Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Sometimes Things Just Don't Go According To Plan....

I've had my share of crazy predicaments in my short life, but this one is straight out of Green Acres!

As you all may know, my wife, son and I have been caught in the throes of Christmas influenza. My wife, thank God, seems to be copeing rather well and seems to be able to function just fine. My son and I, on the other hand, are on the mend and are quite well most of the time but about twice a day undergo sudden waves of nausea and all of the other fun things that the dreaded bug brings.

Now Christmas is nigh and we have concerns about actually being able to join our families for the occasion. We have a lot of elderly loved ones whom we would just as soon not give the flu for a present. Though I don't wish to miss Christmas, it won't be so bad for me; I've missed being with family for Christmas before. But I feel bad for my boy and my mother and father....and the relatives whom we rarely see outside of holidays. They are looking forward to seeing us as much as we are looking forward to seeing them and if we can't be there I know they would be as disappointed as we. I pray we can go.

While I have been ill, my wife's truck decided to take it's holiday early. Apparently a new starter and, perhaps a new alternator, is needed. Not a large task in and of itself, except for the starter which I have never played with before. No problem! My father is a master of the best. So he and my step-mother come over the other night to visit. I bundle up as warm as I can and my father and I go outside in the blowing wind and ankle deep snow to take a look at the truck. Soon it's late and Dad says that he will return earlier tomorrow with the necessary stuff.

Tomorrow arrives and he calls and says that he and my step-mother are both sick as dogs! They both must have caught it at my place the night before.

Now everybody is sick....and the truck don't run!

Then I try and make myself and my son some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. I turned the soup up real high so that it would heat quicker and then I intended to reduce to simmer while the two sandwiches finished up. Now is the time that the dreaded bug rears it's ugly head and I am stricken with a momentary to the bathroom. Meanwhile sandwiches are incinerated and tomato soup is scorched and beginning to solidify in the bottom of the pan. I never claimed to be Emeril.

When I return from the wash room (with freshly scrubbed hands, of course), I have to throw out dinner and start the process all over again....wishing all the while that I could just lay down and rest my back. My back is especially murder during such occasions.

Finally dinner is done, prayers are said and we dig in......two bites later Ronnie says his belly is full! A full bowl of soup and a sandwich with two bites missing sit on the table before him. All I can do is slap my forehead and run my hand down my face like Edgar Kennedy used to do. I normally would see to it that he ate even if I had to use a ramrod, but I was exhausted and the last thing I wanted to do was follow him around with a pail all night. So another half a can of soup went down the drain.

I hope kitty likes grilled cheese.