Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil.
Being a mist and all, it was probably a bad idea to decide what to make for dinner ahead of time. Of my planned dinners- and this being Wednesday night now- I have made......none. Nada. Not one. Desserts? Nope.
And Monday should have been easy; all I needed to do is defrost the soup I made last week, chop a few veggies, skip the beggar's purses, and butter a few pieces of bread. It's not much, it's certainly not fancy, but it's dinner. Unfortunately, there were a few kinks in the path to a warm tasty dinner on Monday.
The first bump in the road was realized when I rolled over in bed to thank my alarm clock for the 6 am wake up by whacking it in the head. Simply rolling from my left side to my right sent shoots of dull, oppressive pain running through my joints and muscles. My head felt like a fish bowl filled with manky water and big, loose rocks and it seemed that a rodent of some sort had lodge itself in my throat. Swallowing was very near impossible. Every step from the third floor down to the kitchen felt like I was hobbling out of surgery where I'd just been stitched up. It was hideous.
I consider myself to be a moderately strong woman. I'm no Corrie ten Boom, but with time I usually come to grips with tough situations and can take it. No cold/flu can get the best of me! All you really need to know is that in order to endure my load I have to let off steam. Usually that means talking it through regularly (poor Heather knows all about this one- she's most often my ear), but if opening my mouth hurts I'm going to have to vent my frustrations in a more primitive way. Uh-huh. I'm gonna cry.
And cry some more.
Then I'll wipe all the tears away and toss the Kleenex in the bin. I'll tighten the belt on my robe, pull up my sleeves and start making The Boys' lunches...... and then I'll cry, maybe even having to throw the soggy bread out and start over with the lunches.
I might even sob a couple times before the Tylenol kicks in.
And then the pain lifted and I was me again. The rest of the morning was normal, except that Ian had an appointment with the allergist. Poor boy got poked and pricked, stuck and squeezed. In the end, it looks like he's still allergic to milk and now we've added peanuts, peas, walnuts, shell fish, and cashews. Uh-oh. There's the vegan version of cream in the corn chowder we're having for dinner, and it's made from- you guessed it- cashews. Bump #2.
Not that it mattered. I made it out of the allergy clinic and down to the pharmacy before I fully realized my pain relievers had worn off. I sat in a chair that had a magical gravitation pull and found that all my limbs had quadrupled in weight, which could only mean that I'd have to die in the chair. I managed to phone Tim to set up weekly visits and the occasional sponge bath when the chills and tears started.
Someone must have been in the back of the pharmacy, watching me and switching the heat off and on, just to see me go from shivering violently under my thick winter coat, to throwing it off and pulling my trousers legs up to my knees to release some heat so that I didn't catch fire. All the while crying, my tears feeling either like hot lava or ice water depending on what the sneaky pharmacy heat guy was doing.
By the time all my mascara was smudged into a tissue and smeared around my eyes, I remembered that an emergency room was just at the end of the hall. I thought if I could break free of the the gravity I might try crawling there, maybe grabbing a nap on the way. Just as I'd gathered my strong womanly resolve to follow my plan, Tim arrived and escorted me to my van, where I took more Tylenol and threw in a Motrin for good measure. Half an hour later I had returned and the shivering, crying lady was gone.
Too bad for the family, she came back right about the time I should have been making dinner. It's still not clear what Kristine made for dinner, but I suspect it was here specialty: mac 'n cheese from a box. Put differently, Zach and Ian couldn't/wouldn't eat dinner that night. Nice. While mom slept. Really nice. NOT!
I am happy to report that the chills and aches are gone and it's only a sore throat and ears that bother me now. Still not sticking to my menu plan, not through today, anyway. But, to quote another strong and whiny woman, "Tomorrow is another day"!
And, yes, I will take a bit of tofu with my whine. Thank you.