The Leeches Have Left The Building
Thank you for all the lovely Happy Birfday wishes for Mr. Handsome the other day! Although he didn't mention it, I know he's very proud of all of you for remembering him on this precious day of his birth.
The day ended up being pretty darn perfect, if you ask me, which you didn't. Thanks to my two amazingly deft children, the house was actually semi-tidy by the time Mr. Handsome's family came over for dinner. Dee vacuumed and picked up, and Em took care of the dining room. Em also decorated the entire first floor. Awesome kids. And I only had to show them the knife twice.
Despite my killer headache and overall malaise, I managed to put together a pretty nice dinner: lamb roast, roast potatoes and onions, white asparagus, and peas. And for dessert, a chocolate/peanut butter ice cream cake. No one died, so I'm calling it a success.
And then Mr. Handsome kindly drove to the drugstore to pick up my antibiotics, because by then my eyes were crossed and my hands were gnarled into tight fists.
So, onward huphuphup! Yesterday, after nursing my headache for the third straight day, I actually started taking some antibiotics for what seems to be a bacterial infection in the sinuses and/or lungs. My doctor, whom I saw Wednesday, took a quick look up my nasal passages, checked my swollen glands, grimaced and quickly printed out a prescription, telling me I definitely had an infection. Thank god I wasn't imagining the last month, is all I can say!
And then, I lay on the couch all day because the antibiotics make my insides into jello, and not a tasty flavour either. More like a lime-coloured jello with pieces of rainbow-coloured marshmallows in it, or maybe that fake chicken loaf with the bits of macaroni and cheese strewn through it. You know, that fake meat stuff that makes you want to up-chuck just thinking about it. Why do they even make that stuff? And does anyone really eat it? I digress.
I still have a headache. Have I mentioned this?
Meanwhile, yesterday I struggled to figure out how to manage getting together Dee's clothing and things, since the kids are going away this weekend to Camp Trillium winter camp. For those of you who do not know what Camp Trillium is, it's a camp here in Ontario for kids with cancer and their siblings. It's a wonderful camp, wonderful people, and a wonderful time for the kiddies. Anyway, as I lay there, thinking, and fretting, because I honestly didn't even have the energy to wipe my nose, let alone find Dee's clothing and pack them, I came to a decision: Dee could pack his own damn bag. And then I had a nap.
Seriously, though, what the hell have I been thinking? Dee is going to be 12 next month (and I don't think I will ever be able to wrap my head around that), and he is more than able to pack his own bag, for god's sake. Why do I continue to treat him like a baby? Em packs her own bag, and I'm pretty sure she was doing this by 11 years of age. But then again, she's a girl, and Dee's not. Need I say more?
What this really means, though, is that Mr. Handsome and I are kidless this weekend. That means, no children swarming us, constantly demanding food and company and love blahblahblah. They're worse than leeches, these kids, because at least with leeches, you can pour some salt on them and they just drop off. Kids, on the other hand, lick the salt off your chips and demand moremoremore. God.
The thing is, I'm still sick (no kidding), and Mr. Handsome is once again busier than a beaver at work, so the chances of us doing anything at all this weekend are slim to none. I thought maybe we could go to a movie or maybe to a nice dinner. I think the last time we did anything like that was back in September when he took me off to a surprise weekend getaway to Kingston. However, instead, chances are Mr. Handsome's going to be working most of this weekend, and I'm going to be lying on the couch, watching Jersey Shore, pulling out stray chin hairs, and praying to the porcelain god.
You wish you could be me.