1 day ago
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Pajamas and Naps Kind of Day
The humidifier may have helped, but it certainly wasn't the magic bullet we were looking for last night. Thus, today was a naps and pajamas kind of day. K enjoyed football and I enjoyed reading. I'm still wheezing like a boss. I know I napped well, meaning it was a medicinal nap, because I remember having a dream.
In my dream, people kept telling me my car had dents and broken headlights and that the police wanted to speak with me. I was living in some sort of boarding house, so I was gathering my purse and phone and jacket to go outside when suddenly the smoke detectors and fire alarms started beeping. I knew I should go outside, but for some reason I went to the basement to find the source of the fire and it was the washing machine. Someone had put a load in and stuffed it WAY too full and the spin cycle just couldn't spin, so the motor was burning up and the thing was on fire. Knowing I would likely get chewed out by fire fighters, I went ahead and turned the machine off before vacating the area.
When I woke up this morning I opened the fridge to see what I could possibly have for breakfast and I found this little soda can sitting in there. You see, I am a slob when I am exhausted. First, a disclaimer. I never drink soda. I don't really like it. But after days and days and days of sickness and water and more water, my husband offered me this cute little can on New Year's Eve, so I went for it. I put a straw in it, to be festive of course, and sipped away throughout the evening. I needed to take another Mucinex before bed, so rather than dirty another dish, I just put tap water into my soda can and swallowed the medication, promptly leaving the partially full can sitting on the counter before ushering myself to bed.
Well, K thought it still had soda in it so sometime before he joined me he thoughtfully put it in the fridge for me. I smiled when I opened that door this morning because I knew it was all because of his kindness.
I asked him about it and his first words were, "Wow, you couldn't even finish that little can of soda last night?" I explained everything and thanked him for looking out for my best interests. And that's how we dance in our tiny apartment, limping along, trying to do something nice for the other when we're up to it. Love him.
So then he gets all ambitious and makes potato soup from scratch tonight. No recipe, just memory. Just the way his mom does it. It was, in a word, perfect. It was just perfect. He put little smokies with it. I wish you could all have a taste. Happy New year to us. And to you.