May 4, 2006


Last night I became patient zero for a virus so nighmarish that I am thinking about calling it Wes. I am so sick that My Hair Hurts. I spent the entire night on the chesterfield, lamenting the empty box of cold/flu medicine, wondering which spawn of darkness I live with finished it up, and considering combining other medications in an attempt to cause unconsciousness. I drank 90 glasses of water, wiped my nose raw, made the tea that Norma sent me last year (I even drank it.) my eyes ran, I coughed, I contemplated how loose your teeth can feel if your sinuses have big enough trouble and generally wished for relief or death. There is no longer any difference between them.

This morning I have to take Meg to an oral surgeon to have an extra tooth removed (Yes. Meg has an extra tooth. Just like a shark. This should surprise no-one who has met my middle child.) so I staggered upstairs about 7:30 to put on clothes, opened my bedroom door and snagged jeans, realized I had to blow my nose or take my life, staggered out and then came back for my tee shirt.

As I re-entered, Joe rolled over and asked if I could please keep the door to the bedroom closed so he wasn't disturbed. (This would be the door that I was entering though to get my clothes so that I might serve my family and go into the world clad today)

Can I ask? What is wrong with men? (That might properly be "spouses" but I've never been jerked around by a same sex partner in the dead of night so I don't know if the same rules of stupidity apply.) What are they thinking? Are they thinking? What sort of person doesn't consider that if you have had NO sleep, and they have had LOTS of sleep, that asking for MORE sleep is a serious misstep. What gene is missing in their code that they do not think that saying what they are thinking right then is a mistake?

When you have been up all night with an illness/crying baby/puking toddler, why does some self preservation instinct that would keep an otherwise intelligent, thoughtful, kind man from saying that they would like for you not to disturb their full eight hours of comfortable sleep not kick in? Where is the inner voice that says "Shut up stupid. She hasn't slept. Look at her. She's only glued together with willpower and tea. Look at her eyes. Look at her hair. Look at the tissue paper stuck to her cheek and Shut. Up."

It is only because I lacked the strength to smack him that he lives yet.

Posted by Stephanie at May 4, 2006 8:49 AM