So, it's 2 am, and I am wide, wide awake. I have been suffering for the last week from some nasty allergies that simulate a cold. I actually went to the natural foods store yesterday and bought a neti pot, which I have renamed the snot pot. Apparently, congested yogis since the ancient times have been using this bad boy to cleanse the sinuses, and baffle Westerners, because who pours water UP their nose on purpose? I had heard from many that this was the way to beat congestion, allergies and general sinus malaise. Having been suffering for almost a week, I decided it was time to take the plunge, literally. I took the adorable petite teapot and shoved the spout up my left nostril, humming "I'm a little teapot" all the while. The lady in the diagram looked ecstatic as water dripped in a steady stream out of her opposing nostril, so I did my best to breathe and smile as the lukewarm saline water filled my sinus cavity and slowly made its way out the other side.
THAT WAS COOL. Like, the weirdest, yet not unpleasant feeling. Like laughing and snorting milk up your nose without the burn. It made me want to climb up inside my nose and watch how this miracle occurred. And then, I blew my nose. Aside from being lightheaded, it wasn't too impressive, but I was pretty sure it was helping. Last night I slept pretty well, and my head was less stuffy til morning, when I tried to repeat the nose douche. I learned that if you are totally stuffed up, it is NOT pleasant. You can actually fill your sinuses with a cup of water without anything coming back out. It was like my head was a fishbowl. I could feel the water behind my eyes and inside my ears, like swimmer's ear in reverse. What the hell did the yogis do when they were too congested for an olfactory enema? This question was left unanswered, for the time being.
About 4 pm I broke down and took Tylenol Daytime Cold medicine. This plus my ever present 800 Motrin began to make me feel human right about sunset. The combination of having spent the greater part of today dizzy and sleeping (with a 7 hour kid interval in the middle) and the drugs reviving me prompted me to paint the bathroom ceiling and trim from 10:30 pm to 12:30 am. Crazy but true. At 12:30 I attacked Ryan, which took another hour, and as usual, he fell immediately into a coma. I settled into the task of finishing the Chelsea Handler book. (Good sex always makes me wired, and I am usually resigned to read to wind down) Allow me to set the scene: I am sitting up in the bed, which has been moved from its previous position against the wall to a rather unique position up against the sliding glass window. This is because the wall the bed used to be against has been torn apart for the fireplace construction occurring on the other side, in the living room. The curtain is drawn so I can prop up my pillows for reading. My awesome Wal-Mart clip on lamp, which was previously attached to the headboard, is clinging onto Ryan's soccer cleat, placed some 10 inches from my head on the nightstand/dresser drawer that contains all of Ryan's underwear and socks.
(I have concluded that all men have a dresser such as this that they have had since childhood, and are greatly attached to. It was usually constructed by a family member, previously teamed with a waterbed, and it is the man's last vestige of his childhood furniture.)
I am not sure how my head ended up by his dresser, which is now piled with his shoes, since we currently have no closet ( the closet space is now the fireplace area, hence the wall issues) However, I made the most of it and since the soccer cleats have been unused for some time, seemed like the safest place to attach my very necessary lamp.
Anyway, I am reading the last chapter of the book, which is quite funny, but something else keeps popping in my head. It is, of course, something Hayden said after soccer practice tonight. Hayden frequently has comfort issues with the velcro straps of his shin guards, and they are a source of great contention. He spends a good deal of energy adjusting them and freaking out if they shift. Tonight, I suggested he wear them outside his socks, eliminating the dreaded skin/velcro contact.
"Hayden, do you want to try wearing your shinguard ON TOP of your socks? I saw one of your team mates wearing his like that.""Who was it?""I don't know.""Was it Shrivka?""I don't know. I was looking at his legs.""Did he have a small head?"I start laughing.
Chelsea Handler is describing the agony of traveling to Costa Rica with her 75 year old father, whom she calls "Bitch Tits," and I am laughing because Hayden identifies his teammate Shrivka by the minute size of his melon. This, somehow, is funnier. I am laughing out loud, which of course does not wake Ryan because of his ability to skip REM sleep and dive immediately into deep sleep. I only know he is alive because of his soft snore, which would take an entire blog to imitate.
This train of thought continues to the other funny things Hayden said tonight, when I was giving Skylar her practice spelling test. These words are included in sentences I create like:
"WRING." " I am going to wring your neck if you don't be quiet while I am giving your sister her practice test."To which Hayden replies, with the exact same enunciation and emphasis as I used, "CHINESE. My mom speaks Chinese when she's happy.""CROUCH." Do not crouch on the couch." (me)"Crotch. I will kick you in the crotch when you are happy."(Hayden)
And that is why i had to get up at 2 am, and write this down, because in the morning, after my 3 and a half hours of sleep, not only will I have forgotten all of this, I will be so goddamned tired it won't seem funny.
I had to get up and pee, anyway.
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