It feels like these last few weeks have been a complete and total disaster. Like reverse karma for having such a fantastic vacation or something. Cutezilla and I had a great week following NOLA, and then she and her daddy headed off to the great midwest for a visit to the Land Beyond The Land of Snow and Ice. (We lived in South Bend, Indiana, and I addressed my mail from "The Land of Snow and Ice." My mother-in-law wanted to know what I considered Iowa which is even colder and snowier, hence the name, "The Land Beyond The Land of Snow and Ice.")
Anyway, so off they headed, and I cannot tell you how excited I was. I was beyond excited. Not only was it time by myself, but it was extended time by myself, and there would (theoretically) be plenty of time for me to work on the mundane crap I'd been steadfastly ignoring -- namely the fact that I hadn't seen my counters in weeks or more, and that I was starting to lose floor space, too. The bathrooms were (and still are) a wreck, and so is my bedroom. There is crap everywhere covering the floor and any horizontal hip-height space available, and I have to shuffle my feet to get to my bed at night so I don't kill myself on whatever might be hiding in the darkness. (How my husband hasn't killed me over this yet, I'll never know.) But that weekend was going to solve all my woes, and give me plenty of time to get all of that finished and work on fun stuff: like planting my window boxes for the deck, getting Cutezilla's shelf made, some sewing projects, and half a dozen other things that I'd been itching to get to but haven't had the time or space to do so.
Wednesday night, the hubby is packing up, and I realize somewhere that I can't find my phone. ANYWHERE. I normally have some inkling as to where it could be. Usually I can say, "Oh, it's in the house... somewhere." Or "Probably somewhere in the backseat of my car." I may not know exactly where it is, but I can be pretty sure where it's not... like say in a restaurant or still sitting on the counter at the bank or something. This time? Not so much. And that sets off all my crazy genes. So I ripped the house apart. When I couldn't find it, I enlisted the husband -- who is normally got some serious mojo going on when it comes to finding my unfindable things. Generally speaking, he's amazing at it.
So, instead of spending my last night and morning with my husband and daughter, hanging out and relaxing and enjoying my time with them, I spent it instead, worked up, neurotic and anxiously pulling apart every box, corner and crevice in my house. We never did find my phone that night or the next morning, so I ended up spending the whole weekend sans phone or any means of communication except via email or internet. Great. Just great.
So Thursday, I started the morning off by pulling everything off of the counters, off of shelves, and going through everything. I cleaned every corner of my counters twice over (Soft Scrub ROCKS, by the way), and then pulled out all of my pots and pans and scrubbed all of the cooked-on black gunk that's been on them for the last several years. (Which was not my best move: cleaning the countertops first.) And then I cleaned the counters again. I finished around 2am, I guess, then went to bed and got a late start on Friday. By Friday evening I wasn't feeling all that great, and by the time I woke up on Saturday, I knew I was sick again. AGAIN. Plague Number EIGHT. I was sick enough that I decided to try to see if my doctor's office was open -- it was not -- and then I headed back home to sleep off my misery and watch serial Lost episodes. (I'm only on Season 2, so don't spoil it for me!)
My throat was so sore I couldn't eat or drink anything for almost the whole day, and when I woke up on Sunday and felt worse, I scraped myself off the couch and went over to the Urgent Care facility -- much nicer than the Emergency Room, by the way. They tested me for strep, and got a negative, then gave me some antibiotics and sent me on my merry way. By Sunday evening, I was feeling good enough to finally eat something, but still ended up sleeping until Monday when the hubby and Cutezilla were supposed to get home.
Since we didn't know exactly what I had when I talked to the hubby via webcam, we decided to call an audible, and get my parents to pick Ava up in Columbia, and ship her down to Charleston for a few more days until I recovered. When my folks came up on Wednesday, I still wasn't 100%. But Thursday and Friday went a lot better, but the hubby was feeling pretty lousy by Saturday, and Cutezilla picked up a nasty little rash somewhere. I took her to the doctor for a regular checkup on Friday, but he said the rash was fine... except that it hasn't gone away and it looks worse than before, and it's crawling up her shoulder around her neck and into her hairline. And she screams and cries for her bathtime, which is normally something she really enjoys. For the whole weekend, she's been not feeling great -- which I just chalked up to shots, mainly, but I think the rash is a real problem, so back to the doctor we go. Yay.
The weekend was so-so, even for being Mother's Day. We had a good time going to the new park we found, Herdklotz, had a nice dinner with MamaE, her hubby and the irresistible Sam The Man. I think the hubby had had too much "quality time" with Cutezilla, who can be really difficult and needy when she doesn't feel well. (And I can't blame her.)
I had to cancel my dance lesson with Ihor, and then Sunday night, I managed to get pink food coloring all over my shorts, underwear and couch, and I have lost a beer somewhere in the house. Yep, that's right -- it's still gone, and I haven't been able to find it. I last saw it in the bathroom upstairs, and I know I took it downstairs, right before I went outside to do some weeding, and that's the last I saw of it. My shorts are still pink, too. And despite laying on a couch for three days, doing nothing but drinking clear liquids, I managed for the first time ever to lose not a single pound. I'm really depressed over my weight, not having lost anything and having gained enough to put me back at the same weight as two months after I had Ava, I've lost all motivation whatsoever, because nothing is working -- despite having the time to devote to it, getting in plenty of exercise, and being careful with my food choices and having a decent plan. I even talked to the doctor on Monday about the whole thing, and he seemed really confused and baffled by it all. Always reassuring. And yes, they've checked my thyroid. On the upside, he finally decided the sinus infections were a little on the outrageous side, and is sending me back to an allergist. Hurray for allergists!
Finally, last night, since I had nothing planned for dinner and since I've decided if I'm not going to lose any weight, I'm going to finally have some GD pasta for a change, we tried a new restaurant for us -- Capri's Italian -- and it was pretty good, really reasonable, and they had a special BOGO Spaghetti, which was delicious.
So, hopefully I'll be able to post something a little less bridge-jumpy, and a little more positive in the next week. Wish me luck.
