Evelyn’s Purse

Evelyn  has always been a purse girl.  And if she finds something thats appears homeless, she puts it in her bag.  Things in Evelyn purse today:

5 pair of sunglasses

5 beaded bracelets 

2 wallets

A damp bathing suit and its cover up

Few broken pieces of different toys

Loose Art’s and crafts

A box full of completed arts and crafts 

A pair of scissors 

Pokémon cards

A fidget toy

Stockcard stars

Stickers/tatoos

A notebook with sticky notes and a pen

A journal

Mosaic glue

A Macdonalds lid

A waffle (food from yesterday)

A bandaid 

Gauze 

A package of tylonal tablets! (I confiscated those)

Socks

It’s like a Mary Poppins bag!!!

Single Digits!!

Nine days left in this healing saga. It's been a journey of stress, fear, and some surprising self-discoveries. Turns out, I'm tougher than I thought, though my patience could still use a major software update.

I pictured myself blissfully at home, conquering my to-do list and finally enjoying my living room. Reality check: I was unaware of just how seriously this surgery would sideline me. My ambitions have been scaled back from "reorganize the entire house" to "expertly clean an open wound" and "master the art of sleeping on my back." I've also learned I'm less concerned with my appearance than I used to be. While a gaping hole in my nose wasn't on my vision board, my new aesthetic goal is simply "looks okay when it's done." When people joke about me getting a facelift, I'm just thinking, "Please, just let me look normal again!"

On the plus side, I'm ditching my night-owl habits for some luxurious early nights and mornings. I’ve also learned that my rigid Christmas decorating timeline is, in fact, a myth. The tree can go up later, and the world will not end. My house doesn't need to be cleaned daily—a true revelation.

This time has also made me realize how much I genuinely like working; I miss my work crew. And I really, really miss my kids and all the grandkids. I've also been reminded that I have more friends than I realized, thanks to all the texts and well wishes. It's nice to know I'm capable of handling things like this on my own, without needing my mom like I did when I was little. Well... I might have replaced her with my husband.

The countdown is officially entering the single digits, and I am so ready to rejoin the land of the living.

It's only 3 weeks!!!

Over the summer, I noticed a flaky patch on my nose. For a while, there had been a red patch that came and went, so I didn't think much of it—until I scratched it, it bled, and then refused to heal. A month later, I was at the dermatologist's office.

She took one look, did a biopsy, and delivered the verdict: Basal Cell Carcinoma. In my naivety, I thought she could just zap it right there. Instead, she sent me to another guy—a specialist in MOHS surgery. His job is to cut out the cancer and check it on-site, layer by layer, until he can verify it's all gone.

In my case, "all gone" included some of my cartilage. The doctor initially mentioned grafting a piece from my ear, but after examining the new crater on my nose, he charted a different course. "It's about a three-week process," he assured me, "and you'll be much happier with the results."

The new plan? A forehead flap. It was an extremely difficult procedure, and I wanted no part of it. But more than that, I just wanted it over with. "It's only three weeks of my life," became my mantra.

The first three days were rough. The first night home, I managed to drop a pillow directly on my face. The next day, I was introduced to a headache of epic, previously unknown proportions. By day two, I fully understood why they emphasized drinking lots of water with the hydrocodone. Day three was better, but the fear lingered.

My friends certainly rallied this week. I've been blessed with food, blankets, and an almost concerning amount of Snoopy-themed merchandise, including a coffee cup and socks. Between the beautiful flower arrangements, the home-cooked meals, and the constant calls, I've been well looked after. Next week, it's back to the doctor for a check-up and a good cleaning. Only two weeks left on this particular journey—and frankly, it can't end soon enough.

But the real MVP is Dennis. He's schlepped to every pharmacy in town, endured some truly awkward requests, and kept my wound clean. Thanks to him, my life is about as good as it can be when you have a hole in your nose.

I can't believe I was actually looking forward to some time off work. It turns out, a break is only enjoyable when you aren't recovering from major surgery. I missed my granddaughter's concert. My other grandkid, Danny, broke his arm, and I couldn't help take care of the girls or even visit him in the hospital. This certainly wasn't the relaxing staycation I had envisioned.

I really do have 100's of things I could do... but can I just finish ONE THING first?!?!

I need blinders. Seriously, just strap them on like a racehorse and point me in the right direction. Every time I try to focus, I get derailed. I’ll start on one task, spot another thing that needs to be done, and, before I know it, I’m doing that instead. And then another. And another. It’s like a never-ending to-do list carousel.

To make matters worse, I’ll procrastinate on the one thing I should be doing by busying myself with all the little things that could honestly wait. Productive procrastination at its finest. Days, sometimes weeks, go by like this. Honestly, I could teach a masterclass in distraction at this point.

If I’m being honest, if I could slap some blinders on like a racehorse, maybe I’d stop trotting in circles and finally get to the finish line. You think that’d work? Or is this just wishful thinking from a seasoned procrastinator?

Why are all these Zombies wanna-be's in my Lane?

There’s major roadwork happening in my city right now, and honestly, I’ve never witnessed such a parade of questionable driving decisions. Some drivers are letting others cross traffic in ways that make my jaw drop. Look, I get it, you’re trying to be nice—but this isn’t the time to play the Good Samaritan. They can’t see what’s happening in every lane, and by letting them out, you’re practically inviting a head-on collision.

Here’s the kicker: these are the same folks who absolutely wouldn’t make it in a zombie apocalypse. Guaranteed. You’re out there trying to save someone in traffic, and in a survival scenario, that kind of decision-making gets you bitten. Survival rule #1? Think it through before acting.