Work is slow. Time to run errands. Get all the stuff we need to make it through the rest of the week and pick up the food to take to the NYE party. Get my last Starbucks of the year. Oh, what a moment!
A few hours later:
I’m dying. Dad says that I’m not really dying. He did take pity on me and bring me meds and orange juice. I told him “I didn’t hear my garage door open” as he walks in the house. His response was “That’s because it was open, and so was your trunk. Do you want these groceries inside?”
Yes, I had unloaded most of the groceries; however, I didn’t get them all and left the trunk and garage door open… for 7 hours.
It’s NYE. It’s a work holiday and of course, I’m sick. Can’t even blow a sick day and take the day off work. Mr. T, upon finding out that we aren’t going to our annual party asked if he could go with his youth group. Fine, whatever. $20? Really? The fever must have gotten to my brain. So, off we went to the bank.
Now I am burrowed on the couch under a couple of blankets. I’m taking half a dozen different kinds of meds to combat the symptoms. After a certain point it’s just like mixing a cocktail and I’m combining everything on the counter just for some relief.
It’s 9:00 pm and Mr. T is gone and I’m home alone. On New Year’s Eve.
I’m going to bed.
Happy Freakin’ New Year to me. Cough, Cough, Cough. Oh look – there’s a lung. It might have come out of me. I was a good parent though and got the ham going in a crock pot, sat the black eyed peas aside and decided to get out the other crock pot for a cherry cobbler. I made a cup of hot apple cider and mixed together my morning cocktail of meds.
Mr. T eventually got up after his night out bringing in the new year. “Uh mom, I don’t feel good”
Well of course you don’t! Please, come have a mixture of medicine. Great, now I can’t be sick because my son is and I have to take care of him. Bleh.
Yes, I know, not the loving mother response. Bite me.
I fed us. We dined liked kings. Except we barely ate. It’s hard to eat when you can’t breathe. A few hours later I realized that we don’t have enough meds to last with both of us sick. Apparently it’s bad luck to go shopping on New Year’s day. Whatever. At this point Mr. T has on thermal underwear under his shorts and t-shirt and has stolen my blankets. So, I peal off my pajamas and put on real clothes, run a brush through my hair and head off to get us some soup and more medicine.
Our house is officially under quarantine.
Mr. T now has laryngitis. But, we both made our cocktails of medicine. My boss called me today – as it’s a work day and while I don’t feel well, I’m not wasting a sick day! I said “hello” in as normal a voice as possible and he freaked! “What happened? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I wished I had a great story to tell him instead of just the “I’m sick” response I had to give.
Made T and I a bowl of fruit for breakfast. We’ve snacked on and off most of the day. His voice did eventually come back. I think he was really disappointed when it did.
I grabbed the can of Lysol and walked through the house and sprayed every surface I could find. There was a fine mist hanging in the air for hours. It was kinda pretty. Or I took too many meds.
It’s Friday. I better be better by this evening. I don’t want my weekend ruined! I hear a sneeze from Mr. T’s room. His throat still hurts and he has so much drainage I can hear him breathing from across the house. It’s really gross. He’s gotten up and showered every day (which is our rule), but put on the same germ riddled clothing. I told him today to put on fresh clothes. I really, really hope that he’s been putting on fresh underwear after each shower. I hadn’t considered that until now. I really, really don’t want to consider that.
Great, now that’s all I’m thinking about.
I’d kill for a Starbucks right about now.