Critical Lawnmower: February 2007

I'll start with the downs first and save the more uplifting stuff for last.

I am recuperating from a recent surgery and, while healing, am dealing with some post-operative concerns and decisions that now have to be made.
Since I am sitting on my butt for a greater than normal part of the day during recovery, all the improvement I made during my last two months of physical therapy on rear end muscular/busitis issues has sort of backslidden (sorry).
Being bored by the end of a week of sitting around here, unable to get out and walk (much), get groceries or run errands has intensified my normal February-in-Wisconsin cabin fever syptoms. The highlights of my recent days have been showers, and taking my daily dose of isoflavones.
I am not able to lift more than ten pounds at a time right now, so my babysitting job is on hold for another week or two. I have thus turned to Internet shopping, spending bits of cash pretty much in reverse proportion to what I would have taken in during these last three weeks of work. This means I have lost not three weeks of income, but actually six, not to mention the loss of cuddle time with my adorable nine-month old charge.
Beyond my health issues, there's always teenagers to make life difficult. My oldest got an interim report card today indicating a D in Math, another D in Biology, and a U in History if improvements aren't made soon before the next marking period. When confronted, said teen replied, "The homework is stupid." Well, if it's so stupid, I guess I understand why she wouldn't want to do it. How silly of me. Now, if my children were all animals, as they sometimes are, but no - literally animals, and these animals put on a circus in the forest, my eldest would definitely be the racoon dressed as a clown. A very creative, intelligent clown (except in math, biology and history, that is). Let's say she puts the E in Emo lately, and whether she means to or not, she is driving her concerned parents nuts.
I can no longer have any more children. Ever.

There's more to the negative list, as I am all too capable of digging up an endless supply of additions, but I think it's time to move on and practice my weaker skills of enumerating the positives in life.

The bad part of surgery is over, especially that first night in the hospital, which was awful.
They gave me drugs, painkillers, to take home. This is very good. But it's also very good that I now no longer need anything more than Tylenol. Even better is that I now have some nice, strong, prescription painkillers left over for future use.
I got flowers in the hospital from three different parties. This is a nice treat. They now grace our coffee table in the living room.
I got the staples out of my incision only four days after surgery, and my doctor let me keep them so that my oldest daughter could make strange jewelry out of them.
I have had lots of positive attention and MEALS brought over that I didn't have to think about, prepare or clean up after. This, to me, is one of the best parts of having to recuperate from surgery. I have never liked to cook, but I do have a nice cookbook selection. I love the idea of cooking, but this idea has never germinated into actually doing it on a regular basis.
I got lots of healty isoflavones as gifts (dark chocolate) and less healthy isoflavones (milk chocolate). Sometimes I double or even triple my isoflavone dose.
I have a nice supply of soaps, lotions and skin care products that recently arrived in the mail from one Internet shopping frenzy, and any day now my lime green Born shavano boots will show up, along with my bread baking pans and the four Burt's Bees starter kits I won on eBay at a fantastic price.
My feet smell like peppermint more often than they ever have before.
Before I even knew I needed surgery, I had started to think about getting a second miniature schnauzer. A few days later, out of the blue, a friend told me of a colleague's new litter of mini schnauzer pups! We saw them at eight days old, and they were, of course, adorable. Now that I have suffered through all sorts of medical brutality, I find the timing good in the end. Who would want to watch me go through all of this, and then deny me a puppy?
The litter will be ready to go home six weeks and one day after my surgery, the magic recovery mark - and also my younger daughter's 11th birthday. Is that a sign, or what?
I don't have to do laundry, take out the garbage, vacuum, shovel or even drive anyone anywhere for at least another week.
I can no longer have any more children. Ever.