This was Going to be a Facebook Status but I’m so Enraged That Now it’s a Blog.

Mini-me had a little accident the other day. She fell while playing Capture the Flag. Long story short, she was immediately admitted to the Children’s Hospital in our area and had surgery to set the break.




It’s two days later and she is still in the hospital recovering. We should go home as soon as physical therapy comes by today. Notwithstanding the reason for Mini-Me’s hospitalization, this has been a very pleasant experience. I was already drafting a blog post in my head about the wonderful nurses, CNAs, MDs, and volunteers that have been absolutely fabulous to Mini-Me and me, especially when I was irrational and rude. Everyone is always smiling and forgiving and tolerant.

I stayed both nights with Mini-Me. She’s been able to sleep because she’s on drugs and in a bed. Oh my gosh she snores!


I slept may be 5 minutes. My “bed” is a pullout chair that I couldn’t figure out how to fully extend the first night. My pillow is flatter than Channing Tatum’s abs and I have bath towels that are larger than the “blankets” they gave me. All this to say that I’m EXHAUSTED and NEED coffee. Thank heavens there’s a Starbucks downstairs.

Just a tad longer and you can have some coffee. You can wait to go until after Mini-Me is settled and the shift change is over so the line won’t be so long. Oh my gosh, I’m so tired. Hang in there, Caroline. Coffee is 6 floors away. You can make it.

Holy snot balls! What the $%?\@ is this?!?!? The freaking Starbucks is CLOSED! What does that frickin’ sign say? Starbucks hours: Open M-F, Closed Saturday & Sunday.

WHAT!?! NO ONE IS EVER IN THE HOSPITAL ON THE WEEKENDS?!? This is a flippin’ teaching hospital, one of the largest in our state. People are everywhere and no one needs coffee because it’s Saturday? I call BS!


Oh my gosh, this is hell. I’ve died and gone to hell. I’m actually in hell. Coffee is gated behind that stupid sign. I can see it. It’s right there, but I can’t touch it. Can’t taste it. Drugs all around but none for me. I can see them but can’t use them. Everyone asks Mini-Me if she needs anything but I have to fend for myself and am left with no freakin’ Starbucks. Yep. I’m in hell.


Insane in the Mom Brain and Lucy.

Insane in the Mom Brain is a freaking hilarious blog by Patricia Ford. Every single day, I stalk Patti on Facebook, check her blog for new posts and am currently in the throws of a severe internal debate on whether or not I should join Pinterest just so I’d have another venue in which to keep tabs on her. I don’t want to join Pinterest because I have enough electronic balls in the air. Wait. What? You know what I mean. Anyway, I admit that I might have a slight problem and if I should ever go to Texas (where Patti lives), I’m going to find her and hug her and pet her and hold her hand and name her George.

Looney Tunes Abonimable Snowman

The other day, Patti posted on Facebook a picture of this statue.

Lucy the Statue

You have to go to her Facebook and read what she said about it. I’ll wait. Go on, it’ll just take a moment. Really, I insist so just do it now.




Oh good, you’re back. Took you long enough. GEEZ! Did you read any of the comments? I did. I think the comments are sometimes better than the post, sorry Patti (if you read this). Anyway, I noticed that a lot of the comments begged the question, “Where would you put that thing in your home?” I got to thinking. I promise that it didn’t hurt. I know exactly what I’d do with it. Actually, now I really want to buy it just so I could do these things and then take pictures and write about it and have a good belly laugh that adds years back to my life. So there you have it. My kids need me. I am now obligated to buy it and put it my house and plan all these wonderful scenarios and document it just so I can live longer. I should probably increase the budget for the therapist while I’m at it.

Caroline’s Top 5 Places to Display Lucy

5.  The back of the Mini-Me’s closet where she hides the clothes that she KNOWS I won’t let her wear but she sneaks out wearing anyway.

4.  In the driver’s seat of the car. Just let the teenagers try to sneak out at night and steal the car with Lucy staring blankly at them through the car window. HA! Do kids do that anymore these days? Mini-Me sneaked out only one time when she was 13 – over 4 years ago. I honestly think that was the ONLY time any of my children sneaked out. How could we be this deep in the teenage drama years and not have had another sneaking out episode? I was the queen of sneaking out and sneaked out religiously. Either my kids have accepted my super—ninja—mom skills or I’m delusional.

3.  In the freezer. Lucy would be great cover for my Publix brand Chocolate Trinity Ice Cream. Yeah, then I don’t have to share. My kids don’t need all those calories anyway. What? I’m just looking out for their best interests.

2.  Guarding the unwrapped Christmas/birthday presents that are stashed in my secret hiding spot. You know, to scare the sh*t out of those obnoxious leeches that keep snooping and causing me to move the damn presents so many times that by the time I’m ready to wrap them, I’ve forgotten where they’re hidden.

1.  I’d take an 8×10 picture of Lucy and hang it inside my medicine cabinet so when guests come over and start snooping through my things, they’d then have a legitimate reason to be in the poop room bathroom. I probably should also place an extra pair of pants next to the hand towels. Then the rude, prying, guest would have to explain to the rest of the dinner party why they are now wearing fluffy, teddy bear pajama pants. But all the other guests who were well-behaved would already know what happened because I would’ve explained it when we all would’ve heard the snoopy guest scream from their fright. Of course, she/he would lie about what really happened – something like the sink faucet broke and soaked him/her and he/she saw my pajama pants out on the bed so they just used those. WHATEVER. We all know what you did you snoopy fibber!

Oh, good times. Good times. Yes, I must buy that statue. And meet Patti in person. And become her BFF. And call her George.

Look What I Made for You, Patti.