Leaving Behind The Stupidest Week Ever
Aug. 1st, 2011 01:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dr_pretentiousAnd I'm not backtracking to pick it up, either. Every bad thing about Stupid Week could have been worse, but it added up to quite enough.
Stupid Week Day One:
My elderly cat has a heart attack, probably due to the heat wave. Ever gracious toward the kids, she waits to die until they've gone to bed. Every day thereafter, Gareth proposes ways to revive the cat (loud noises, water in spray bottles, secret mad scientist formulae, etc.). Conrad signs cat in ASL, purrs for emphasis, and tears up the bed linens looking for her every time he's in my room.
Stupid Week Day Three:
I tear a calf muscle while carrying Gareth up the stairs. The tear turns out to be mild enough that all I need to do about it is ice it and elevate it several times a day for as long as I can stand to. No physical therapy or surgery, yay. But time spent icing and elevating is time I need for housecleaning--I've got in-laws visiting in just a few days! Only the thickening plot of the latest George R.R. Martin novel can keep me still long enough to mend.
Stupid Week Day Six:
Strep throat, complete with 103 degree fever. In fifteen minutes, I go from thinking I might have a little headache coming on, to having shakes and chills. Gareth, recalling the cat and his Uncle Zach, embarks on a several-day freakout over my illness, and I can't blame him one bit.
Post-Stupid Week Day One:
No sooner have I been on antibiotics long enough to be non-contagious than my sister-in-law arrives with her family for a long-planned beach weekend. This sounds like the setup for a bad sitcom episode, but in fact, it's the best thing that could happen. She and her husband clean my kitchen, help with the kids, and get Dan and me out to the beach despite everything.
It turns out that lying in the shade of a beach umbrella and listening to the waves is a pretty good way to convalesce.
Stupid Week Day One:
My elderly cat has a heart attack, probably due to the heat wave. Ever gracious toward the kids, she waits to die until they've gone to bed. Every day thereafter, Gareth proposes ways to revive the cat (loud noises, water in spray bottles, secret mad scientist formulae, etc.). Conrad signs cat in ASL, purrs for emphasis, and tears up the bed linens looking for her every time he's in my room.
Stupid Week Day Three:
I tear a calf muscle while carrying Gareth up the stairs. The tear turns out to be mild enough that all I need to do about it is ice it and elevate it several times a day for as long as I can stand to. No physical therapy or surgery, yay. But time spent icing and elevating is time I need for housecleaning--I've got in-laws visiting in just a few days! Only the thickening plot of the latest George R.R. Martin novel can keep me still long enough to mend.
Stupid Week Day Six:
Strep throat, complete with 103 degree fever. In fifteen minutes, I go from thinking I might have a little headache coming on, to having shakes and chills. Gareth, recalling the cat and his Uncle Zach, embarks on a several-day freakout over my illness, and I can't blame him one bit.
Post-Stupid Week Day One:
No sooner have I been on antibiotics long enough to be non-contagious than my sister-in-law arrives with her family for a long-planned beach weekend. This sounds like the setup for a bad sitcom episode, but in fact, it's the best thing that could happen. She and her husband clean my kitchen, help with the kids, and get Dan and me out to the beach despite everything.
It turns out that lying in the shade of a beach umbrella and listening to the waves is a pretty good way to convalesce.
