have. Something comes to mind..... Something like, "I'll never have anything nice!!!!!!!"

Who remembers Family Matters? Ok. Carl. "3 2 1, 1 2 3, what the hell is bothering me?" Do you remember when Steve was causing him to have a heart attack and that was his mantra?

I do. Mainly because I recite it like fifty times a day. JK.

Kind of.

But really, cars begin to break down the minute after they are finished being made. They are like the golden example of effects of the fall of man and sin on this earth. A car will never be better than the day it was first created because every day after that, the nature of this world is destroying them. They begin to break down. They are temporary. You will never drive the same car forever because that car will not run forever. Shoot a new car depreciates like 20% just for driving it off of the lot. My Murano isn't worth as much now as it was the day we bought it, a mere two months ago, deer or no deer. I can let this go. I can let this go. I can let this go.

Well, I'm trying anyways. Besides, we will fix it. It will be whole once again.

We're fixing a lot of things lately. Not the stuff we planned on fixing of course, such as the rest of the unpacking, heck, the rest of the moving, the van, the lack of furniture in our living room. Oh no. We are fixing only that which we haven't planned on. Such as our Murano.

Oh and Zach.

We are fixing Zach.

Where do I even start? Well, Friday night he went camping with the boys. Now, when I think camping, I think a week long adventure to a distant wilderness with some type of water facility nearby for swimming, or canoeing or kyaking or whatever, with coolers full of food and lots of bug spray.

Zach and his brother view camping more like just a one night event. Out in the middle of nowhere, with maybe a tent, maybe not, some warm sleeping bags, because most likely it will be freezing when they decide to go, cooking over an open flame something called Hobos and lots and lots and lots and lots of beer.

Don't judge. The beer is so they don't notice when their fingers fall off of frostbite.

It's totally this test of manliness. We are men. We can create fire. We can cut small trees down with our hunting knives and so forth.

Whatever.

They have a great time. I get the DVR to myself. And My husband comes home in the morning wondering why he ever left and realizing how truly fantastic married life in a warm bed is. (I know this because I get text messages all night long reminding me.)

So needless to say, the situation Friday night and Saturday morning was one I had been through many a time before. Zach made it home mid morning Saturday, miserable and tired from sleeping on the cold, hard ground, missing his family and smelling like a mixture of beer, smoke and that outdoorsy grassy smell that only comes from spending a significant amount of time in the wilderness. And sniffling. He was of course sniffling.

The temperature got down low into the thirties, if not high twenties Friday night. They even lost one of the guys to the safety of the car because it was so cold.

A head cold is the price to pay.

So all Saturday Zach sniffled around and coughed that pathetic cough I think all men are born with because sickness happens to be the worst thing to ever happen to them. All the while I continued Halloween preparations, which meant starting and finishing two child-size capes with my mother, who is surprisingly handy at the sowing machine with only one fully functioning hand and three working fingers on the other one. She even still cuts better than me!

Although, I am a terrible cutter to be honest. I have a serious issue with cutting on the lines. I'm all zig-zaggy. and stuttery.....

Sunday happens and Zach is even more miserable Halloween night. The kids had a fantastic time. Although I perfectly prophesied what my night would be like. Stella refusing to say Trick. Or. Treat. Or. Thank you to one person the entire night, including her grandparents. And a pissed off Scarlett, screaming at every house because she can't eat the candy right then and there. Oh my word, that child has vocal chords.

Anyways, as the night progressed, Zach kept complaining about how awful he felt. And me, the loving, caring, considerate wife I am was very concerned about him, doting on his every need and worrying constantly.

Ok. You know me better than that.

And if you don't, you should. Number one thing I lack: Compassion. Have you heard me talk to my children after they get hurt? You should have heard me as a soccer coach. Walk it off. You'll be fine. Suck it up. Man up. Cowboy up. Up up. You get the picture.

I have a super high tolerance for pain. This can be a blessing, but for the most part its turned my personality into seriously lacking.

So for Zach to be complaining about the sniffles and a headache was an effort for me to hold back the eye roll and sarcasm.

What I didn't realize until later was the fact that he wasn't just complaining about a head cold but also at the time was indigestion. I know. It sounds serious right. Heart burn, bloating and a post nasal drip. Call the ambulance.

This is the thinking that has me beating myself up about my lack of concern Sunday night; because apparently in some cases, indigestion is really just a precursor to Appendicitis!

Who knew?

I didn't. Zach was of course the first one to figure it out, not just because it was happening to his body, but because soon the indigestion was very concentrated in his right side and hurt to push on.

Ok, that's all I got. Sorry folks, all of my letters are blurring together and although at first I was worried about computer blindness, I realized that I'm just that tired. So I guess this is a two parter and I'll finish the dramatic reinterpretation of Zach's Day in the Emergency Room tomorrow!