[At least no one has chicken pox this time around...(you would have to click on that link to understand what I'm saying). It really is true that those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it.]
And don't think that this fan decision was an easy one. Oh, no, this is America we live in, folks; we've got enough freedom of choice to make an over-caffeinated housewife want to stick her head in the path of some whirring fan blades by the time she's done checking out all the air-moving options available to the citizens of this great land of ours. Let's see:
- Standard traditional box fan - cheapest, yes, but it also has the widest gaps for little fingers to fit through; and it doesn't oscillate, which necessitates siblings' shoving each other away from it so each can have a "turn" getting cool.
- Double window fan - efficient, fits well in window, but not useful during the day when it pulls enough humidity inside to make the ceilings drip.
- Oscillating turbo floor fan (round) - Efficient, small, but it still looks like someone could get their fingers chopped off (although there would be a silver lining to that situation: the ER is probably air-conditioned)
- Double oscillating floor fan - Hey! 2 kids can chop their fingers off at the same time! Great idea!
- "Retro" fan - Looks cool, but form may be triumphing over function...
You see, I was at a friend's house for a homeschool party this afternoon when I felt a migraine coming on. She offered me some aspirin-caffeine drug and recommended I take two. Please bear in mind that the most caffeine I have ever had at one time is a can of coke (35 milligrams - I looked it up). Turns out I ingested over 130 milligrams of caffeine in one fell swoop. That would be an extremely strong cup of coffee.
So I've discovered why everyone has way more energy than I do - you all drink coffee. And I don't. Larry looked extremely confused when he came home from work and was greeted by a wife who simply could not stop talking. Usually, I'm barely functional by the time he gets home. I'm just dragging through the dinner hour, calculating the minutes until bedtime. If he tries to start a conversation with me, I cry.
Not tonight, though. I regaled him with several amusing tales of what I had heard on NPR that afternoon, reported what everyone had said at the party, cheerfully babbled on and on about what a mess the backyard is, all the while zipping around the kitchen, filling water cups, giggling at nothing in particular, and generally acting like a 20-years-younger version of myself.
You know, you coffee-drinkers may be on to something.