Gone fishin'.

So hubs, he likes to fish.

Always did it as a kid.

Since he's on this twelve day vacation, he thought it would be a great idea to round up a fellow fishing friend of his and find a body of water to do some fishing out of in this fine town we live in.

I actually talked him into scouting out a place to fish last night so that he wouldn't be running all over this fine town today with the aforementioned friend looking for a marina.

We found a place, we came back home, and hubs set his alarm for 8:00AM.

He woke up, left, and I was all alone.

So, I blasted the music, watched TV, and surfed the net took care of the laundry and cleaned the kitchen while he was gone before I left to pick up two children I watch after school.

I didn't get quite finished with folding some of our clothes before my phone rang.

'Twas hubs.

'Hi, hubs!' I greeted him.

'Hey, so. . . do you have anything important in the backseat of the car?' He asked.

'Um, my iPod.' I answered, thinking that they'd found a different area and were going to leave the car in an empty parking lot.

'O.k. Well, someone busted out the back of my car's window, so I wanted to know if anything valuable was in there for the police report.' He told me.

'O.k.' I replied.

Honest to goodness, that was my reaction. I knew car break ins were a normalcy at a few other nearby marinas and boat docks, so this came as no surprise.

Until I realized how much I hated working out with out my iPod. I almost just can't make myself do it unless I have it in tow and cranked up while I run to the beat.

Something told me to check my other purse (I had switched purses on the way to church yesterday, leaving one of them in the car), and I realized that I had actually transferred the iPod between purses.

Called hubs, told him I had the Pod, and was asked if I could think of anything else in the purse, as it was empty.

'. . . Mmm, nope.' I said.

I went on with my plans, picking the kids up from school and hanging out with them until their mom got home.

Once I returned home, John came downstairs and told me a little more about what was going on.

Police report, insurance will only cover it if it's over $500, the car will stay in the shop until John gets back from Maryland.

'. . . MY MONEY! THEY TOOK MY MONEY FOR CHICK FIL A!' I cried.

'What money?' He asked.

'I had money from helping Mom the other day and was going to use it to buy food while you're gone this week.' I answered.

Between tuition, books, car payments and prescription medications coming out in ONE paycheck, hubs and I are having a hard time staying afloat at the moment.

'Well, here take a twenty. I'll forgo a meal in Maryland,' he laughed while handing me the money.

And just like that, we both started laughing.

I mean, really. WHO smashes a window of to a 2000 Nissan Maxima and takes $15 cash?

Didn't take the clothes, the CDs, OR the dish containing my peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. OR the cookies.

I'd have been raging mildly annoyed if they took that dish. I'm not entirely OCD, but I can't have seven of eight matching dishes stacked in our cabinets.

Come on, if you're going to make us pay several hundred dollars for a new window, at least let us pay it with dignity.

Is our style that bad? Do we have terrible taste in music?

Did you not enjoy my cooking?!

Hmmmm?

. . .THIEF!

OH, the best part part of the entire story happened when the cops arrived to write up the police report.

'Uh, sir,' the cop said to John, 'do you realize that you're parked in a handicap parking spot AND your tags are expired?'

How not to cook a frozen dinner.

Several weeks ago, John and I were offered a deal on a rental house that sparked out interest.

I mean, who WOULDN'T want a yard larger than the size of a small patio.

. . .Wait, our yard IS a small patio.

Before he left for work one morning, we made plans to eat dinner that evening at home and then drive by the house to check out the exterior (since, you know, I had my doubts on the current tenant actually wanting an eagle, newlywed couple tromping around the inside of his humble abode).

I like to cook, but sometimes I'm just not in the mood. It's sort of the same with cleaning. . . and other things.

Ahem.

So I didn't feel like slaving over a hot stove and decided to pop one of those Stouffer's frozen dinners in the oven instead.

The lasagna is my favorite; you should go get it for the nights you're not in the mood.

Anyway, so this stuff takes about an hour and a half to cook, so I proceeded to do some laundry, play on the internet, and make our bed (despite the fact it was already 6:00 and there wasn't really a point).

John arrived home around 6:15 only to realize about an hour later later that he accidentally brought home some work keys that HAD to be taken back before they closed at 8:00.

At that time of the year, it was dark by 8:00. If we ate the lasagna, went to the place of John's work, and then drove to look at the house, we wouldn't be able to see much of anything.

"How much longer will that [the lasagna-- John never knows what we have; he just knows it's edible and will eat it. It's very easy to please the man.] have to cook?" John asked.

"Only about fifteen minutes. Why?"

"Well," he started, "what if we leave here, drive really quickly to the house, and then come back to eat?"

Something about leaving a carton of lasagna in a 350 degree oven without supervision for fifteen minutes didn't seem like a good idea.

But I thought, 'Hey, there was that one time I left the oven on 350* for five hours and the house didn't burn down, so I'm sure it'll be o.k. for fifteen minutes.'

I grabbed my purse, locked the door, and followed John to the car.

"Oops, I forgot my car keys; can you let me inside with your house key?" He asked.

"Sure!" I answered, digging through my purse.

My purse that contained everything BUT my set of keys.

I looked at John.

I must have such an expressive face.

"You don't have them, do you?"

". . . No."

"Why not?" He questioned.

"Beeeecause I didn't double check my purse when I saw you shaking those keys [they were unknowingly his work keys].

"I know, I thought these were the car keys and my work keys were in my pocket."

So there we were. Locked out of our condo. Bickering. WITH LASAGNA COOKING IN THE OVEN.

Aftering arguing over who would call Keith, our properties manager to have someone come over and let us in, it was decided that John would have the honor and could place all the blame on me.

Men.

I got a little curious and decided to squeeze between a bush that sits in front of our front window and the window itself.

I sort of just stood there for a moment before hearing a very distinct sound.

A very distinct, alarming sound.

A very distinct ALARM.

"John, the fire alarm is going off!" I cried.

"It's o.k. Keith's got someone coming soon."

I began to pick at the screen on the window. As it turns out, it's installed similar to that of a puzzle, and I was able to pick it right off the frame.

"Anna, the window is going to be locked," John said.

"It may not be; I had it open yesterday and don't remember locking it back," as I struggled to lift it up.

John walked over and began to push up on it as well.

I'm sure we made quite a scene. A young, frantic, newly married couple now trying to break into their own home to save it from being swallowed by a fire that began by a Stouffer's frozen meal.

Finally, it budged up and I was able to crawl through the window, over the loveseat (which sits in front of the window), and shut off the oven and save the lasagna before it caught fire.

I'm not actually sure WHY the alarm even went off.

There was no smoke and the lasagna wasn't burned.

Either way, we ate, dropped the keys off, and were able to see the house all before night fell.

Stupid alarm.

The Big Kick Off

. . .No pun intended.

Do you see this picture?

This is where it all started. While out shopping with my mother one day last week, I spotted this picture at a local craft store and talked Mom into buying it for me (along with the frame) as an early birthday present (BTW, it's a copy of Jack Vettrianos 'Lazy Hazy Days'). I was elated, as I have been in search for a pretty, yet meaningful picture to hang on one of the walls in our living room. Why is it meaningful? Well, quite frankly, that's not intended for this post, but if you really care then ask me at WoernerWorld.

Once I got home that evening, I excitedly opened the frame so I could place my picture between the glass and back. I then proceeded to maneuver the glass into place over the picture. What I failed to realize was that one of the prongs on the backing of the frame was out of place, so when it all came together, a chunk of the glass broke off. Of course I was heartbroken, but I made do and decided that using the heavy plastic that is used in cheap Wal-Mart frames would work just as well.

And it did. While John was on his computer, I decided to bring my project upstairs to work on. I removed both pieces of glass, placed then facing out against the wall, and replaced the glass with the heavy plastic.

Sunday evening, John and I were having a quiet evening at home as he was playing a computer game and I was writing for WoernerWorld. Having to be up at 6:00AM the following morning, I decided to go to bed at 10:40.

Here's where it gets exciting.

I was suddenly awakened by my husband calling my name, "Anna? Anna."

Still partially unconscious, I replied, "Yeah?"

"I need you to come here."

It wasn't registering. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I need your help."

Didn't he know that I had to be up at the butt crack of dawn the next morning? "But why?" I continued.

"Because I'm bleeding."

I jumped out of bed, trying to figure out what he could have done to himself that would seriously require my help.

As I walked into the bathroom, the first thing I saw was this:
The next thing I saw was blood literally gushing beneath his left big toe into the toilet.

Heart attack.

"What HAPPENED?!" I cried, not caring that I probably woke the neighbors.

He had kicked his toe against "that piece of glass in there" while trying to raise a window.

Cuss. It was clearly my fault the glass was there, though he tells me not to blame myself because he didn't turn the light on to see where he was walking.

Either way.

The next paragraph or so occurred in about 90 seconds, so brace yourselves.

"Do we need to go to the emergency room?!" Was my next statement. Duh, Anna. Band Aid doesn't work miracles.

I was instructed to grab the dish towel I hated most so that he could wrap his foot in it. Immediately I ran downstairs and (somewhat giddily) grabbed the last awful, chef decorated dishtowel that I had received ten of as a wedding present and brought it back to John. We then proceeded to hunt down something to actually tie the towel together. Finally I found a yellow flimsy belt and handed it to John while I tore through my clothes to find SOMETHING to put on as my attire was not suitable for a hospital.

I settled on a pair of five year old knit pants and an even older hoodie. The thought of actually putting on certain undergarments made for the upper body did not cross my mind until we were well on our way.

I grabbed both our wallets and cell phones and followed him as he hobbled down the stairs. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking, and all the while I couldn't help but think about how I couldn't wait to blog this story and how it was oddly familiar to one The Pioneer Woman wrote awhile back. I'm still a good wife, I promise :)

As I was driving, John began to complain of his foot throbbing. Though we only live five miles from the nearest hospital, I began to speed, not caring if a cop got behind me. I wouldn't have pulled over anyway.

There are several lights on the street leading up to the hospital, and we made it through all of them except the last one. All of the lights except for the one that allowed me to turn was green, and it showed NO interest in changing despite the fact that no cars were coming.

"Run it." John said.

"WHAT?!" I replied, frantically seeing that two cars were waiting at the adjacent side of the intersection.

"Just run it."

What a rush. I illegally drove through that intersection with two witnesses watching and drove straight to the hospital entrance.

Is it just me, or does it seem a bit stupid to have a half mile DRIVEWAY leading up to the Emergency Room?

Anyway.

I zoomed into the ER entrance and John got out, wobbling into the Emergency Room. I proceeded to park and quickly follow him in.

By the grace of God, there weren't many people waiting, and we were called after about ten minutes.

A doctor and nurse were in and out of the room we had been taken to, cleaning and prepping John for stitches. Upon being cleaned, we were able to get a better look at the damage. The skin had been punctured all the way to the bone and created an almost two inch laceration in the shape of an upside down 'V'

Several shots of lidocaine (and a ton of hand squeezing to go along with it), 18 stitches and insurance paperwork later, we were leaving the hospital at 2:00AM.

Did I mention I had to be up at 6:00 to babysit?

I didn't let that weigh on my mind, mostly because I knew my sweetheart needed me and I would have stayed up the entire night if needed.

Cue the "aww. . . ."

This was the outcome:

He was also told to take two days off work and not to do any prolonged standing for ten days.

Though his foot has been hurting, the break from work has been nice for him :)

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to First Year Fiascos. This blog is exclusively for the insanity, hilarity, and just plain funniness that goes on in the life that my husband and I share :)