Tuesday, September 1, 2009


Last night my husband decided to make himself some icecream. On top of which he likes to pour warmed strawberry jam (too sweet even for the sweet tooth in me but whatever). I guess he dropped the small bowl he used to warm the jam in and tried to clean it up. He came to bed and confessed what he had done and I said to him that if my feet stick to the floor in the morning that he shouldn't be surprised if his head spontaneously explodes.

Of course, I get up and pad into the kitchen to have my slippers make that tell-tale rasping sound. Yep, my feet are sticking to the floor with ever step I make. GRRRRRRRR! So I sweep and mop the floor chuckling while I do it because I'm sure somewhere my husband's head has just exploded.

A few minutes later my husband calls to get the information on the RX he is taking for sinus issues (which I think is a bum diagnosis-he has chronic headaches). He tells me that he can't breathe and his head is bothering him that he is rushing off to the doctors to find out what's going on. Then a few minutes later he calls me to get the proper spelling of the actual drug name (not brand name) of the nasal spray.

Ok so that was a few hours ago. I'm left here with no update thinking that he is still at the hospital! What's happening? Did I actually make his head explode? Is he getting a CAT Scan!? What the hell? Come on...already, where is the update? Of course his phone is not on!

Was going to take the boys to the park so they could run around but feel compelled to sit here by the phone on until I hear what happened. Not fun, not even close.

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