Christmas 2007

It was a great time. Grandmother got mean and testy. Laurie's hair has started falling out because of the chemo but she was in good spirits. Morgan is wearing her new glasses like a badge of honor. My dad forgot the ham and had to drive back to Katy to pick it up then back to our house. My mom stayed and visited into the night. Jesse looked great! Ty loved his painting we bought him. My dad loved his kitchen gadgets. All in all it was a great time!

You’ve Been Talkin’ In Your Sleep

Carrie has been talking in her sleep a lot lately. Mostly she acts as if she is at work, answering phones, taking orders. I try to engage her in conversation but my knowledge of the products she sells is limited so she usually ends up laughing in her sleep at my inability to ask for anything other than a ladder. Occasionally something is so funny in her sleep she will sit up laughing hysterically but by the time morning rolls around she can’t tell me what was so funny.

This morning while we were snoozing, for the fiftieth time, she rolled over and pet my arm. Then she called it a “ham”. A HAM?! That is what I call my thighs when I am feeling fat. Ham comes from PIGS and PIGS are big and fat. I would have cried if I weren’t trying to squeeze an extra sixty seconds of slumber out of the morning. She must pay for the comment however. I don’t care if she was asleep. Only I can call myself a pig, fat, piggy, ham resembling, hog.

What I Miss

There’s One Every Year

We don’t send out Christmas cards most years but boy do I love receiving them. Every year there is at least one that is a real doozy. Two years ago it was my grandmother’s announcing she had a flasher at her window and in response bought a “pretty” gun. This year’s winner is from my uncle in Colorado. First let me explain that he is the sweetest man you will ever meet. He is mild mannered until you get him talking about politics or any tenet of the Catholic Church. He is very religious signing his letters “God Bless” or “Peace be with you”. He is everything the rest of this family is not so it came as no surprise to me when I looked through the mail yesterday that he had written us a Christmas card on a postcard he had leftover from a trip he and his wife took this summer. The postcard is from Virginia. Not your traditional Christmas scene but with a traditional Christmas message written in green to the left of the address. I have yet to receive my grandmother’s annual newsletter but if there are any juicy details I’ll be sure to share.

Happy National Bouillabaisse Day!

Actually it is my birthday but if you look on Wikipedia, you will also find that it is indeed National Bouillabaisse Day. A celebration of a Mediterranean soup or stew. Who knew? I turned 37 today. Here are some interesting (trivial) bits of information on the number 37:

It is a prime number (I am in the prime of my life).
The normal human body temperature is 37 degrees Celsius.
The number of slots in European Roulette (I love roulette).
Thirty-seven is the number of men that Dante Hicks’ girlfriend Veronica Loughran had fellated in the film Clerks (This little tidbit pops up on a lot of 37 sites. I’ve never seen the movie and now I may be too old if this is what it’s about).
Shakespeare wrote 37 plays.
Nixon was the 37th president (He was also president when I was born and the only president to resign from office)
Abe Lincoln was elected to the House of Representatives at age 37 (I work for a company named Lincoln...hmmm)
Amelia Earhart disappeared in 1937.


Enough about thirty-seven, what about December 14th?

In 1903 the Wright brothers made their first attempt at flight at Kitty Hawk on December 14th (I have a photo of Carrie and I on the very site).
In 1959 the Motown Record Label was founded.
Oh, and it is National Bouillabaisse Day. Have a bowl and celebrate!

My Gift to You

Found this in some old photos last night. Since so few people see this blog I figure I can post it without too much humiliation. Not sure what I was doing but I did come up with a few captions that might work with this photo:

"Why, why must I have mushroom hair?!"

"The Holidays Give Me a Headache"

"My Belly Button is Freezing"

"Please, Please Santa Bring Me an Easy Bake Oven"

If you have any captions let me know.

South of the Border Torture Order

I keep getting e-mails from Classmates.com to inform me that someone new has signed my guestbook. I don’t subscribe so I have no idea who has tried to contact me nor do I really care since I didn’t have all that many friends in high school. I was the class dork. The girl who never had the right clothes, I never had a Laura Ashley dress or parachute pants. I didn’t stand at the lockers chatting between classes instead I would walk and read from one class to another. So, it goes without saying that I have no idea why anyone would want to contact me twenty years later. Perhaps it is all the buzz about our upcoming twentieth reunion.

Next year we will be gathering again to see what/who/how everyone turned out. I went to my ten year. Morbid curiosity I guess. As we pulled up to the hotel where the reunion was taking place Carrie asked me who my friends were in high school, who was I excited to see again? I could not come up with one single name. She pried some more then finally let out a big sigh and asked “Am I going to the reunion with the class dork?” I had to tell her the truth. We went in anyway where, to add insult to injury, more of my classmates knew her from her mother’s modeling classes or church. Half of them probably forgot I went to school with them and thought Carrie did instead.

I received notification of the twenty year reunion a month or so ago. I mulled it over, obsessively, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to put myself through another night of humiliation. Today when I received my most recent “guestbook” tease I went back on Classmates to see if there was a reunion update. Our class (or at least the one person brave enough to take the reins of organization) has decided to have the reunion at a Mexican food restaurant downtown. It could not be worse for me. First, I hate smelling like a fried chip when we eat at Mexican food restaurants. Second, I am forced to eat Mexican food approximately three times a week by my cheese/guac/beef addicted girlfriend. It is as if the Fates decided that since everyone really liked Carrie more at these reunions they would arrange for her to have a grand ole time and leave me to sulk in a corner like a wet tortilla chip.

More Christmas Memories

While we’re on the subject of family and drinking (or family driving us to drink), I have been reminiscing on Christmas nights spent at my grandmother’s house. These days Carrie and I have everyone over to our house to avoid the divorce crawl all over the city to visit each of our divorced parents. We have been having family to our house for the last three years and have become quite expert at getting the food on the table then getting everyone the hell out of the house (although I am usually too drunk to notice what time this actually occurs).

My grandmother used to have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooked the entire meal by herself while the rest of the family found quiet corners to read the books they just received as gifts. Conversation was kept to a minimum at best. After dinner we would all play the latest games we received or our fall back standard, Boggle. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows my family that playing a word game with the whole “PHD/Masters in English” bunch is akin to attending an aerospace engineer’s conference and trying to fit in. Unless you are good. Really good.

We would play at the dining room table as my grandmother did every single dish by herself. She would whistle while she worked except for the frequent interruptions to take a sip or two of wine. By the time the dishes were done grandmother would be loaded and ready to rejoin the group. Problem was she really didn’t know how to play so she would peer over our shoulders and yell out words that weren’t on the dice. When we would yell at her to stop ruining our concentration she would smack her lips and laugh like crazy. It could have been revenge for having to do everything on her own or perhaps just good old fashioned fun watching someone blow their top out of frustration. I don’t know what her reason but it happened every year.

She doesn’t drink as much wine these days. She doesn’t drink any less either but her outbursts have tapered off a bit. As I write this I am reminded of her joining us for Mother’s Day brunch. The waiter filled her wine glass about half way which is pretty standard in a restaurant. My grandmother looked at the glass and said; “I want a full glass of wine. That’s only half a glass”. The waiter chuckled and was about to walk away when I quietly let him know that “She is not kidding. Fill her up”. A decision I deeply regretted when she grabbed me by the waist and told me I was getting fat.

Ghost of Christmas Past

The holidays are fast approaching. We have only just begun our shopping. I think there are four or five gifts waiting to be wrapped. The remainder is yet to be purchased. Carrie and I stayed home from the ranch this weekend and hung Christmas lights. The weather was 80 degrees when we started which did nothing to put us in the spirit of the season. An hour or so into the process it began raining which really put a damper on any spirit we started with. Just as we were finishing up one of the trees we had just wrapped strand after strand of lights around went dark. We tried every plug, contraption, “three tap” but every time we plugged it in the breaker would trip. In a desperate effort to be done with the whole thing we ended up wrapping new lights over the ones that wouldn’t work. Not a perfect solution but at least at night you can’t see the dead stands.

My mother came by to visit while we were decorating. We were telling stories about all of the “drinkers” in our family. Who passed out in a chair, who holed up in a hotel, etc. Just the thing everyone discusses when decorating to celebrate the birth of Christ. Anyway, she was telling Carrie about a relative passing out in a chair. Mouth open, head back eyes to the sky. Mom was saying no one realized she was passed out at first and everyone kept looking at the ceiling to see what she was looking at that was so interesting. Carrie asked if we took pictures and/or put stuff on her which brings me to the subject of this post.

You see, we are kind of a strange family. We don’t really have any mercy for people who fall asleep during family functions. Before my grandfather died, my mother would bring him to her house for the holidays. She and my stepfather would get him set up in the recliner in the living room and hand him a glass or two of white zin (no taste in wine either). Granddaddy would make it approximately two seconds into gift wrapping before falling dead asleep with his mouth wide open. When we would laugh he would smile in his sleep. This led to hours of fake laughing really loud to see if he would smile every time. He did. Must have been the wine. This one Christmas he fell asleep with his hand in a gift bag full of socks (I know, I know, but he didn’t NEED anything).

The laughing game became a little boring so we decided to take family photos. Carrie was a bit appalled being new in the family and not used to our sick sense of humor. At first she refused to take the photos until we all told her to come on and get with the program. Mom, my stepfather and myself all posed around granddaddy’s sleeping form. We gave him bunny ears. We sat on the arm rests and acted goofy. He never woke up. Every once in awhile I think about that Christmas and it makes me smile to have such a sick, but fun, family.

Wrapped up a like a........

I want to know how many people get this particular lyric wrong. In Blinded By The Light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band after "Blinded by the light..." what do you/did you think the next line is/was?

Dog Scramble

It started out innocently enough. The twins (twin heifers that saw Isaac as the perfect target):

Then they decided to aproach him for a meet and greet:

Then we heard the cry "Get Him!!!":

Game was on:

Satisfied they had made their mark, the girls stood smuggly in the lane:

Diving for Dollars

I haven't felt like writing lately. I didn't really have anything to say and the things I thought about saying I really didn't want anyone reading so this blog has been dormant. That is until today. My father called me a couple of days ago and informed me that my sister is trying to raise funds to get herself to the National Fencing Tournament in Miami at the end of June and would I help. I said sure but she would need to ask me and if he wanted me to solicit the help of friends he better have her write a letter. Who can resist handwritten childlike scribble asking for money? He had her sit down to write the letter and this morning when I got to the office the following was waiting for me:

Hi,
My name is MD and I am raising money to go to the United States national fencing tournament in Miami. I am 9 years old but have qualified to fence in the Y10 epee category because of my point scores in regional youth tournament so I will be fencing against twenty-seven other girls aged 9 to 11 from all across the country.
Thank You for your Help! (emphais on help hers not mine)
MD

I guess she threw that whole I am 9 but competing against older girls because I am so fantastic line because she knows people want to back a winner. I'm glad these girls are aged, it may work in her favor.

The whole experience got me thinking to when I was her age and decided I wanted to raise some money of my own. Mind you my efforts were not for some lofty goal like winning a National tournament. I wanted candy from 7-Eleven and knew the only way I was getting it was paying for it myself. I looked around our apartment and tried to think of what in the world I could sell and get me some candy. My mother's clothes? Probably not a good idea. The dog? Again not such a good idea. Then a light bulb lit up above my big mushroom haired head and I had the best idea. I would paint the oyster shells that made up our patio floor. Who wouldn't want a painted oyster shell?! I set about water coloring the shells one by one. At first I tried doing flowers or something fancy but it was taking too long so I moved on to more abstract form. Stripes I told myself was the ticket.

Once the shells were painted it was time to hit the road and peddle my wares. Without the benefit of a fancy display case and wanting to give my customers the benefit of choosing the painted shell that best suited their personal taste, I cleared off my mother's rolling butler cart. The fanciest shells went on the top shelf while lesser, smudgy shells were relegated to the bottom to be used as replacements when the cream of the crop ran dry. I knocked on every first story door in the complex. I can't remember the response I elicited but I do know it felt good to make my own money. Which I promptly blew on pixie sticks and giant Sweet Tarts at the 7-Eleven.

Tagged.

Inspired tagged me and I actually had a moment to breathe this morning so I decided to play along. I never imagined it would be that hard to answer in three words only.

01. Where is your cell phone? In my car.
02. Boyfriend/girlfriend? Nine years.
03. Hair? Way too thick.
04. Your mother? Dances with dog.
05. Your father? Wrote a book.
06. Your favorite item(s)? My wedding ring.
07. Your dream last night? Don’t remember.
08. Your favorite drink? Diet Coke.
09. Your dream guy/girl? Married her.
10. The room you are in? Teeny tiny office.
11. Your fear? Getting in trouble.
12. What do you want to be in 10 years? Successful, thinner, happy.
13. Who did you hang out with last night? Friends.
14. What are you not? Wanting to work.
15. Are you in love? Very much so.
16. One of your wish list items? Country cottage.
17. What time is it? Three After Nine.
18. The last thing you did? Called my boss.
19. What are you wearing? Work clothes. Ugh.
20. Your favorite book? Too many. Wildfire?
21. The last thing you ate? Gouda orzo.
22. Your life? Work to play.
23. Your mood? Ever changing.
24. Your friends? Funny, caring, supportive.
25. What are you thinking about right now? Going home.
26. Your car? Cups, Cans, Paper.
27. What are you doing at this moment? On hold.
28. Your summer? Cows, farmer tan.
29. Your relationship status? Told you. Married.
30. What is on your TV screen? Ask the dog.
31. When is the last time you laughed? Last night.
32. Last time you cried? Saturday morning.
33. School? Miss Spring Break.

Baltimore Bound

I don’t know if I ever told you this but there was one arrangement at my grandfather’s funeral that touched me most. The chapel in Colorado Springs was small and impersonal. Only a few friends and family attended. A snow storm blew through the night before; the entire world wore a bright white blanket. There, next to the open coffin, was an upside down horseshoe covered in Black Eyed Susan’s.

Later as Carrie and I waited to leave for the airport my grandfather’s friend told me why he chose that particular arrangement. Years and years ago he went to the Preakness Stakes with my grandfather and grandmother. They had a table in the stands where they sat drinking, anticipating the race. My grandfather, a liquor distributor at the time, saw some friends of his and went over to talk to them. He came back to the table, turned to his friend and said “Those are some friends of mine and you are going to watch the race with them. At the finish line”. This friend never forgot that day. That moment in a lifetime of moments stuck out. When my grandfather died, the Black Eyed Susan arrangement was a natural tribute to the man he knew.

Before my grandfather’s coffin was closed, a Kentucky quarter and a fifth of bourbon was placed in his pocket. Call it lagniappe to get him through to his final resting place. A fitting gift indeed for the man who watched as Secretariat crossed the finish line to win the Triple Crown. A man who was always up for the races no matter what time of day or night.

May 18th I will be flying to Baltimore with my stepmother who is taking me to the Preakness Stakes. Live and in person. I will see the track, listen to the beat of hooves, and bask in the history that is my grandfather’s. This will be a shining moment. The only thing that will dull it is not having my one and only by my side but she has been understanding that this is the chance of a lifetime. An opportunity to be with my grandfather again.

Summing Up My Last Few Months

Cold Sweats Turkey Hell

So Carrie gets nose surgery and can’t smoke. Great time for us to quit right? I’m not sure if the past four days could be described as a great time. Little did I know when I smoked my last cigarette Friday morning at 8:30 a.m. that I was standing at the Gates of Hell. This being my own Divine Comedy (or Tragedy depending what non-smoking personality you are talking to) I have outlined below the results of quitting smoking cold turkey:

Circle One~ Driving alone seems to bring about the worst cravings. When I smoked I would light a cigarette the instant after turning the key in the ignition whether I was driving a block or a hundred miles. Friday, I sat at stop signs and traffic lights wanting to jump out of my window and grab the cigarette casually hanging between the driver’s fingers next to me.

Circle Two~ Cold sweats all night long Friday and well into Saturday. I could not stay awake and slept for almost 18 hours. It was not a restful sleep but a lot like the foggy headed, dizzy sleep you have after a few too many doses of NyQuil. Standing outside myself and surveying my condition I looked a lot like a lifetime special on a junkie.

Circle Three~ Food Glorious Food!!!! My mouth which was used to the motions of sucking on a cig every hour or so has nothing to do. It misses its little friend and has gone in search of any food substitute that might sate the cravings. To avoid having to kick the next habit and keep myself from being the next reality t.v. star, I try to snack on baby carrots and fat free sorbet but Sunday proves too much and eat apple pie ala mode. Biggest Loser IX here I come!

Circle Four~ Nervous energy. This is your body’s idea of punishment / blackmail. You won’t need to rearrange the closet (AGAIN) if you just go downstairs and smoke. The linen closet never bothered you before, so just go downstairs and smoke and quit rearranging the hand towels.

Circle Five~ Life is like a box of……. cigarettes? Everywhere I turn there is a box. Empty. Full. Half smoked. It took some serious will power to take the boxes I had in my purse and put them away. Those were like security blankets ready to soothe me should I fall off the smoke free wagon. Did I throw them away? Hell no! I may still fail at this and cigarettes are just too expensive to keep replacing.

I would love to continue, because believe me this whole life change is consuming me. I am obsessed, but for now I need to walk around the office and burn off some nervous energy before I run downstairs to smoke. One hundred and three hours and counting……

Who Nose What Tomorrow Will Bring

Carrie underwent her surgery on Friday. All went well according to the doctor. Of course how it went is a pretty relative question? For instance, if you ask Carrie how it went she is liable to tell you that it’s possible the surgery went well as she slept through it all but that the recovery really sucks. She might ask you why those members of the medical establishment who said this would not be painful lied to her. She would probably also go on to say that when they mention they will be leaving “Teflon strips” in your nose you somehow picture a small, flat strip along either side of the septum and never once would it cross your mind that anyone would use the word “strip” to define a thick “Teflon” rubber tube with the circumference of a Big Gulp straw shoved up, sewed on, and effectively holding open your nostrils. No, “strips” make them sound small.

All of the information they give you pre-op stresses the importance of staying ahead of the pain. After her discharge from the hospital, we dropped off Carrie’s prescriptions then I got her all settled at home before returning to the pharmacy to pick them up. Detour to the grocery store for grill cheese fixins, the ultimate sick food and I was back at the house fast ready to whip up a sandwich and administer the first dose. Ah, but the pain Gods had conspired against us so when I got out the prescriptions I noticed the pharmacy had given me someone else’s stuff. A cursory inspection of the primary uses and side effects led me to the conclusion that yes, I would have to go back to the pharmacy because this stuff would in no way begin to ease Carrie's pain and that someone in our neighborhood has a very nasty rash.

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly. Carrie mostly nodded in and out of a pain induced sleep. The post-op directions I was forced to sign as her caregiver for the next 24 hours AND the pre-op instructions on what to expect said that saline nasal spray should begin “the day after surgery” but Dr. Carrie did not think this could be right so began spraying a full 24 hours early. Nothing bad happened but I write this because it goes to demonstrate again how different we are when it comes to following the advice of an authority figure. Carrie is her own authority figure where as if I were to start spraying harmless saline up my nose early I would need to be rushed to the emergency room before nightfall as a result of a massive anxiety attack that I broke “the rules”.

Sometime around 4:30 a.m. Saturday, Carrie asked if I would help her get set up downstairs on the couch because the pain was just simply too much for her to bear and the two doses of painkillers she took in the night weren’t working. I gathered her pillows, her tissues, her water with the bendy straw hanging over the top and her bottle of pills. Walking down the stairs I noticed the label said Levaquin not Hydrocodone. Hmmm? Side effects of Levaquin (as published by our friendly neighborhood give-your-prescription-to-someone-else-and-let-them-know-your-deepest-secrets pharmacist) are joint pain and severe headaches. The two very symptoms that had kept Carrie awake all night and had me up at 4:30 a.m. helping her move positions. So much for staying ahead of the pain.

It’s Monday now and although she isn’t feeling much better, her nose is starting to look better. Wednesday they will remove the “strips” and hopefully she will be able to breath a lot easier. Tomorrow I’ll try to share some words of wisdom from the seven circles of trying-to-stop-smoking-cold-turkey hell I have visited this past weekend.

Telecrack

At my annual conference last year, I stayed in my hotel bed late one morning trying desperately to recover from the new town, new bars jaunt of the previous night. Replacing my Lifetime mindless television ritual on days like this one was a “24” marathon on TBS. I watched episode after episode until I eventually crawled to the bathroom to clean up before our afternoon session. Six episodes into it I realized this show is great!

I came home with a new love for Jack Bauer and his Jack Ryanesque abilities. I NEEDED to see the whole season. I NEEDED to know what happened before and after those six hangover soaked episodes so my father gave me the season one box set. Home from work one day with all the motivation of a sloth I popped in disk one. Eight hours later when Carrie got home I was on disk four with no end in sight. How could I stop now in the middle of the season? What would happen to Senator Palmer? What would happen to Jack’s family in particular his stupid daughter Kim who has an incredible knack for making the worst decision in any situation?

It didn’t take long before Carrie became just as hooked. Our normal lights out, in bed at 9:30, her snoring beside me as I increase the volume on the television routine turned into a stay up until 10:30 so we can squeeze in one more episode of our “24” marathon. We started watching it religiously and when that season was over we immediately started talking about our next fix. Should we watch season six which was just beginning on Fox? Should we go in order? Would it matter? For the love of God what happens next!

Yesterday we went and bought season two and three with the intention of watching them while Carrie recuperates from her surgery this weekend. Any gamblers want to make a bet on how long those precious boxes were in our house before we popped that baby in the DVD? We were like crack addicts that had just been handed a twenty dollar bill. Four disks later it was lights out at 11:00 (a new record on a school night). If you haven’t watched “24” but need a new vice let us know. I’m pretty sure by the end of the weekend we’ll be ready for season four and five. Like a pusher on the school yard, I say “Try it. You’ll like it. Trust me”.

This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

From my e-mail a few minutes ago (which was copied to both of my bosses, the office manager, and our managing principal):

Jacqui,

Today I noticed you had a candle burning in your office. Please note that this is in violation of the XXXX XXXX Building Rules and Regulations and such devices must be removed immediately. These rules and regulations are set and regulated by the Houston Fire Marshall, Life Safety Bureau.
Non-Compliance of this rule may results in a citation and/or fine.
Please let me know if you have any questions and thank you for making our suite a safer place.

Seriously! I was tattled on and in a very public manner. Oh, don’t think I didn’t consider firing an e-mail back. Something along the lines of:

Sorry about the candle. No questions except did you mean to write “Non-Compliance of this rule may result in a citation and/or fine"? Don’t worry I won’t be e-mailing your grade school English teacher or your bosses because I’m not a tattle tale.

Snow Day

It is cold here today. So cold I want to sleep, hibernate like a bear, until spring brings better weather. My sister’s school was cancelled this morning but that didn’t stop my father from going into her room and waking her up at 8:30. You see she worries about everything including her highly coveted perfect attendance record at school. When my father woke her this morning she went into sheer panic that she was late for school. Oh the horror!

I was just the opposite of my sister. I didn’t worry about missing school. I worried if it was too soon since my last absence to use the stomach ache, period, food poisoning, or headache excuse. You have to keep track otherwise you are labeled a liar (which you are but just don’t want to labeled as such) by both parents and teachers. I cannot think of one single solitary time we had a snow day when I was her age. Or ice storm day. Whatever they’re calling it on the news.

When I went off to college I had lots of snow days. Not necessarily school sanctioned. These were more self imposed snow days. I know my limits. If there was a class I really liked I would brave the weather to attend. I had this system worked out where I would skip from building to building, entering one side then exiting the other, until I arrived at the one housing my class. I was a sight to behold in fifty layers. Long johns, jeans, wool socks, boots, long john top, long sleeve t-shirt, sweater, coat, gloves, scarf, hat. Not an inch of skin showing means not an inch of frostbite.

Speaking of frost bite, I have never understood people who will purposefully put themselves in this kind of weather and worse. To add insult to injury they chose to add physical exertion to the mix by climbing a mountain where oxygen is in such rare supply and the air is so thin a rescue helicopter can’t even land. Why? I know you will say it is to test their limits, expand their horizons, or the great sense of accomplishment they feel but I will never understand. I am perfectly happy to test my limits by seeing if my feet sting if I go outside barefoot for just a minute in this weather to get the paper. As for my horizons, if there is a new restaurant in town with a big, toasty fire I am willing to expand my repertoire. Oh, and I came to work today despite the temperature so I already feel a great sense of accomplishment. Aim low my friends and you will never disappoint.

A Light at the End of a Very Loud Tunnel

February 2nd Carrie is having the nose surgery I have long been begging her to have which we’re hoping will reduce her snoring. Okay, maybe I’m the only one hoping it will reduce her snoring. She is hoping it will reduce my bitching about her snoring. I believe the saying is “one less thing to bitch about”. Just so we’re all clear that I am not capable of stopping my bitching all together. There’s not a surgery in the world for that unless you consider euthanasia a surgery.

Although I’m thrilled about the possibility of quiet nights, I have started down my OCD path of aimless worry. What if something goes wrong? What if this doctor is a quack or worse he has an addiction that impairs his ability to perform surgery? What if the power goes out during surgery and no one has checked the backup generators in years? What if she gets an infection afterwards? What will I do when she refuses to call 911 and go to the hospital? These are the milder scenarios I’ve been spinning about but you get the idea.

In addition to the torture inside my head, I think Carrie is trying desperately to think of some of her own. She keeps saying she is doing this for me and that I had better plan to take good care of her post op. I keep trying to lessen the blow by saying telling her not to think of this as doing it for me but about how much better she will breathe afterwards. I have two things going for me at this point. One, there are no bells in our house that she could ring to summon me and two, we did not install intercoms so it is quite possible that someone upstairs could not hear the screams of someone laying on the couch with a drip pad beneath their nose.