Then I went to Arizona for my annual boys trip.
This goes probably exactly like you think it would. I managed to keep things under control out there for the first couple of days--grilled chicken at lunch, some egg whites with chicken and asparagus for a breakfast out, and even a solid workout at the hotel gym. But the reality is that we go on this trip to party like rock stars. And that's what we did. As my good friend Erik surmised, we begin the trips trying to stay healthy and we wrap them up just happy to survive.
Things bottomed out for me on Sunday evening. I had a redeye flight back, which actually seemed like a decent idea at the time I booked it but turned into a nightmare. I was exhausted, so I hit the airport about six hours early, at least thinking that way I'd score a choice exit row window or aisle for sleeping purposes. No such luck. Instead, I grabbed a burger and fries and tried to nap in the terminal. By mid-flight, my previously sore throat now hurt so much that even swallowing water was arduous. I finally got back to Little Rock around 9 AM, grabbed a fast food breakfast on the way home, and made a beeline for my bed. I napped blissfully from about 9:30 to 11, then woke up feeling roughly ten times more tired than before. This was...odd. If it was a prizefight, my corner would have thrown in the towel. I was done. I checked in with B and the kids, who were making their own way home from Memphis at just about that time, meaning I had a few more lovely hours alone to rest. A couple of hours later I dragged my self out of bed, got a sandwich for lunch, and made an appointment to see my doctor the next day.
Diagnosis: sinus infection en route to full blown bronchitis if I hadn't come in. Lovely. The remedy? A steroid shot to dry me out, and a z-pack. While this does aid the short term sinus recovery, it also makes me sluggish, irritable, and starving. Lovely combination, especially coming down from a five day road trip. The wheels are thus off for the moment, because I just need to make it through the weekend before I can ride the healthy train again.
Today is a holiday. It didn't seem so long ago when the very word "holiday" inspired visions of relaxation and simple enjoyment. Now it just means finding ways to fill the day when AJ is home from school. Case in point: today. I'm still highly medicated and in my easily agitated-sluggish-state of mind and being. Not exactly ideal conditions for kid-minding, but that's my job, and I do the best I can. Everything was going smoothly enough this morning--a casual little breakfast for the boy while we watched "Cars" burned some time, and Courtney got a nice nap in. Then, as so often seems to be the case, came the miniature version of Death of Calm by A Thousand Blows. First, our next door neighbor started mowing his lawn. Not a big deal, except for two things: one, it always sets the dogs off. Al. Ways. Without fail. Secondly, and this is actually kind of impressive, Mr. Carl's house is on the market, I think he actually lives in St. Louis at the moment, and he still finds a way to get back here and cut the grass seemingly three times a week (NOTE: this might be a slight exaggeration, but very slight. I don't know how the man does it).
Okay, so the mutts are barking. Lock them in the library, done. The girl is up and needs a bottle. It's warming. Get her up. Get the bottle working. Grand. Then, the boy chimes in: "Daddy, I need to poopy!" Of course you do. He has an uncanny knack for needing to drop a deuce at times when I find both of my hands otherwise involved. But that's okay. We can handle this. He's getting better at the solo routine, so we get that started. I bring her and the bottle in to help him finish up and he's basically done his business. Mr. Carl is now mowing the area right outside the library window. Dog volume increases. Set daughter down in her basket for a moment so I can help the boy wipe, flush, etc. Phone rings. It's my wife's grandmother. Dear woman that she is, she wants to pick up a Thomas train or two for the boy's Easter basket. She knows that he has amassed quite a collection and wants to know how she can get one he doesn't own. She remembers hearing something about a Toys R Us registry. I promise to check and get back to her.
Boy is now dressed and clean. Grab daughter with one arm, surf the web with another--a skill I have pretty much perfected at this point. Check the Toys R Us site for the registry. Long story short: their registry stinks. It's wildly confusing and painfully not helpful. Instead, I grab a pad and pen and do a self-inventory of the trains that I can find, writing them down by name. I call Na'Nan back and tell her to come on over. I give her the list, fill her in on the beauty of a simple little item called a "gift receipt," and we're done with that. While this exchange is going on, AJ decides he wants to play with his cars. Which are, at the moment, locked in the library. With the dogs. Who remained there because either one of them could knock poor, petite little Na'Nan over in a heartbeat. Dogs run wild, but luckily all humans avoid incident. Round one of Mr. Carl's Mow-O-Rama has completed, so I stuff the mutts out back. Daughter's bottle is done. Na'Nan is out the door, happily armed with a workable list. Things are once again quiet. For a moment. Until...
"Daddy...I need another Easter treat."
And so it goes...
Okay, so the mutts are barking. Lock them in the library, done. The girl is up and needs a bottle. It's warming. Get her up. Get the bottle working. Grand. Then, the boy chimes in: "Daddy, I need to poopy!" Of course you do. He has an uncanny knack for needing to drop a deuce at times when I find both of my hands otherwise involved. But that's okay. We can handle this. He's getting better at the solo routine, so we get that started. I bring her and the bottle in to help him finish up and he's basically done his business. Mr. Carl is now mowing the area right outside the library window. Dog volume increases. Set daughter down in her basket for a moment so I can help the boy wipe, flush, etc. Phone rings. It's my wife's grandmother. Dear woman that she is, she wants to pick up a Thomas train or two for the boy's Easter basket. She knows that he has amassed quite a collection and wants to know how she can get one he doesn't own. She remembers hearing something about a Toys R Us registry. I promise to check and get back to her.
Boy is now dressed and clean. Grab daughter with one arm, surf the web with another--a skill I have pretty much perfected at this point. Check the Toys R Us site for the registry. Long story short: their registry stinks. It's wildly confusing and painfully not helpful. Instead, I grab a pad and pen and do a self-inventory of the trains that I can find, writing them down by name. I call Na'Nan back and tell her to come on over. I give her the list, fill her in on the beauty of a simple little item called a "gift receipt," and we're done with that. While this exchange is going on, AJ decides he wants to play with his cars. Which are, at the moment, locked in the library. With the dogs. Who remained there because either one of them could knock poor, petite little Na'Nan over in a heartbeat. Dogs run wild, but luckily all humans avoid incident. Round one of Mr. Carl's Mow-O-Rama has completed, so I stuff the mutts out back. Daughter's bottle is done. Na'Nan is out the door, happily armed with a workable list. Things are once again quiet. For a moment. Until...
"Daddy...I need another Easter treat."
And so it goes...
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