Well, I am currently on lunch break here at work and I thought I'd post a few videos of one of my favorite HBO Comedy shows 'The Flight of the Conchords."
Many of you sweet friends have emailed and asked about my rash, or asked me in person... more than once...
Look, I know. I know you're SICK TO DEATH of the whole thing. I am, too! More than you! I promise. I appreciate your caring and your empathy, I really do. But for future reference, you don't have to ask anymore. It's really not worth losing friends over, so if you're bored with it, just talk to me about the weather. You can just check rash updates here. Or not. Makes no difference to me, except that I am so over this rash dominating my conversation... my face... my LIFE!
So here you have it, the latest update:
This is our dishwasher caddy. How many droppers do you see? Go ahead. Count....
There are 15. When you give three kids doses from three bottles of antibiotics twice a day, it adds up. But we just gave them their last doses, so hallelujah, Strep Throat is now behind us!
But the rash, with me, remains.
I have had 4 pills for 5 days, 3 pills for 5 days, and just dropped to two, only not with much visible improvement.
A couple weeks ago we learned that Shaun would be at a business conference over his upcoming birthday weekend while I'm in Gainesville shooting my cousin's wedding. I felt so bad about it I decided to plan a special night for him in advance, to celebrate his turning the ripe old age of 28.
I made reservations at Manuel's on the 28th, (fitting, is it not,) and reserved tickets at the SAK theatre and told my rash it had two weeks to disappear. Period. No arguments.
It obeyed me about as well as my children:
Okay, so you can't really see it here, but it's a funny picture. Can you tell that I was physically making Shaun smile while he was madly changing out of work clothes and into formal clothes?
How about this one:
(And I've blown it up nice and big here so you're sure not to miss my elbow there in the bottom right corner... and my neck... and the dried up creases around my face that have me looking 50 years old.)
Yes. It's still very much with me. Don't make me take a picture of my legs! And I'm hoping that when it does finally go it will leave me with brand new skin underneath. Kind of like having a professional face peel. That might make it worth it.
Also especially wonderful for this night, I had the lovely accent of a black eye, courtesy of Jack, who, while having his diaper changed first thing the other morning was holding his janitor kit broom and thought it hilarious to slam the frame of it down on my face while I was half-asleep. Yes, that woke me up alright, if you were wondering:
Now, I tried to do some heavy eye make-up on the other eye to make them kind of even, so I think that really worked it, but you can see the extensive damage this kid is capable of. (I circled it and starred it in case you were to miss it, and then I decided the star looked like a horn and couldn't help but add another one. I'm all crazy and wild like that on this Prednisone. LOOK OUT!)
Soooo, what can I say? I mean, I'm not sick. Not really. I'm not throwing up. For that, I've tried to be a good sport, but it's getting old. I've so over it. I'm tired of Shaun humming Sleigh Ride whenever I scratch my forehead. I'm tired of having to dust the snowy skin off my keyboard and my desk chair and my glasses frames... as it dries, and peels, and STAYS right where it is.
Despite the skin, we had a good night. (I'll admit, I chose the long sleeves and black tights to prevent people from gagging up their gourmet meals.) Who can enjoy food when staring at skin disorders? And I'm still not sure what, exactly, the waiter was using his little metal crumb scraper to scrape off the table- the fresh bread crumbs or my skin. But either way, the city lights were all people seemed to notice out the all-glass slanted walls of the 28th floor. It was a peaceful night. So peaceful we decided to forgo the theatre so we could sit longer with our butterscotch coffee and hot lava cake and do nothing.
We went home relaxed, every muscle limp. In a good way. And only until we awoke the next morning to a toddler's room smeared floor to ceiling with poop the next morning. Well, I should say until SHAUN awoke. (My Benadryl was still in full force and I've cleaned up poop 4 times this week, so I let his birthday bash come to a dead screeching, halting end.) Back to the real world. How quickly it comes at you.
Every Friday Evan is to pick a toy or object that begins with the letter of the week his class is studying. They take the toy to school, put it in a plastic tub, and then share it at share time.
Labels: funnyman
