A is for Allumpidekoggledowickey
That's how I feel right now. I made up the word (in case you were one click away from dictionary.com.)
In our family of six, one or more have been sick since Valentine's Day.
I was doing well for a while. The first flu bug, like the first snow, affects me about the same: I love it. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't love being sick or seeing others "under the weather. I simply mean that I love serving the person with the flu bug. I love to be the maker of hot soup, the refiller of cold Gatorade or hot tea with lemon; I like to cover up the shivering child's shoulders down past their toes, or kiss the platinum-headed husband's hot cheek. I like to watch that hubby's dimples sink deep as he forces back that telltale grin when I tell him he's always hot to me. I enjoy picking out cherry or citrus cough drops according to the victim's preferences. And--don't hit me--but I actually like washing limp sheets so that they are as fresh as the morning air. It's something my mom has always seemed to enjoy--freshing up a patient's bed. That joy of sheet-washing rubbed off on me.
But unlike our 13- inch snow last month, this flu has not melted away from my house. The novelty of making hot soup has worn off. The Gatorade has taken on a medicinal look in our fridge. I'm not getting any warm fuzzies from refolding bedraggled blankets on the sofa, or blowing a sore little nose.
I'm sick this time. It caught me by surprise. (And, for the record, I love surprises if I am prepared for them.) Don't know why God has graced me with the immune system of a battleship, but He has. Until now. Now I am the NyQuil lady that you see on TV--that one who's blotchy-faced, shaggy-haired, and shuffling-in-slippers, crawling into bed.... The major difference here is that the commercial has not ended in thirty seconds.
Flu is winter's infomercial--once you understand what it does and how many installments of easy payments you can make by calling the number at the bottom of your screen, the announcer repeats everything. Just in case you didn't get it the last seventeen times.
My little flu bug party has become the Guest Who Doesn't See That the Hostess Has Fallen Asleep in the Soup.
I am not even healthy enough to toss scripture in here. That's sad. Please, dear blogging friends, pray for me or rebuke me for complaining, or both. Just don't cough in my face.
In our family of six, one or more have been sick since Valentine's Day.
I was doing well for a while. The first flu bug, like the first snow, affects me about the same: I love it. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't love being sick or seeing others "under the weather. I simply mean that I love serving the person with the flu bug. I love to be the maker of hot soup, the refiller of cold Gatorade or hot tea with lemon; I like to cover up the shivering child's shoulders down past their toes, or kiss the platinum-headed husband's hot cheek. I like to watch that hubby's dimples sink deep as he forces back that telltale grin when I tell him he's always hot to me. I enjoy picking out cherry or citrus cough drops according to the victim's preferences. And--don't hit me--but I actually like washing limp sheets so that they are as fresh as the morning air. It's something my mom has always seemed to enjoy--freshing up a patient's bed. That joy of sheet-washing rubbed off on me.
But unlike our 13- inch snow last month, this flu has not melted away from my house. The novelty of making hot soup has worn off. The Gatorade has taken on a medicinal look in our fridge. I'm not getting any warm fuzzies from refolding bedraggled blankets on the sofa, or blowing a sore little nose.
I'm sick this time. It caught me by surprise. (And, for the record, I love surprises if I am prepared for them.) Don't know why God has graced me with the immune system of a battleship, but He has. Until now. Now I am the NyQuil lady that you see on TV--that one who's blotchy-faced, shaggy-haired, and shuffling-in-slippers, crawling into bed.... The major difference here is that the commercial has not ended in thirty seconds.
Flu is winter's infomercial--once you understand what it does and how many installments of easy payments you can make by calling the number at the bottom of your screen, the announcer repeats everything. Just in case you didn't get it the last seventeen times.
My little flu bug party has become the Guest Who Doesn't See That the Hostess Has Fallen Asleep in the Soup.
I am not even healthy enough to toss scripture in here. That's sad. Please, dear blogging friends, pray for me or rebuke me for complaining, or both. Just don't cough in my face.
posted by Zoanna at
5:21 PM
2 Comments:
Oh, Ms. Zo!! I will definately be praying for ya!!!
I'll be praying you all get better. This back and forth weather isn't helping things! I'll try not to cough in your face (although it's hard lately, as I've been involuntarily coughing up a storm, I've been sick since last Wednesday).
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