Just Because You're Paranoid Doesn't Mean They Aren't After You

I went to the drugstore early this morning for more provisions.

The woman asked me if she could help and then directed me to aisle 12, where they keep the children's cold medicine.

I crouched in the aisle, blearily reading labels, trying to figure out if I needed "Cold and Congestion,"  "Fever and Cough," "Cough and Cold," "Cough+DM," or the catch-all: "Severe Cold."  And deciding that I probably needed the reading glasses in aisle 7 instead.

The woman came by again.  "Can I help?"

I picked up a box.  "I think this will do it," I said, not at all sure that it would.  I think I have been trying to help Ethan fight this same bug since early December, some sort of zombie virus that keeps resurrecting itself.

She said, "You look like you've been up all night with a sick kid."

Well, okay then.  I smiled weakly and took a little offense. 

Until I caught sight of myself in the car window.

She was being generous.

I looked like I'd been up all night for three straight weeks, with breaks during the day to go to my job at a Siberian work camp.

It was not pretty.  Deathly pale, hair askew, bags as big as jet-puffed marshmallows under and over my eyes, the skin bruised and blackened by yesterday's smudged mascara.  My teeth were coated in thick sleep-slime, and at the corners of my consciousness I could just smell myself.  

Well, okay then.

I have disinfected every surface.  I have wiped down the door handles, the light switches, the desks, the countertops, and the door jams.  I have washed the sheets and the backpacks and every jacket Ethan owns.  I have lathered his boney spine and long, thin feet in essential oils and vapor rub.  I have filled him full of vitamin C, cough suppressants, probiotics, the flu vaccine, fever reducers, and immune system boosters.  I have given him fluids and rest and instructions to wash his hands after every class.  I have run the humidifier, the nebulizer, and the tired path to the drugstore.

But I can't beat it.

Every ten days it shows up again. 

I'm starting to get paranoid.

What am I missing?

I told Savannah I was going to send her to school with a can of Lysol wipes so that she could wipe down the inside and outside of his locker.  And all the handles of the classrooms while she was at it.  She looked at me, horrified.

But I'm desperate.  It's the freaking viral zombie apocalypse.

And apparently, I may already look like one of the walking dead.

Never Fully Dressed

Eventually, it's going to come back, I tell myself.

The happy, I mean.

The heaviness is going to leave my heart and my head and life is going to return to normal.

Something really good is going to happen again.

At some point, it's not going to take superhuman strength to leave my bed in the morning and superhuman resolve not to want to crawl back in there and have long talks with FPM in the middle of the day.

Eventually, it will be fun again.  And funny again.

(Admit it.  That picture is already a little bit funny, right?)

But as of today, one month in (exactly), it still feels like I banged my head on an open cupboard door.  I'm a little bit surprised, a little bit hurt, a little bit mad, a little bit ashamed of my own carelessness, and I still feel a little bit like swearing or a little bit like crying.  Dang, that smarts.

Mortality is hard.  As you know.

A couple of weeks ago, at the end of the day, I told David, "Guess what?  I didn't cry once today."  He said, "I did."  Which made me cry of course.  On the first Monday of unemployment, David put on a suit and tie.  I laughed when I saw him.  Overdressed and ready to impress.  Yesterday, he wore his pajamas the entire day.  Today, the same thing.  And yesterday, nearly a whole month away from one of the worst days of his life, David sat on a chair while I folded the socks and the rags, and still teared up while he talked about it. 

And so yesterday, because I just couldn't stand it anymore, I wore Savannah's bat clip with the googly eyes in my hair the entire day.  (When Ethan came home from school he asked, "Did you get a haircut?"  I said no.  He said, "Something's different."  Also a little bit funny, right?) 

And after dinner we watched Hocus Pocus.  On tap next:  The Addams Family and Wait Until Dark.  My older kids are still debating if they're ready for the latter one.  I've got my fingers crossed because there is nothing quite so fun as the scare in that movie.  (I'll be honest, I get a little bit giddy just thinking about it, despite everything else.)

And then today we went in search of these. 

And in a couple of days we are going to carve them up and drink apple cider and stuff our faces with homemade donuts and Hungarian "ghoul"-ash and pumpkin soup and we are going seriously celebrate this minor holiday.

Because even though things aren't fun, we're going to pretend they are.

Boo to you, mortality.

SPT: Eight is Great (even a week late)

(Sorry, Lelly.  I meant to post this last week.  I believe it's never too late to SPT.)

In 108 days,

I will be enjoying the fruits of his labors. 

(Please just ignore the dark circles under my eyes, and the gray hair that desperately needs to be colored.  And just go right ahead and enjoy the shot of my generous and glorious cleavage.)

SPT: I'm Saying "I Love You" When I...

...play nurse.

(And not in the "fun" way.)

CIM Takes Matters Into Her Own Hands

It's time I posted.  Past time, really.

David listed my neglected and missing posts last night in bed.

Surprisingly, I wasn't feeling too amorous after that.  And I may have said something rude.  (I'm not saying one way or another.)

And then this morning RIM and CIM got into an argument about what to post and what not to post, and in what order.  Like that matters.  Obviously, CIM won because here I am telling you all this.  She always wins when I'm tired or haven't eaten recently or I've said something rude to my husband and am therefore feeling out-of-sorts.  (Let's be honest, after all that there is really very little place in my life for RIM.)

And so yes, there are other things to talk about.  Like our date to Othello with my parents (it was brilliant, by the way),

David's new car (no pictures yet),

the word-of-the-week and my SPT (in which I am teaching my kids a *new* game and *trying something new by letting the laundry and the mopping wait in favor of a couple of good games of croquet*),

not to mention the girls' Saturday sewing class with my mom,

 

a talk by Elder Bednar,

an inauguration, and the 100th day of school (which happened on the same day).

But instead,

here is a movie about why it is great to live in Arizona in January even if your bicycle-built-for-two gets a flat tire and it's so warm that you have to run the air conditioner for an hour before bed.

SPT: I Resolve (to Take More Self-Portraits)

with the people I love.

I grabbed everyone, one at a time, as they headed out the door this morning.

And then I caught this one just by chance.

7:56.  And it was easily the best moment of the day.

SPT: I Resolve (to Take More Self-Portraits)

...even if it's a day late.  (How's that for resolution, Lelly?)

I have a bunch of mirrors in my out-dated, circa 1987 bathroom.  And had the thought yesterday that it would be the perfect place for "more self-portraits."  David is just glad I decided to take the picture after I was dressed.  There can be a limit to how much self-portrait is too much. 

SPT: Because of a Blogger, Tabletops

I almost forgot it was actually Tuesday, but I remembered just in time.

Lots of bloggers have changed my life in lots of beautiful ways...this week Lelly's challenge focuses on home decor and tabletop ideas we've been inspired by as we've traipsed through the homes and backyards of other bloggers.  As I vacuumed through my house today, I remembered this post that Barb wrote last fall.  When I read it, I thought it was so *brilliant* I immediately went out and bought these two candles and we joyfully copied her candlelight dinner tradition throughout our winter.  I hope to add a couple more candles this year (it was a bit dark last year) and can't wait for those dark evenings to creep up on us.

By the by, I find it quite appropriate that my tabletop is brighter per Barb, since reading about Barb's life has brought nothing but more *light* into my life.

SPT: Elements of Summer, Water

I got wet this week in the Chippewa River.

But still did not get an official SPT.  Don't worry, Lelly, I have set new goals.

Here is another taken by my husband.  I love it on so many levels, but especially to see my boy, his shorts hiked up, wading towards me in the river, his feet on rocks and river bed hundreds of thousands of years older than either of us.

"Rivers know this:  there is no hurry.  We shall get there some day."  --A.A. Milne

SP(Th): Elements of Summer, Sun

I'm not sure where Tuesday went, or Wednesday for that matter, but here's my SPT for the week...the first element of summer:  SUN.

I had David take this picture (you strict self-portraiters need to avert your eyes) at the Mackinac Island library.  Can you imagine reading in such a place?  The back doors of the library are open like this in the summer to reveal a charming boardwalk, complete with reading chairs and a perfect view of the water and a lighthouse.

The inside of the library is dark in this picture because it is being backlit by the sun through this doorway that leads right out to the beach, but it is in reality painted a vibrant turquoise blue with bright white molding that makes you feel like you are inside of a Fabrege egg.  I was right between drooling and crying.

Oh, and it also has a delicious fireplace for winter.  I would work here for free.