Last week was Not Much Fun. #4 and I both had the flu. And so did Himself, except that he spent it all 4-1/2 hours north at A Thing. So I wasn’t dealing with him, except for us to cough at each other through the phone. Bless him, there isn’t a whole lot that’s more miserable and sad than being sick with the flu and not at home. Especially when Not At Home is in a hotel in a strange city. Except that there is a Schlotzsky’s walking distance from the hotel. If you’ve never had one of those, I am sad for you. It is one of those sandwiches that the whole is more than the sum of it’s parts. 2+2=22 and all that.
Friday I caved in and went to the Doctor, because I can’t shake my breathing addiction and needed some professional help. At least this time it wasn’t bronchitis, just asthma and a very sore throat. A bag full of medications later, and a couple of days of breathing treatments, and I am feeling almost myself, other than the occasional coughing up a lung thing, but my floors are very clean and as long as I can get to it before one of the dogs does, it’s not that bad.
I used to never get sick. The kids would breathe all the
shi stuff they gathered up at school all over the nice clean house and none of us would get nothin’. Now, though…every time someone sneezes my aura reaches out and grabs it and shoves it down my throat and into my lungs. ridiculous. Oh yes, I know, I should be drinking echanacea purple coneflower tea with unfiltered honey, and eating tumbleweed muffins with royal jelly sprinkles and give up the factory-farmed red meat and cheetoes but NO. YOU CANNOT TAKE MY CHEETOES. Even though they’re too salty for someone with bad kidneys but I don’t have them all the time and even then it’s just a small bag.
I was discussing these sad, sad kidneys with the Good Dr. Courage and
whined asked “Why me?” and he gently explained that, regardless of what naturopaths and mommybloggers say, we are not all born with the same blank slate, formed by environment (and cheetoes). Some of us are born with weak kidneys, or a tendency toward addiction (to cheetoes), or allergies. Apparently I drew the short stick in the kidney lottery. However, menopause has made my hair curly, so that is God’s Consolation Prize.
This is unrelated, except that it is a small drama happening to the left. Daisy, our fat dachshund, has acquired a cough drop wrapped in paper. She is not interested in eating it, only in protecting it from all other dogs. She is on the pillow, snuggling with the cough drop, and growling in a menacing manner at any dog that comes within 3 feet of her and Her Precious. You can’t make this stuff up.
So tonight, as Himself and I both continue to recover from the flu, we are, as we have done all day, Taking It Easy in the form of a pot of (homemade, of course) clam chowder (only his has oysters), perhaps a glass of wine (for me) or a bourbon (for him), and something on the TV.
#4 is off to Alabama with #2, to acquire a dog from #3, because #2 wants a companion animal and #3’s wife works at a vet who has this dog a guy had to leave because he was deployed and the dog is already spayed, microchipped, up to date etc and apparently has the temperment of Mary Poppins. #2 took #4 along to help manage the dog on the trip home. Plus #4 has been stuck in the house all week with the flu, missing out on the regional basketball games, and getting to send a particular girl a can of Orange Crush* on Friday.
*It’s a money raiser thing the Beta club does. You get to buy a can of Orange Crush and have it anonymously delivered to a person on Valentine’s Day. You can also buy carnations, but the soda thing is more fun, in my opinion. It’s also Less Serious.