In sickness and in health

Today is our fifth anniversary. I intended to have some sort of lovey-dovey post, complete with wedding photos and a description of Mike's sweet gift.

However, our week has not gone as planned.

On Tuesday Mike and I started getting sick, and on Wednesday I stayed home from work. It was a run-of-the-mill cold, complete with clogged sinuses, a stuffy/runny nose, and body aches. I felt better on Thursday and went to work, but then yesterday I realized something funky was going on with my eye.

So, I took the afternoon off, went to the doctor, and confirmed that I have pink eye. Wonderful.

In the meantime, Mike and Kaitlyn both had varying levels of sinus congestion, but nothing that we were overly concerned about.

Until last night, around 9:45, when Kaitlyn woke up with a horrific cough. It was a barking, rasping cough that immediately sent me to the "What to Expect in the Toddler Years" book to look up the symptoms. According to the book, it was croup, and the recommendation was to call the doctor if this was our first encounter with it.

Since the only thing I associate with croup is the scene from "Anne of Green Gables" where Anne saves Diana's little sister from dying from croup by giving her ipecac, which immediately puts Anne back in Diana's mother's good graces and redeems her from the time she got Diana drunk on raspberry cordial, I thought that, yes, we did qualify for the "first encounter" recommendation of calling the doctor.

Ironically, the doctor on call was the same doctor who had seen me earlier in the day for my pink eye.

He gave me some general instructions and said the croup might last for one or two or three nights, but it wasn't anything to be super concerned about. "Oh, but, if she starts running a fever then you'll want to take her somewhere and have her looked at right away." Um, ok.

In an effort to cut the story short, I'll just say that from 10pm until 2am Mike and I caught a catnap or two in between trying to keep Kaitlyn comfortable and asleep. At 2am she woke up - she was WIDE awake - and we took her temp. 100.7*. Heeding the doctor's advice, we loaded up and went to the emergency room.

Because nothing says, "Happy Anniversary!" like a 2am trip to the ER. (A phrase soon to appear on a Hallmark card, I'm sure.)

My poor baby had to have her temp taken rectally, and she had a shot, and she had an eight-minute-long breathing treatment that was not favorably received and ended with us wrapping her in an impromptu straight-jacket made from a blanket.

In the midst of all this activity, the police walked by our room with someone in handcuffs and put him in the room next to us. So our lovely experience was mixed with sounds of shouting as the police and hospital staff tried to get basic medical history from a drunk guy. Celebrating your anniversary is all about the ambiance, right?

We arrived home at 3:45am, thinking Kaitlyn was so worn out that she would go right to sleep.

However, it hasn't really worked out that way. As I type, it is 10:45am and she has yet to go to sleep. She's as wide awake and as opinionated as ever. About 15 minutes ago she was running around without any pants, syrup stains on her shirt, a hair tie trying to hang on to the last remnant of a pony tail, she had one black, sparkly shoe on the wrong foot, and was on a serious mission to find the other sparkly shoe.

Then she wandered off down the hallway and turned on the lights in all the bedrooms.

Then she reenacted a scene from today's episode of "Handy Manny," in which she dropped things off the side of the couch, then hung over the edge to pick them up.

Now she has her play food out and is feeding her baby lunch. Baby is having a banana, a tangerine, spaghetti, tuna, ketchup, soup, green beans, and a croissant.

Needless to say, our plans for going out to dinner tonight to celebrate our anniversary have been postponed. I wish that our day had not included pink eye and a trip to the ER; I wish it HAD included sleep.

However, as Mike and I dealt with a sick little girl last night, I couldn't help but think that this is what marriage is all about. A strong marriage isn't built in the fluff moments when everything is going perfectly - it's built in the trenches, in middle-of-the-night crisis moments where your capacity for patience and kindness is put to the test. It's built in the moments when you snap at your husband out of fear and frustration, and he loves you anyway.

Five years ago I was incredibly excited to spend a week at Disney World with my new husband.

Today I'll be incredibly excited if I get to spend quality time with my bed.

And I wouldn't change a thing.

Happy anniversary, honey!

And then God smacked me on the forehead (like on those V8 commercials)

Ok, so as you can probably imagine, God didn't really smack me on the forehead. But it sounded like a good way to describe it.

Are you confused? Sorry about that... Let me start over from the beginning.

On Tuesday night, Mike was leading some training at the church for the Love-in-Action children's outreach that he oversees. It was night 2 of 3 that he would be gone in the evening, due both to Love-in-Action and to the softball team he's helping to coach.

I was at home having a small pity party for myself.

I was annoyed at how his activities had affected me. Not that I was annoyed at him for being involved in these things - I was just annoyed at the busy-ness they had thrust upon our lives. It changes how I have to think about dinner plans, and grocery shopping plans, and my plan for what I will accomplish in the evening.

Me, me, MEEE!

I was sitting on the couch sulking when God did the equivalent of a mental smack-down. If this had been written in letter form, here is what it might have said:

Dear Erin,

For the past several months you have lamented over the fact that you aren't involved in a ministry of any sort, aside from volunteering once a month in the church nursery. I don't fault you for not being involved, because the first ministry I have called you to is taking care of your husband and daughter. I know you desire to give more, because you have told me this many times.

My dear child, do you not see the opportunity I have placed in front of your very eyes? Do you not see your part in making Love-in-Action possible? You are involved in the Love-in-Action outreach - if you weren't taking care of things here at home, Mike wouldn't be free to lead this program. And while we're at it, don't you see that Mike's involvement with the girls on the softball team is also an outreach - an opportunity for Mike to show them my love?

When you sit here and grumble and complain, and then greet Mike with this attitude when he walks through the door, don't you see the consequences of that?

Just something to think about.

Love,
God

Talk about an attitude adjustment! I realized how selfish I was being. I realized that God had given me a ministry (exactly what I've been asking for) and here I was, whining about it. Refusing to see it because my life has somehow become all about ME.

This reminds me of Colossians 3:12, which tells us to "...clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." When I put on my clothes in the morning, it is intentional. The clothes don't just fly out of my closet and attach themselves to my body - I must decide what to wear, and then I must physically put those clothes on.

My attitude is the same way. I must first decide what type of attitude I will wear. And then I must put that attitude on.

Mike was 30 minutes late in getting home on Tuesday night. Instead of thrusting Kaitlyn at him when he first walked through the door and acting huffy and annoyed because his lateness put a crimp in my plans, I put on at attitude of joy and offered to make him dinner. I asked how the training went, and was genuinely excited when he gave me all the details.

It's amazing what a difference your attitude can make.

Here and here are two more posts related to this topic. The first one influenced my "duh!" moment and the second one, which I read today, reinforced it.

And then Mr. & Mrs. Jiggles lived happily ever after

Last night Mike and I had quite a conversation about movies. Here is how it all went down:

We were lounging on the couch watching TV. It was late, and I had been tired all evening, so my brain was functioning in that weird zone where everything is funnier and more distorted than normal. One of us (I don't remember who) mentioned that it had been a while since we've been on a date night, and we need to plan one for the near future.

This always leads to discussing what movies are playing, and which ones we might want to see.

This is when a commercial for the "27 Dresses" DVD came on.

Me: Did we go see that together?
Mike: No.
Me: Really? I know I saw it with someone. It was a great movie.
Mike: Yeah, I'm sure it's great. Just like "Music and Lyrics" was a great movie. [insert sarcasm]
Me: Come on! It wasn't that bad.
Mike: I would have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for cologne man.

When we go to the movies we seem to be magnets for people with boundary issues. At "Music and Lyrics" our original seating arrangement was this:

Aisle, Seat 1, Seat 2, Mike, Erin, the rest of the empty row.

Right before the movie started an older woman came and sat in Seat 1. About 2/3 of the way through the movie, cologne man entered the theater (which was probably less than 1/2 full), approached our row, climbed over the lady in Seat 1, and sat down in Seat 2. The first problem was he was wearing way too much cologne. (Hence, his nickname.) The second problem was he was clearly violating a major rule of the Man Code - the one about leaving a seat between yourself and any other man in the theater. Especially a stranger.

I thought maybe he knew the lady in Seat 1, and was late in meeting her at the movie. But about five minutes before the movie ended, cologne man got up and left. He never said a word to the lady in Seat 1, so obviously they had no connection.

I have so many questions about this - why would you enter a movie that was 2/3 over, and then choose a seat where you would be sandwiched between two strangers? And then leave before the end of the movie? Weird.

So Mike and I reminisced about cologne man, and Mike continued to express what a horrible movie experience it was.

Mike: You owe me for that one.
Me: What do you mean, "I owe you"?
Mike: I mean, I should get to pick a movie that I want to see but you don't.
Me: There is one major problem with this plan: I actually like all of the movies you like.

Mike thought about this for a moment, and realized (of course) that I was right. I like action movies, murder mysteries, superhero movies, science fiction movies, comedies, etc. (I will even happily watch MythBusters, Dirty Jobs, and The Deadliest Catch with him. And I like football.) This put quite a damper on his evil plan.

Mike: Ok, what about horror movies?
Me: Do you really want to watch horror movies?
Mike: Maybe.
Me: You know they give me nightmares. Do you want me to have nightmares? Is that what you want for your wife?
Mike: But I'm right there in the bed with you, to comfort you if you have one.

(pause, while I give him a wifely look)

Mike: Ok, fine. No horror movies.
Me: You have to admit, I don't make you watch chick flicks all that often. I could make you watch the five-hour version of "Pride and Prejudice."
Mike: Hey - I already watched that with you!
Me: Nuh-uh.
Mike: Yes! Yes I did! I sat through that whole thing!
Me: When??
Mike: Before we were married. We watched it at your parent's house.
Me: I don't remember that. I don't know if I believe you. Tell me what it's about.
Mike: Well, I know it has that one guy in it. What was his name? Mr. something. Mr. ... Mr. ... Mr. Jiggles. Or something like that.

This is when I lost it. I absolutely positively lost it. I almost choked because of the amount of laughter trying to escape my body all at one time.

Me: [laughing hysterically, gasping for air]
Mike: Isn't that his name? It was something weird like that.
Me: [through my gasping, coughing, laughing fit] Mister. [gasp] Jiggles. [cough] Haaaaaaahahahaha!

I was trying to imagine a Jane Austin character named Mr. Jiggles. The only thing that came to mind was some sort of SNL skit starring Will Ferrell as Mr. Jiggles.

Mike: [looking perplexed] Well, what was his name?
Me: It [cough] was [gasp], Mr. [more gasping] ... Mr. Jiggles! Ha! Where did you get Mr. Jiggles???
Mike: [getting annoyed] WHAT was his name? You know, the one the girls wanted to marry.
Me: Are you thinking of Mr. Bingley?
Mike: Mr. WHO? Bingley? You're telling me that is better than Mr. Jiggles?
Me: [still laughing/gasping/coughing] Or were you thinking of Mr. Darcy?
Mike: Mr. Darcy! Yes!
Me: How did you go from Darcy to Jiggles? [more laughing, more coughing] I don't understand.
[annoyed look from Mike]
Mike: Wasn't he the one that wanted to marry the girl, but she couldn't marry him because of the other girl, and there was that other guy that all the girls wanted to marry, and there were all the sisters...
Me: [still laughing] I think you just described most of Jane Austin's books.
Mike: Well, anyway, I sat through that movie. All five hours of it. You owe me, like, five movies for that.
Me: No, it doesn't really count because we were engaged. You were still trying to impress me.
Mike: It does too count!
Me: Ok, fine, whatever.

[30 second pause]

Me: [bursting into a fit of laughter] Mr. Jiggles!!!!!!!! Haaaaaaaaaaahahahaha!

Why are there toenails in my chex mix???? (A true story.)

Here's a little comic relief for your day.

Once upon a time, I finished off a bag of Chex Mix that had my husband's toenails in it. Really. I'm serious.

I know you think I'm lying because, honestly, how in the world could that ever happen to a person??? It's sort of like those stories you hear of women who suddenly have babies and they swear they never knew they were pregnant. I hear those things and I think, "HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW?" If that's what you are thinking right now, stay tuned. And please put down the Diet Dr. Pepper because I would hate for you to snort it through your nose or spit it on your keyboard. Liquids and keyboards don't mix - I know all about that, too, but I won't get into all of that right now because this is a story about toenails. And Chex Mix.

I love Chex Mix. I've always loved salty snacks, and Chex Mix just plain hits the spot for me. The bagged stuff is ok, but homemade CM is the absolute best! In fact, if I ever make homemade CM I always make extra because I know that I'll eat half of it in the process. And I always secretly hope that there will be a lot leftover after the party or get-together or whatever I'm making it for, so I can pop the lid off and dig in on the way home. The wheat Chex and the Cheerios are the best parts, especially the ones that soak in a lot of the seasoning. Oh my - I want some just thinking about it!!

Anyhoo... Mike and I had been married all of five months when our church had a campout. We packed our newly purchased tent and other camping essentials into our car, along with some camping snacks. Because obviously you have to have snacks while camping. We spent one (or maybe two?) nights at the camp ground, and we really didn't sleep all that well. (The sleeping part isn't essential to the story, but maybe it was a contributing factor to the circumstances that led to this. At least that's what I'd like to think.)

We returned home in the early afternoon and spent the rest of the day lounging around the house. I ended up in our extra bedroom, which housed our computer and a second TV. I'm sure I was on the computer playing Zuma, a highly addictive game that is even more addicting when you are obsessed with beating someone else's score. (Mike and I are slightly competitive. That is whole other series of posts. Someday I will share the infamous Chinese Checkers episode. And the Pente slaughter of '03. And the time I threw the X-box controller at Mike while playing the "Simpson's Road Rage" game.)

Mike wandered into the room with the half bag of CM leftover from camping and sat down to watch some TV. We passed the bag of CM back and forth (yes, I am at least capable of sharing the CM with others) and when there wasn't much left in the bag I handed it back to him and told him he could have the rest. My back was to him, so of course I didn't realize that after he ate most of what was left in the bag, he decided that three of his toenails needed to be cut. (I have no idea why he only cut three, but I'm thankful it wasn't more.) And he decided that putting these toenails in the CM bag was more convenient for him than getting up to put them in the trash. He fully intended to put the bag in the trash on his way out of the room.

In the early evening we had to go to some meeting at church, so Mike announced that he was going to get ready and I told him I was going to finish my Zuma game and then change my clothes. I finished the game, and on my way out of the room I saw the CM bag on the floor.

I picked it up to throw it away, but first I looked inside and saw just a handful of crumbs left. I certainly couldn't let those crumbs go to waste, now could I? Sometimes the crumbs are the best part!

I reached inside, scooped out the contents, put them in my mouth, and threw away the bag. I started chewing. And I thought, "Something is not right."

Just as I had this thought I walked into the bedroom, still chewing. Mike looked at me, realized I was chewing something, noticed the strange look on my face, and said,

"YOU DIDN'T EAT WHAT WAS IN THE BAG, DID YOU?"

At the moment he finished uttering those words, he collapsed on the bed in a fit of laughter. And just as he hit the bed and was laughing hysterically, I reached into my mouth, and to my absolute and utter horror...

...I pulled three toenails out of my mouth.

I don't remember what happened after that. Maybe I passed out. Maybe I ran to the bathroom to quickly douse my mouth with Lysterine. I'm not really sure, because I was so shocked and horrified to have chewed my husband's toenails.

To this day he will argue that there wasn't anything left in the bag, and I will firmly point out that there most certainly were crumbs in the bag. Enough crumbs to engulf three toenails so that anyone who looked in the bag would not be able to see said toenails.

And since I am the one with a blog and I am the one telling the story, that's the final word. Amen.

So, dear children, that is how it all went down. That is how a person can unknowingly chew (but not eat - thankfully, I did not swallow) her husband's toenails. I'm not sure what the moral of the story is but I will tell you that toenails are not good and I would suggest that you keep them out of your mouth.

Now doesn't your day seem a little better?

P.S. The "amen" was inspired by Pioneer Woman. If you want more laughs, take a gander around this blog and this blog.