worst practical joke ever

There seems to be a practical joker in our midst. On Monday night, I felt horrible. My cold turned up the volume and filled my ears with fluids. I crawled into bed and slept for 9 hours. At 4am, I was warm. And uncomfortable. The blankets were all wrong. I went back to sleep. In the morning, Miranda asked Rob if he noticed anything about his bed last night? And he said that he barely slept in the bed between my sickly snoring and the cries of the children. Oh, she said, you did notice I short sheeted your bed?

So that was 1.

Yesterday, my mom reached for some Cheerios for Bella. This was after I went to the doctor and came home with an antibiotic for my double ear infection. My mom found the Cheerios bag in the Raisin Bran box and the Raisin Bran bag in the Cheerios Box. Laugh Out Loud!

Was that 2?

I went to sleep early again. As an aside – could that be my problem – “Going to bed before 11 ruins woman’s health, news at 11?”  And I woke up with my eyes stuck shut with oozy goo. Pink Eye. Lovely. As loyal readers know, Bella had pink eye last week. Urgent Care was doubtful I would have caught it from her now now. The doctor prescribed some lovely drops. And I can see again!

And I can only hope that there were no shenanigans planting germs for the worst practical joke ever. Or Miranda will never leave her room again.

In other news:

Urgent Care was hilarious as always. We were the first patients, I think. Rob was a sweetheart and drove me there and did the touching of all of the paper so I contaminated fewer surfaces. I had been keeping my eye closed and not wiping it so it had the full effect. The urgent care doctor started by saying that most conjunctivitis is viral. But this is not. This is classic bacterial. We then somehow discussed hand sanitizer. He told us about refusing to shake hands with patients who come in for STD examinations and then don’t wash their hands. And how he won’t eat at fairs because of the lack of hand washing and the high potential for food contamination. He went on and on. I guess we weren’t visually blanching enough at his fecal matter comment that he said, the young people working there don’t wipe and then they make food. So fecal matter, you know, poop gets on your food.

So true.

In retrospect, I only wish he had asked Rob, who was dressed for work, what he did. And then Rob could have said, “Oh, I’m a fair promoter.”

I’d have paid money for that one.

I may not have my health on my 33rd birthday, but I do have my sense of humor, my loving family and an active imagination.

All Grown up?, This and That