In other words, if this is routine surgery without any complications whatsoever, I realllllllly do not want to mess with any other sort.
I'm recovering well, thank you, and that pesky little organ that was making life so difficult has probably been incinerated by now, gallstones and all. Much to my dismay and occasional amusement, I've found that I really don't spend all of my days loafing around on the couch or websurfing. Those are the amusements I allow myself when I'm done cooking, cleaning, cleaning, cooking, feeding ducks, feeding children, doing laundry, figuring out a cheap and effective indoor clothesline when the dryer fails and it looks like it's going to be doing a rendition of Noah's Return outside, waging feeble warfare on the mounds of paperwork that pop up like well-fed Tribbles, and trying to manage a scaled-down version of Christmas that's going to make everybody happy without bankrupting the already cashless. (Hint: lots of cooking, sewing, knitting, and crocheting.) Much to DBS's amusement and exasperation I tried to get back in the swing of things the day after my surgery, the result of which was me flat on my back for a couple of hours, napping away. And I slept all the day after that. Do I learn? No, because yesterday I decided it was time for me to start cooking and cleaning and cleaning and cooking again...and I developed a fever and a large spot of exhaustion. After 18 years DBS knows I'll only gnaw through duct tape should he try to employ it, so gentle exasperation and constant reminders that he's home to take care of me and maybe I should let him....? are just about the only weaponry he's got. He uses it with surprising effectiveness. He got to string the emergency clothesline in the garage, bless his heart, and he's been swinging around my 50 pound bags of duck feed without complaint. He usually enlists a Banshee on rotating basis to collect eggs in the morning and he corrals escapee ducks with enthusiasm. I still have to cook every once in a while but he's been doing the dishes. Unfortunately he has to go back to work tomorrow, but fortunately I'll be able to hobble along without him for at least a shift. We've got plenty of leftovers and the only cooking I HAVE to do is gingerbread cookies. And maybe brioche. As well as maybe sugar cookies and peanut butter cookies and....
Well, geez, it IS Christmas!
We're spending Christmas Eve with relatives, and on Boxing Day relatives are supposed to come here. Christmas Day is just for DBS, Banshees, and me, toasty in pjs and absolutely content that we do not have to travel anywhere for anybody for any reason. We get to stay home and enjoy the heck out of each other. I may have to declare an internet-free day -- DBS and I both have serious addictions -- but otherwise I look forward to watching the Banshees enjoy the gifts their doting relatives have bestowed upon them, the Santa surprises, and the stuff they've crafted for each other this month. Then I'm going to retire to the kitchen for the Christmas feast: roast duck this year, I think, but the rest of the menu is still open. I need more ideas for vegetables other than potatoes. Hm.
Tomorrow has a very simple, loose, and open plan, despite what my cooking intentions might be. I have to a. get up, b. let ducks out of Chez Quackers, c. feed children, d. do laundry, e. knit. Knit a lot. I have the rest of a sweater and an entire blanket to knit before December 25th. It's possible. I can sharpen a couple of broom handles and use Very Thick Yarn for the blanket and be done before it's possible for me to panic too much. Really.
Next year I'm planning this whole crisis thing better.