Same Time Next Year

That stomach flu was NOT a pleasant experience. Plus, it was sneaky. I was sick Friday and Saturday, felt much better Sunday, buzzed around cleaning the house and cooking a real dinner for my family (which had been subsisting on pizza) and even ate said dinner. I felt fine! I was cured!

Until I woke up sick again at 5 AM Monday morning. You know how being ill can give you nightmares? I woke up nauseated and panicky, convinced that David was in dire straights at college. I spent all of Monday lying on the couch and frantically texting him and asking if everything was okay. I was convinced my motherly instincts had sensed a problem, 3 whole states away.

Luckily, I was wrong. Or, at least, David says I was wrong.

Anyway, here it is Wednesday, and my insides seem to be working normally again, and it is GORGEOUS outside, with the cherry blossoms and the magnolia blossoms and what all, and David continues to claim he is JUST FINE, ALREADY. My life would be perfect right now, actually, if it weren't for the fact that Boy Scout Mulch Weekend once again looms before us. That's right, for the third year in a row, Larry and I are performing the marriage-defying act of working together on Brian's Scout troop's main fundraiser of the year.

Our conjugal union is most emphatically not cut out for this sort of thing, people.

Next year? I will be able to enjoy scenes like this.

But this - this is the last year I have to endure such torture. THIS year, I am training someone to take my place, so NEXT year, I can leave town for a knitting retreat or whatever else I want to do during Mulch Weekend. NEXT year, I can enjoy the month of March again, with its daffodils and forsythia and warm-ish spring breezes. NEXT year, I will not have to spend the month of March walking around with a sense of impending doom hovering over me. Best of all, NEXT year, you won't have to hear me complain about all this yet again.

NEXT YEAR WILL BE WONDERFUL.

Seeing The Light

So, I seem to have Rachel's awful bug. Luckily, it hit me on an empty stomach. But how unfair is it that I should get sick and not Larry? I mean, it WAS Larry who was the holder of the towel during her barfing all-nighter. Yet here I lie, starving and miserable. I am tempted to breathe on his pillow.

Very difficult to operate, apparently

So, after dropping the girls off at their activity this morning, I drove home and went to bed. I've gotten up a few times today, wandered downstairs, turned out lights, closed doors, and then gone back to bed, exhausted. Because, really, as the parent of children who are all aged 10 and up, that is mostly what I do now - turn out lights and close doors: closet doors, pantry doors, cabinet doors. Constantly. And I am too burned out to harangue the kids to do it.

Did I say "burned out"? I meant, cynical - I am too cynical. You see, I know it's useless. They don't hear me. They don't understand me. I remember, as a teen, hearing my dad ranting, "The house is lit up like a Christmas tree!" and wondering what the heck his problem was.

The other thing I do is order pizza. The kids like that. I don't know why, because I only order the $8 carry-out special from Vocelli's, which is not very good, so far as pizza goes. But, every time, the kids act as though Christmas has arrived early. They run around, setting the table, mixing up some garlic-butter thing to dip their crusts in, and generally acting as though this event is cause for jubilation.

I guess they don't like my cooking.

Oh, dear, I sipped some flat Coke and my stomach is not happy. Not at all. Bright side is that I've used maybe 2 Weight Watchers points today. 2! Who needs a gym membership? I mean, what with the food deprivation and all the exercise I get turning out lights and closing doors, I'll be svelte in no time at all.

Death And Barf - Happy Monday!

Yes, still here. A lifelong friend died last week, so I traveled to NJ for her memorial service. I hadn't seen her much over our grown-up years - we would mostly meet up at birthday parties and funerals, as our parents were friends. But she was always there and someone I loved talking to and catching up with. As is my wont, I had not kept in touch with her over the past year, so I had no idea she was dying. I spent most of last week hating myself for that, of course.

Don't you like how I make someone's death all about me? I'm a lovely person, I am.

I had planned to leave Saturday morning, so I spent Friday prepping food for the weekend (cutting up fruit, making a big pot of mac and cheese, etc.). I needed to make sure my family wouldn't starve or die of scurvy while I was away. Don't be too impressed - I told Larry to use my 2 free sub credits at Harris Teeter for Sunday dinner.

Friday night, 11:30 - I was performing my nightly ritual of sitting on the couch, telling myself I should REALLY get to bed, but not until after just one more stupid word game on my IPad. Rachel came downstairs, saying she might throw up. My weekend plans flashed before my eyes. I HAD to get to this memorial service. My friend's mom - someone who had watched me as a baby, someone who had been there for me through both my parents' funerals - was counting on me. I COULD NOT get sick.

Essential parenting tool

I woke up Larry to tell him he was on vomit duty so I could spend the rest of the night safe in our puke-free bedroom. Larry (half asleep) staggered dutifully downstairs clutching a pillow and a blanket for the sofa. I'll admit, I felt a tad guilty, thinking of Larry jumping up all night to take care of our sick daughter as needed. But then I recalled my extensive involvement in Brian's ill-timed St. Patricks Day dinner puking incident of 2014, whereupon I decided I could indeed sleep the sleep of the just. With a little help from earplugs, that is.

The next morning, as I was attempting to gather my things and dash out the door (all while holding my breath), Larry said, "She threw up SIX TIMES."  I guess he was looking for sympathy, but what he got was, "Well, Brian threw up 17 times and I'll never eat corned beef again. Good luck with the other kids!" And then I left, feeling I should be marking a huge charcoal X on the front door as I let it slam behind me.

Sometimes? You just have to be tough.



[Bucket image: Clipart Panda]

If At First You Don't Succeed...

Looks as though third time's the charm, right? I found out this weekend that I get to be part of the cast for this year's LTYM DC. Awesome!

Well, Larry's not so sure of that. "Do they use your real name?" he said.

"Larry, I'm up on stage. People can SEE me. Maybe you want me wearing a paper bag on my head?"

Silence.

"That's not really an option, Larry. I was joking."

If only I could look this cool in it...

So, yeah, I get to do this thing. That's a relief, because I was dreading writing yet another blog post explaining that it was super A-OK that I hadn't been selected. I mean, a person only possesses so much magnanimity. Also, I think I might get a LYTM T-shirt out of the deal. This fame thing sure has a lot of perks, you know.

And...that's all for tonight, folks. Brian hogged the computer all day today for inconsequential things such as chemistry homework, and - now that I have finally wrested the keyboard away from him - I am too tired to host the book giveaway I had planned. Tomorrow, though - I will get to it tomorrow. I mean, once I fend off the paparazzi, of course...






[LTYM shirt image: Zazzle]

Dog Days

My neighbor just got a puppy. A good friend got a dog last year. A knitting friend got a dog 2 months ago, after saying she definitely DID NOT WANT A DOG.

And what I am saying here now is I WILL NOT LET THIS HAPPEN TO ME. No matter how much my children beg. No matter how much my middle-aged friends insist it has given them a new lease (leash?) on life. No matter how much Larry sits around sighing reminiscently over his childhood dog Ginger.

Oh, I get it, people - it's like having a new baby. Having a dog gives the family something to bond over, something that is actually glad to see you when you get home (unlike the teenage dementors you seem to have raised). What's more, it will never, ever turn into a surly adolescent that will make you feel like crap 24/7. What's not to love?

Oh, sure, THIS end is cute.

Well, poop, for one thing. PICKING UP POOP, mind you, with your HAND.  Look, I've had 6 babies. I've wiped more poop than I care to remember. But all that poop-wiping was for individuals who are supposed to grow up and become independent and maybe even support me in my old age (or, at least, hire someone to change my adult diapers). Dogs, in case you don't realize it, NEVER potty train. They NEVER grow up. And you never stop having to get them babysitters when you go away.

Also? They lick their private parts and then lick your face.

So, yeah, it's still a no for me.

NO.





[Puppy image: Pleasantwalls]