I am sick… 

and…. Well, you know the rest. If you don’t, then you need to go buy Bill Cosby’s Himself.  My all-time favorite stand-up routine. I’m talking about laugh-until-you-can’t-breathe funny. Doubled-over-in-tears funny. Seriously, if you’ve never seen it, consider yourself comedically deprived. If you have seen it, feel free to post your favorite lines in the comments. 

Image from Amazon.com

But seriously, I am really sick. Major chest congestion, relentless cough. Those of you who’ve birthed a few babies no doubt understand how terrifying the term “relentless cough” is. For the same reason that I no longer jump rope, I live in fear of being caught off guard by a surprise coughing fit before I have a chance to cross my legs. Those of you who have as yet not offered up your bladder as a prenatal trampoline or had a part of your body referred to as a “canal” are laughing at me. Go ahead. Your time will come. And when it does, maybe I’ll be old enough to have finally surrendered to the joy that is Depends, and you won’t be laughing anymore—not because you feel sorry for me, but because then you’ll realize that laughing is right up there with sudden coughing. Not so funny anymore, is it?  

Where was I? Oh, yeah–I was right here, in my fuzzy pink leopard robe, with my unwashed hair (washed my face, though—huge sense of accomplishment) and my Halls throat lozenge.  

In addition to being sick, I am (here it comes…) tired. Oh-so-very-tired. Exhausted, really. Comatose, bordering on lifeless corpse. Yesterday afternoon about 5pm, I was smiling to myself because any minute He of The Cute Knees was going to walk through the door and deliver me. Being the wonderful man that he is, he would surely send me to my room (which is where I wanted to go in the first place… Some of you get that. The rest of you seriously need to watch the DVD…) and tend to the children. Then the phone rang. My bliss-bubble didn’t burst right away, because The Hubby offered to run by the grocery store on his way home. He always calls from the grocery store to find out what I need.

Sometime between my giddy “Hello?” and The Hubby’s heavy sigh, all that changed. Something that was supposed to work wasn’t working, and whatever was supposed to fix it wasn’t fixing, and the remedy for a non-fixing fix is for Mr. Fix-it to find a feasible fix to fix the faux-fix. Which translates into “all-nighter.” So I handled the witching hour—I mean, the evening family time—on my own: dinner, dishes, refereeing, 15 minutes of WWF-worthy wrestling that we call “the diaper change”, and bedtime.When I finally got all the kids in bed, I was exhausted.

I slathered on a dollop of Vicks vapo-rub, popped a coconut Dum-dum in my mouth to ward off the cough (thinking that I could safely fall asleep, on account of while I could feasibly swallow a cough drop in my sleep and wake up dead, I don’t think I could actually swallow an entire lollipop, stick and all), bundled up in my robe and multiple blankets, cursed the fact that I’ve never followed through on my plan to fashion a nosewarmer out of a Breathe-right strip and Polartec fleece, and collapsed into bed. 

About 2am—I know it was 2am only because later, Riley asked The Daddy what time he finally got home, and he said “2am”—The Hubby finally made it home. I didn’t hear him come in. I didn’t realize he was home until he tried to take the lollipop out of my mouth. 

Evidently I screamed. 

 Turns out he wasn’t so sure about the whole not-being-able-to-choke-to-death-on-a-lollipop-on-account-of-it-having-a-stick-attached thing. He has evidently learned not to underestimate my ability to achieve the impossible.

It was sweet, really—The Hubby caring for me, worrying for my safety, making sure I don’t wake up dead.But somehow all I can think about is how totally and completely unsexy I must have looked, wrapped up in my pink fuzzy leopard robe, lollipop in my mouth—do you think it’s possible to fall asleep with a lollipop in your mouth and NOT drool? yeah, me neither. And by the way, I’m sure my mouth was probably wide open, seeing as how I couldn’t breathe through my nose. Which means that in all likelihood I was making some sort of sleep-type noises that if they were to come from The Hubby would be called ‘snoring,’ but which were totally not snoring because I’m a lady, and ladies totally do not snore—even when they can’t breathe through their nose. Oh, and don’t forget the icing-on-the-proverbial-cake, the fact that I reek of eau d’ Vicks Vapo rub.

Oh yeah, he wanted me….  

The really frustrating thing is that I have a laundry list (oh crap—do you have any idea how much laundry is piling up while I’m throwing my little pity party? And you can’t donate dirty clothes and then just start over with new ones. I know–I asked someone once, and they said you definitely can’t do that) of ‘to-do’s  for the adoption, none of which are becoming ‘done’s. There’s nothing funny in this paragraph. I just had to rant for a second. 

Sick and tired; tired always followed sick. I am both.

 And now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Bill Cosby DVD to go watch. With my legs crossed….

Tags: bladder, bronchitis, congestion, cough, Dumdums, Homeschooling, lollipop, Mason, Minor Emergency of Denton, respiratory infection, sick, suburban, The Hubby, Vicks Vapo Rub

I’ve never been much of a rule-follower. Not even a guideline-follower, really. I’d like to say it’s because I’m a rebel like that–and it might have been true, once-upon-a-time. But these days it’s more a product of the fact that while someone is telling me the rule, I’m most likely wrestling my $300 perscription sunglasses away from the Velcro-Monkey, or talking she-of-the-raging-hormones down from an anxiety attack, or keeping the Soundtrack from strangling the Narrator (or vice-versa), and even if it remotely registers that someone is imparting some sort of high wisdom, the chances of me actually processing, retaining, and later recalling it later are somewhat more remote than the chance of The Hubby buying into my whole “I’m not behind on laundry, I’ve implemented a just-in-time clothing inventory system” spiel. Which I’m sticking to anyway, if you’re interested….

What did this post start out as? Oh—rules. Right. I try to follow the obvious ones. Stick a big ol’ reflective sign in my face, and I’m on board. It’s those little rules of life that smack me upside the head, give me a wedgie, and steal my lunch money. Truth be told, my life veers so far from the ordinary that most of the rules out there don’t really apply to me. I mean, if I were in an accident, whether I had on clean underwear wouldn’t be nearly as relevant as the fact that I FINALLY got the mirrors all perfectly readjusted from the last time The Hubby drove the car—and now they’re going to be all messed up again.

One thing I know for sure is that the rules that would have salvaged one day will be, for the most part, completely useless the next, which might just be the single greatest contributing factor to my particular brand of incompetence.

So here are (in no particular order) an indeterminate (what–you think I have any idea how many there are going to be ahead of time?) number of rules I wish I had taken into account in the past 24 hours.

1. Not all drivers will automatically yield the right-of-way to pedestrians. Not even pedestrians with 4 children in tow crossing the parking lot in 25 degree weather.

2. “The Mixer” is not a 2-person appliance. While it might seem efficient for one person to plug the mixer in while the other attaches the beaters, mixer operation should be limited to one person.

3. Always make sure the mixer is in the “OFF” position before putting it away.

4. Always make sure the mixer is in the “OFF” position before attaching the beaters…even if it’s unplugged at the time.

5. When your pinky finger is stuck in the mixer beaters, screaming “OH S**T!!! WHYDIDYOUPLUGITIN???” could result in your 10 year-old son requiring lifelong therapy.

6. God really knew what he was doing when he put on our pinky fingers. He stuck ‘em on there really well….

7. Making 3 pies at once means any mistake in execution (for example, adding whole eggs instead of only yokes…hypothetically speaking, of course) results in 3 ruined pies.

8. “…without making a mess…” means different things to different people. Especially when eggs are involved.

9. When you drop a cookie, catching it between your leg and the cabinet to keep it from hitting the floor is a valid solution. When you drop an egg, notsomuch….

10. Never give a 10 year old boy a skillet as a tool for crushing peppermints. Unless, that is, you always thought that skillet was just a little too perfectly round to begin with.

11. A trailer hitch ball makes a perfect peppermint crusher.

12. Don’t drop your peppermint crusher on your toe.

13. If you are going to wear pajama bottoms and houseshoes out of the house, you need to be aware that there’s always the possibility that your car could break down, and you could be stranded on the side of the road for 2-1/2 hours waiting for a tow truck in pajama bottoms and houseshoes. In 30 degree weather. 20 minutes from home.

14. Always go to the bathroom before leaving the house. You never know when your car could break down, and you could be stranded on the side of the road for 2-1/2 hours waiting for a tow truck.

15. Wear real shoes. You never know when your car could break down, and you could be stranded on the side of the road for 2-1/2 hours waiting for a tow truck, and have to go to the ladies room so bad that when your hubby shows up you have to borrow his van to drive to the gas station to use the bathroom (leaving him there waiting for the tow truck) and end up having to walk into a public restroom in your houseshoes.

16. Even though modern headlights come on automatically, it is a good idea to familiarize yourself with the process of activating them manually in the event that you somehow bump something on the dashboard and inadvertently turn your headlights OFF while driving down a pitch-black, winding country road while being followed by your husband, who assumes your car has completely failed, and jumps to the conclusion that you must have subsequently suffered a heart attackand died, accounting for the fact that you drove across the opposite lane and almost into a ditch before finally smacking the right button and turning the lights back on. Hypothetically speaking, of course….

Tags: baking, beaters, eggs, guidelines, mixer, Narrator, right-of-way, rules, Soundtrack, The Hubby, velcro monkey