Tuesday, March 9, 2010
It's been a horribly long winter here.
Or so it seems. At least compared to places, like, um, California and Florida. Maybe.
So when that annoying little weather man on WKRN said this past weekend was going to be temps were going to be reaching the 60s, I was ready to get OUT!
Then the little kids got sick.
I'm praying for all it's worth, "Dear God, please, oh, please, oh, please let them better by the weekend."
I should have been more specific.
They were better. I wasn't.
And I'm still not.
I woke up Saturday morning with a sore throat so severe I thought I had strep throat.
Let me explain how bad it was: I avoid doctors like the plague. I go for two reasons: I'm dying or I'm pregnant.
Saturday morning, it was so bad I thought it could lead to dying.
And, of course, it's the weekend. Around here, that means the only doctor to see is at the ER; a place where you could die from old age before being seen.
So I trucked on over a couple of towns to one of those Walgreen's Take Care Clinics. (Did I mention those things are super handy?)
It's not strep throat. Apparently just a vicious version of the common cold.
But I didn't get a day out. Just a day (two, actually) in bed. Doped up on Sudafed and orange juice.
I still feel like doody on a stick. (Not sure what that is, but it's an ugly little saying I've gotten in the habit of saying.)
But the most wonderful husband in the world (mine, in case you were wondering) has promised to bring me home some chocolate.
I'm the luckiest, puniest crybaby in the world!