I'm not wise, you little dip...I'm sick!

Hello all!

So for the last three days I've had the worst summer cold I've ever had.  The thing about my colds is that they always, always land in my throat and I lose my voice.  This has been the case for years, but especially in the last two decades that I've been working telephone customer service.  Nothing better that a phone rep with laryngitis.  Even more cruel is the fact that my speaking voice is, quite frankly, my only natural talent.  It's the reason I've managed to keep phone jobs for so long.  "She's so good on the phone."

I was even told once that I should operate my own phone sex line.  "It doesn't matter what you look like," a former employer of mine told me...(he got fired from his position LONG before I quit that job, so I had a certain sense of victory!)

Anyway, not only can't I talk, but I feel like complete creeping crud.  So yesterday, Monday, I bailed out of all my after work obligations, went home, and took a nap.

I got up at 6 Pm to a kitchen full of teens making mac and cheese, and a huge hot mess.  I was surprised...Skippy almost never has friends over.  Which means his friends don't have a working knowledge of what I look like when I'm not sick.  Chances are, they assumed that what I looked like at that moment was "good." 

I was going to say something, but I couldn't, and besides, I wasn't exactly in any shape to be receiving company.  Hey, how pretty are YOU after a nap when you've been sick?  (Those of you who know me and have seen my bed head, well, you just go ahead and laugh amongst yourself.)

So, while they ate, I wrapped myself up in a blanket  (chills and sweats, chills and sweats) and watched some Tour DE France coverage.  (I do love other people working physically hard for my entertainment.)  After a little bit, Skippy's friend, I'll call him Eddie, came into the living room and asked if he could take Kit-ten into the basement with him because the girls wanted to play with Kit-ten, but obviously NOT around me.  I said sure.

To which Eddie said, "Come on Kit-ten, let's go play with the pretty young ladies."

Now, it didnt' occur to me to be insulted, until Eddie turned around and said, "which isn't to say you're not pretty, or young."

I let out a laugh, or something I wanted to be a laugh, but of course it really sounded more like a walrus bark.  Eddie took two more steps away and came back to add one final dart,"  You, you are wise."

Wise.

That's what that little fart called me.  I'm sick, I can't talk, I'm high on what I believe is a fairly dangerous mix of over the counter drugs, and this Eddie Haskell comes into my house and tells me I'm wise.  No one wants to be wise!  What woman ever said, "Hey, you can be sexy and cute and funny.  I'll be wise."

I barked again, because really, what, I'm going to be insulted by the fact that he's actually trying to dig himself out of a hole I didn't know was even there?  I've always loved watching guys twist after they've said something stupid, especially when what they said wasn't really that stupid.

So I sent Eddie on his way, telling him he'll make a great politician someday.  Not a big compliment in my world, but for a 16 year old, it is I guess, because he thanked me for that.  Teens and adults really do speak a completely different language.

Meanwhile, I'll just ride out this wave of voiceless wisdom.  But rest assured, the day will come when I get my voice back...we'll see just how wise I am then!

Wait...what?


As a post script, I do have to brag just a tiny bit.  Skippy got a 3 on his AP World History exam that he took this past spring.  (Results came in today.)  This means college credit and a big step toward that college scholarship we so desperately need!  Whoo hoo Skippy!

Welcome to Blog #1 Sick Back and Enjoy the Ride

Hello everyone out there!

For the last several years, I've had people tell me that I'm funny. Not sure if they mean I look funny or I am funny, but after hearing the same thing over and over again, I've decided it's time to explore the funny side of Sarah.

A bit about me: I'm many things to many people. What middle aged women isn't? Mom, wife, daughter (oh you'll be hearing plenty on that!) Sunday School teacher, employee at a job I keep mostly because I get to blog all the time and watch Hulu all day long, and a published author. (My first book, Dream in Color, is a romantic comedy, and is available in print or digital forms. More on that later.)

I'm not really doing this blog because I'm any of those things. I'm starting this blog because I've found in the last several years, that middle aged suburban women lead odd and ultimately fascinating lives. I'm hear to share my experiences as a middle aged woman living in the suburbs.

Sounds boring? You'd think that. Well, let me kick this off with this tidbit:

My daughter and my husband (who will now be known as The Girl and The Husband) decided last week that WE HAD TO HAVE A CAT. My son, The Boy, and I are not pet people. As a mom, I know that any critter that comes into the house will become my responsibility. We had a cat years ago, we've had scores of fish (are fish really pets?) and we've had two hedgehogs. You read that right. Hedgehogs. I loved those hedgies. What I don't love about pets is the parting with them. Pets die. It's a fact of life. Pets die and children wail and cry late into the night because pets die. After putting down our beloved Snowflake the hedgehog two years ago, I refused to entertain the idea of another pet.

Until this past week. In a moment of weakness I said we could look for a cat.

A cat.

Two days later, we have an 8 week old KITTEN in our house. I swore I would bond with this cat, nor would I do anything for the cat upkeep.

We got Jasper on Thursday. On Friday morning, the Girl left for a three day weekend with a friend.

Did you know kittens cry like new born infants? I do.

Did you know kittens demand as much attention as new born infants? I do.

No one else in the house does. Girl child, gone, Husband, never has a problem falling asleep in ten seconds or less, Boy child lives in the basement. Who had to tend to Kit-Ten at 2, 3, and 4 in the morning?

Yupper, that would be me.

I swore I would not bond with this beast, nor would I do anything for its upkeep.

And then Jasper got sick. Really, really sick. Coughing, sneezing, wheezing, not eating, not drinking sick.

Anyone in the house worried about Jasper? Sure, everyone. But who's the one who drives Jasper to the vet? Who's the one who held Jasper down when they took his temperature?

Who's the one who cleaned up cat vomit when he barfed up his medicine yesterday?

And, (and this is the worst of it all) who's the one Jasper clung to when the vet tried to give him his first dose of meds? I have tiny kitty scratches all over my chest and shoulders, thank you!

So, $122 later, I come home with two sets of drops for the cat and a huge mandate: I WILL NOT ADMINISTER THE MEDICATION TO THIS CAT.

However, after watching The Husband and the Girl make a complete mess of the first dose last night (three drops of brown gooey liquid turns into a sticky BP sized slick in the middle of my kitchen and about a cup of kitty vomit behind the couch), I realize, given the fact that I have given eye drops and medicine to every sort of creature, I'll eventually wind up nursing this 2 pound furry pain in my rear back to mewing, howling health.

And those of you reading this...you all see yourself in this, I know you do!

So, my friends, I look forward to sharing the sadly humorous tidbits of my life with you. If you get a chuckle out of it, my job here is done!