My Internet connection hates me today. Twitter will not load. Facebook is taking forever. Even Blogger has been a bit temperamental. It's a conspiracy, I tell you. A conspiracy.
This weekend was exhausting. I'm pretty sure Husband deserves a long weekend after the hours he put in around here. I only wish it were in my power to give him one.
We scrubbed down the siding on the north & west sides of the house Saturday morning. Then Husband cut down a scraggly little tree in the yard that had seen much better days. Bitsy & I cleaned out all the dead hosta & lily stems from the flower beds. Then came the scrubbing of the propane tank & the slides on the kids' play houses. Once all that was done, we headed to Wal-Mart to get ceiling paint for the master bedroom. Husband decided that since we had to empty the room to paint the ceiling (getting rid of the water spots from the leak last month), we might as well paint the walls while we were at it.
Sunday morning started at 7:15 am with Husband and I emptying our bedroom of all the detritus that collects there. I took the FarmHands to church while he started on the painting. He finally finished all the painting and a great deal of mowing at 3:15 am Monday. That man is a machine, I tell you.
In the meantime, I spent most of Sunday afternoon at the hospital with Bucka. Busha called me as I was fixing lunch for the FarmHands and told me the ambulance was on it's way to get Bucka. She was sure he was having a stroke. When I got there he wasn't in good shape, but he improved pretty rapidly. We're still not 100% sure what happened, but the doctors have assured us (after a CT scan & an MRI) that it was not a stroke. An episode of some kind possibly brought on by heat & breathing problems. All I know is that it was scary & there was a point when Busha thought for sure he was going to die.
He's resting (as best he can, and a bit unhappily as he hates to be there) in the hospital until at least tomorrow. The physical therapist wants to work with him some more on walking with his head upright (he tends to slouch) so he can get more oxygen in his lungs when he's moving around.
Please pray for my grandparents. And for the rest of us. The first thing out of B.B.'s mouth when I got home from the hospital Sunday evening was, "Is he dead?" His chin was quivering & tears were threatening to spill over. When I told him Bucka was not dead and he was feeling much better, B.B. let loose & sobbed. I asked him what was wrong (knowing full well, but wanting him to verbalize it) and he said, "I missed you today." Poor kid.