It’s me. The end.

I know ya’ll been waiting for a good Lasik eye surgery story. It just so happens that I have one. And it begins like this:

Monday morning, mom picks me up for my appointment. I’m a little nervous, but kind of excited too. I’ve been wearing glasses since the 3rd grade, so getting the opportunity to throw them away for good is actually sort of intimidating. Cuz seriously, my glasses have been like an extra body part, and I fully expect to have a phantom pain or two, but more in the form of pushing my invisible glasses up my nose or something. And then checking the room to see who just witnessed me doing that.

Once there, the nurse takes me back to a room full of other Lasik patients. It’s time for pre-op, yo. There be a little scrubbing of the eyelids, the ingestion of a tiny pill called Valium, but which I like to refer to as Heaven. And then the administering of super cool blue sanitary hat and booties. And I swear to you when I say this: “Sexy” is not even a strong enough word for that combination.

Then the nurse does the unthinkable. She takes my effing glasses away and sits me down in front of a TV. For what, pray tell? Certainly not for watching it, because I can’t see a dadgum thing. All I know is that it was the Olympics and someone was riding a bicycle.

Pfft.

Slowly, the Valium starts to take effect. And I spend an extraordinary amount of time folding and refolding my Kleenex. Then, the dude next to me sets his foot rest up and I could swear he was wearing cowboy boots under his blue booties. You can just imagine how hard it was to resist touching them. And asking him why the hell he’d wear cowboy boots on surgery day.

About 30 minutes later, it was my turn to go in. I was surprisingly calm, but I’m pretty sure the Valium had a hand in that. However, I was not prepared for the vibrating blade. I could have sworn I was blinking the hell out of my eyelid, despite being propped open by clamps. And when they tell you to focus on the blinkie light … well, nothing says move your eyeball all around the place quite like “sit still and stare non-stop at the blinkie light.” It truly is a miracle I didn’t come out of there with half a head.

Afterwards, I could see. It was sort of milky and dim, but I could read the clock and see my mom waiting for me outside the window. I go into a room where the doctor checks my corneas with a microscope, and then goes over my post-op kit. I have 3 bottles of drops to administer about a billion times a day, and a pair of really nifty sunglasses. Like real big, dark ones that one might wear on a fishing excursion or playing archery. But the best part was that they were FREE. Cuz nothing says money well spent quite like a sweet pair of shades that Jimmy Huston would shoot you in the ankle for.

Now, this procedure hasn’t been without it’s downs. I mean, I haven’t been able to wear make-up for 5 days. And without my glasses on, I’m just a pale blubbery mess. How Brad has managed to stay in love is beyond me. If I didn’t know how to make a kick-ass saucy pork chop, there may be no hope for me at all.

Pictures are forthcoming. In the meantime, here is one of Katy in her new dorm at Missouri University:

We all drove up to Columbia on Wednesday to move her in. There’s another picture of me and Brad during lunch, but the fleshy arm is on full display in that one, and trust me, you will no likeee.

Alright. I’m off to stare at myself incessantly, pretend I don’t see a wrinkle or signs of the wonky eye. Have a good weekend.

School has started.  Which is a rather normal event, complete with buying Autumn a batch of new clothes that she will decide to hate about 3 weeks later.  You know, the status quo.

But this year is a little different.  Now my baby is in friggin’ HIGH SCHOOL.  And I swear I have no idea how this happened.  Cuz it wasn’t too long ago she was watching That’s So Raven on the Disney Channel.  And I’m pretty sure that was yesterday.

I’m serious, I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it.  Can I really be the mother of a 9th grader?  Cuz I’m pretty sure I was watching That’s So Raven yesterday, too.  And that’s just too young to have big kids.

This year, Autumn decides she is going to be for reals about school.  She is going to study and behave and make good grades, all so she can get into college for free.  She wants to be either an astronaut, architect, pharmacist or hair dresser-slash-fashion designer.  I’m leaning more towards a pharmacist/hair dresser combo cuz that will benefit me the most.  And of course, that’s the only reason to have children, isn’t it?  For the free stuff.  I mean, I’ve gotta get reimbursed somehow.  That unused softball equipment (for her one day softball career) won’t just play itself.

So here’s the traditional first day of school picture.  All ready for a full seven hours of learning and absorbing information, as evident by make-up bag, cell phone, and gigantic vampire novel.

In other words, I’m thinking free pharmaceuticals are eons away.

Poo.

Perhaps she can get by on pretty.  Cuz on that, she’s practically professional.  And ya’ll know how easy it is to get stuff with pretties.  Kind of how I finagled a new tire for the Kia for $35.  I swear … men just get so bamboozled by the googly eyes.

Just ask Brad.

Now that I have officially mastered the gym (cuz ya’ll know I’ve been there at least 5 times since 1974), I have taken on another challenge.  Come Monday morning, I get new eyes.  Eyes without glasses, that is.

This is a huge deal.  I’ve had glasses since the third grade, ya’ll.  That’s like a billion years ago, so you can imagine how blind I am now.  Seriously, if I knock my glasses off the nightstand, I’m screwed.  I have to call in special op forces just to help find them on the carpet 3 feet down.  It’s a dire situation if you ask me.

But I decided to take control of my handicap and dadgum fix it.  So I go to the eye doc today for a pre-screening just to see if I am a good candidate or not.  Cuz apparently not everyone gets the pleasure of spending $3000 on surgery.

First test was one to measure the size of my cornea.  I had to stick my face up to a screen and focus on a red light and not blink for five seconds.  And I swear to you, I can totally not blink for five seconds easy until someone tells me not to blink for five seconds.  Then it’s nigh on impossible.

Turns out, though, my eyes are healthy and happy and ready to go.  Albeit blind as a bat, but who cares about that now?  On Monday morning, I will be a 20/20 goddess and nothing will stop me.  I will be untouchable.  Invincibile.  In short …

Superhuman.

She cooks, she cleans, she walks the treadmill at 1.7 miles per hour …

I mean, how much more superhuman can I be?

Cuz just this past weekend, Brad and I were at the lake sitting down on the dock having some lunch when I told him I may be 33 but I can do anything your average 16 year old can do.

Then I had him help me up off the floor.

Whaaaaa….?  You try getting up from ground zero after eating a huge meal.  That’s practically an Olympic sport right there.

But back to eyes.  So excited about storing away my glasses for good.  Not so excited about the bill that shall linger on for the next five friggin’ years.  However, a small price to pay for freedom.

And donations are always welcome.

So I was just checking out my blog stats, seeing where people are clicking to get to my page, and I come across something very interesting.  Under the “search” items, someone found my blog by typing in “boob slice.”

WTF?  I cannot for the life of me think of one time I’ve used those two words in the same sentence.  Neither on paper, in real life or on blog.  I don’t even know what a boob slice is.

Unless you wanna consider how when I wear a bra that is not too nice and it partitions my boobies into four unequal parts, with the upwards portions hanging out of the cup in a none-too-pleasing manner.

But that’s quadra-boob.  Not boob slice.

So, again, I have no idea.