Yesterday was my "do something nice, and go give blood" morning.
Considering my recent track record, I was pretty darned proud of myself that I made it to the clinic in one piece, with no surprise phone calls regarding the death/injury of any family members.
There was nobody around. I got right in.
I had a senior nurse who knew her stuff.
She gave me the wee-gauge needle, even.
Life was peachy.
Until the blood started flowing.
Then... ouch! It didn't flow, so she stripped the tubes (which hurts like a mofo, by the way). Then she pulled the needle out a bit. Then she pushed it in a little farther (eek!), then she asked for a 'fresh set of hands'. Then she asked me to flex my hand. Then she asked me to completely relax. (Yeah, YOU try to relax completely after all that).
The room was spinning and my eyes were crossing, and I've never had a donation take so long.
And then I got a present!
Looks like they'd poked right through the vein after all.
That bruise was actually a nice big sproingy blood blister last night. The kids were all impressed, and quite curious.
But hey, a small price to pay for what might save someone's life in the next weeks, right?
There was some activity in the neighbourhood the last few days.
Don't know what's up, but the kids are sure enjoying tracking the big white blimp.
Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird... it's a plane...
It's a... cigar?
Shortly after that photo was taken, Kelly put down her jump rope, and Nate picked up a stick, and then... oh look! Shiny Things!
...and suddenly, Kelly has a big welt on her forehead, and nobody really knows what happened exactly.
Last night, Midnight finally figured out which end was up, and S'more finally started 'assuming the position'."Hamster Wedding Night".
And Kelly, watching the whole thing, said "Does it hurt when he climbs up on her? I think it would hurt. I wouldn't let a boy do that, even when I'm SIXTEEN!"
*clutches at heart*
*makes phone calls to nunneries*
On the off chance that Midnight wasn't, in fact, shooting blanks, Kelly and I have set up S'more in a cage that is far more 'watching the babies' friendly, and are now counting the days until the potential blessed event. November 21, if the literature is correct.
I have nearly finished the first of the Black Felted Wool Socks, and am taking a break by getting to work on something using the Cashmere-blend yarn I picked up in Victoria last month at dad's funeral.
*pets the beautiful yarn* You, my pretty, will never give my daughter ideas about misbehaviour when she's a teenager. Unless, of course, she starts to knit, and gets bitten by the 'Must Buy Yarn" bug. Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that...