Mishaps of a housewife

I'm having to remind myself about every 5 minutes that I am indeed grateful to have feet. I spend the long minutes in between those reminders cursing my right foot. Whoops, the five minute mark has rolled around again, hang on... I AM GRATEFUL TO HAVE FEET!!! I'm not quite sure what is wrong with my foot. Stress fracture, maybe? I only know that it has been hurting since last Tuesday/Wednesday, and I, being stubborn and slightly stupid, have not had it seen about. Well, I do have kind of an excuse: I was in San Antonio from last Wednesday to late Sunday night to see Kate graduate from AF basic training, so I "couldn't" see a doctor. During my visit to SA, my mother (bless her) tried to convince me to use a wheelchair on more than one occasion. I started pretending that I couldn't hear her. :) I thought it would just get better on its own; I thought that maybe I had just strained it. It got worse yesterday- WAY worse. I can now hardly flex or point my foot, I h

I did something stupid tonight. Stupid and highly embarrassing, as is often the case with me. Randall and I went on a date to mellow mushroom. Just for something to do as we waited for our food, I made a nifty little paper football out of the paper wrapper from around my silverware and napkin. It was perfectly formed, tightly folded and neatly tucked in. I had no intentions of actually "kicking" it. Randall made me do it. That's not entirely true. But he did provide a little goal post with his thumbs and forefingers, and I couldn't resist such a temptation. The first kick flopped. It just fell lamely onto the table and skidded a few inches. The second one, however, was... glorious. And long. Oops. It began sailing in a perfect arch, directly through Randall's extended fingers, past his right ear- on onto the booth behind him. My first instinct was to duck under the table, but I wasn't quick enough. I got halfway down, then decided it just wasn't worth it.

So this was originally going to be my first blog. If you are wondering about the name of my blog- "Mishaps of a Housewife"- then you need an explanation. Actually, you need to know a little about my background. I... am clumsy. No seriously. People say they're clumsy, but I'm extraordinarily clumsy. Klutzy, if you will. Just plain uncoordinated. Believe me, my family doesn't call me "Grace" for nothing. I have the remarkable talent of tripping, busting, breaking, falling, slipping, sliding, bumping, slamming, running headlong into, out of, off of, onto even the safest of surroundings. Put me in a padded room, and I'll do something clumsy. I am just that accident prone. Still don't believe me? Well, every so often, I'll be blogging about my "mishaps." Since I've gotten married, it seems that I attract even more trouble. Especially fire trouble, for some reason. For instance... several months ago, I was using our toaster oven to to

Here's a picture of my new astronomy professor: Not really, but there is a striking similarity. Today was my first day back in classes after the holidays. I very much enjoyed my first one, which gave me hope for the rest of my classes for the day. My hope didn't last very long, though. My next class was Astronomy 1020, the second of the consecutive science classes required by any major. I opted out of chemistry, biology, or physics. Nope, give me the easiest one, as I am not planning on determining the biological makeup or elemental composition of anything anytime soon. Anyway, my professor came as a bit of a shock to me. Not only did I momentarily mistake him for Miracle Max, but when he spoke... holy cow. First of all, I didn't even know he was speaking. I just heard some kind of gravelly rumbling sound, and as I looked wildly around for the person making the sound (because they were obviously either dying of thirst or about to start foaming at the mouth), I noticed his a