In Sickness and in Snot

I'm not a real holiday person. Add to the general stress (let's just say the shopping fairy passed me by) of family, food, and guilt, the fact that I have an entirely NEW family and you could guess that I am not really in my element this year.

So with the new kid came the renewal of my long ago relationship with Indy. There are a ton of new relatives (grandma's and uncles and aunts, oh my). The cards will be late (estimated arrival time . . . . May 2009). The gifts were few (we're poor, plus we just went to Florida). (What? We had to go to a wedding. All our money was spent on gas and hotels. It's not like we had fun or anything.) We squeaked by paying rent and the bills (whew). We've been eating ramen and toast for three days now. And to make it a real holiday . . . all three of us are sick. And the cat just sneezed on my leg.


I don't like being sick. Well, who does, I know, I know, but I really don't like it. I want to be lazy on my schedule, not because my weak old fat body decided to shut down. And I have less failure alarms than Chernobyl. I'm coasting along, sorry for Indy and the Nibblet, who had both started being snuffly and grumpy on Thursday, zooming around the house trying to clean up and prep for our meager holiday. I spent our last $40 on stocking stuffers, made the treats to give to all our friends, and even managed to get some work done. Then came Sunday.

Today has been the worst actually. I think I cried in my sleep last night from sinus pain. And why am I such a wuss now? I think the epidural completely spoiled me. Now I can't take any pain without whimpering and looking for the anesthesiologists. Yesterday the entire clan had the smoky deep radio voices, which made for a very Barry White Christmas. Today the Nibblet has no voice and just squeaks like a dolphin. It's cute and heartbreaking at the same time. I'm red-nosed, sniffly, and liable to snap. I did manage to do the laundry, change the bedding, do all the dishes, and work for four hours, but the rest of the day has been an endless "oh-my-head-my-nose-my-throat-waah-wah-waaaah".

Except it sounded like "om-by-heb-by-noths-by-troak-
waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-
waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"


So, anyway. Being sick (and messing around on Myspace and finding a long lost) reminded me of something a friend said to me that was pretty profound. He said, "Live your life as if you are sick."

Well, I say friend, but he was really more of a coworker. A Buddhist monk. A 19-year-old Buddhist monk. With full sleeves. And dreadlocks. And ginormous holes in his ears. Who drank like a . . . werl, actually like the rest of us. Weird.

But to the point. He meant eat like you do when your sick or getting over being sick. Healthy foods. And to be moderate with alcohol and sweets. Not to smoke or stay up ridiculously late. To get plenty of rest and take care of your body. To spend equal time working and resting.

I'm a huge proponent of moderation (at least in thought, ahem). And living as though I was conscious of my health and well-being is a fantastic idea.

I only bring it up so that . . . werl, so I can be mocked later I suppose. What I really want, being a tv-child and demanding instant gratification from the world, is a pill that increases my determination and focus. Something that will make me exercise, find time to eat right, chill out a bit every day, and maybe even use the new things I learn. While I am one of the great procrastinators, I do get things done. Just not personal things. Or healthy things.

I have to hand it to Indy. He's totally unfazed by my new horrendousness. About every three hours I have been apologizing for leaving him with the Nibblet or yelling at the dishes or grousing about my face, blah blah blah. He laughs it off and goes back to WOW. Just another damned wonderful aspect of his personality I'll never live up to.

Time for more resting. I've discovered the joys of 30 Rock (damn you, Duckie) - so if you need me I'll be prone on the sofa, clutching my box of tissues and laughing hoarsely. But if you persist in bugging me, I'll cough on you.

Sunday Morning

The Scene: I'm doing dishes, Indy is putting away mushed up green beans, Nibblet is bouncing and full of green bean mush.

The topic of conversation is cranberry "sauce".

Me: So do you like the canned cranberries?

Indy: I prefer to make attack cranberries.

Me: Do you put the orange shit in them and that?

Indy: No, cause if I wanted an orange, I'd eat a frickin' orange. But we've had this discussion before, when you tried to mix something and orange.

{So long ago I was making candied orange peel to dip in bittersweet expensive chocolate for him. Bastard}

Me: I was really proud of that achievement. This is why I don't make you sweet stuff.

Indy: Just cause I like my flavors separate.

Me: Bigot.

Indy: Those flavors should know their place.

Saturday Night

The scene: Grocery shopping. Canned vegetable aisle. I'm looking at dried beans, Indy is pushing the cart, the Nibblet is making strangers coo because of her Santa hat.

Indy (to Nibblet): We should feed you black-eyed peas.

Me: Why?

Indy (to Nibblet): So you'll be just like your mom.

Me: What? How am I like black-eyed . . . oh, never mind.

Indy: Bwa ha ha