Day 5 of Quarantine

Monday

Day 1

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:

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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.

Day 2

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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.

Day 3

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”

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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.

Day 4

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.

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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.

Day 5

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.

Crack is Too Good to Waste…

…So I ate it after my dog.

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Shorty at this years Halloween party. Hanging out in the kitchen with us.

You all know my dog Shorty, the best chihuahua in the world.  He doesn’t know a stranger.  He’s not a yipper or an ankle biter.  He’s a cuddler, a lover.  He is also a good guard dog, he lets me know if anyone is on my property.  I love that about him.

Tonight, he’s not the best dog in the world, he’s the dog that got into my crack.  Now, before you get all upset, let me explain.  A few months ago I went to Taco Bell while Mr. T was out of town, and they had this new menu item, a cookie sandwich.  I got one, I tried it and I was in heaven.  This thing is pure bliss. A few days later I went back just so I could order one.  When Mr. T got back into town, I was like “we have to have Taco Bell tonight, they have these amazing sandwich cookies, they are like crack!” (For the record, I’ve never done crack, so, I could be wrong, these could be nothing like crack (and I really don’t know which drug that really is) but to me these are what I imagine crack would be like!)

From that moment on, T and I have referred to these cookies as crack.  It’s Friday and I cook all week long so that we can indulge Friday nights.  Tonight he was trying to decide between Taco Casa and Taco Bell.  Normally, we prefer Taco Casa and that is where he was leaning… and then I said “but Taco Bell has crack.”  We went to the Bell.

I ate my dinner and took a bite of my crack.  Then I sat it down and had to step away for a few minutes.  I came back and Shorty was looking awfully guilty.  I looked over and he’d gotten in my chair, dug into the bag, opened the bag and had been eating my crack.  “Shorty, bad dog, get outside!!”  He ran.  I sat down and looked at my cookie… what was left of it. Several thoughts went through my brain. He’d only had a few bites.  Licked some of the frosting.  He must have had a few chocolate chips, I hope he doesn’t get sick.  Aren’t dogs mouths suppose to be pretty clean?

So, before I did what we all know I was contemplating, I sent out a text to two of my friends, both with dogs.  Both who understand my crack addiction and both who have been by my side all week long as I’ve gone through everything I went through this week.  I figure if anyone was going to be able to tell me “No, step away from the crack!” it would be them.

Bert said his son shares popsicles with his dog and he hasn’t died yet.  And Erica said “um, yes you can [eat after him]”.

That’s all I needed!  I did pick off one part of the cookie, but not cause Shorty nibbled on it… he’d licked all the frosting off, the cookie isn’t the same without the creamy frosting middle.

Yup, that just happened.  I ate after my dog.  But that crack was too good to waste!!

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Taco Bell cookie sandwich, aka – crack!