I’ve been sick forever, and I’m sure you’re enjoying hearing about it a month later. You’re welcome. Anyway, this morning I woke up and had trouble breathing and a sharp pain under my rib. I thought,”Great, I have pneumonia.”
The part that upset me the most about the possibility of having pneumonia was the idea that I might get stuck in the hospital without a cell phone OR a laptop because I have neither. I don’t even want to think about what this says about me.
Today Quinten was to take a snack for his Pre-K class because he’s the student of the week. I asked him what he wanted to take and he said, “DONUTS” and I said, “Holy Hand Grenade, what is this? What happened to goldfish crackers and apple juice?”
However, because I am SICK I didn’t really pursue the idea of appropriate Pre-K snacks and allowed my 5 year old to live in the thrilling fantasy world of adult office worker. So this morning I woke up and realized…I needed donuts.
I dragged my wheezing, death’s door, sick forever self out of bed early and cracked the WHIP to get everyone out of the door in time to pick up donuts for 24 children. I was extremely confused. Do I get one donut for each child? One KIND of donut for each child? Can a 5 year old contract diabetes from one donut? I was getting rather freaked out by the donut thing. So, my husband volunteered to meet us at the donut store on his way to work (it’s right by our house), run in, and procure the donuts.
He came out with 24 donuts in a wide variety of shapes and flavors.
I apologized to Q’s teacher…and I shamelessly blamed the profusion of donuts on my husband, who was just trying to be helpful. She said, “Of course a man would buy this many giant donuts” and I shamelessly nodded and said, “Yeah, ha ha.”
Okay I was a little ashamed, but really, I was dying of pneumonia so I figured I’d leave a classroom of sugar high 5 year olds as my legacy.
|The Sugar Elf, descendent of Donut Elf|
I don’t have pneumonia. I do have a rather alarming nose, judging from the Doctor’s unprofessional exclamations when she looked up it.
I traipsed off with a prescription for a nasal spray, an antibiotic, and an inhaler. So there I was, wandering around Target. I need to blow my nose every five minutes. Sadly, I had run out of Kleenex and forgot to pack enough toilet paper into my pocket. I pushed the red cart around, waiting for my prescription, trying not to snort and be gross. In a moment of sheer optimism I bought ingredients for turkey lettuce wraps. Tobin had squirmed his way around the cart to face forward and was screaming “WHEEE” as I navigated the aisles. He also screamed, “HEWOW!” at passerby like a drunken 2 year old Elmer Fudd. We made a great team, the hyper 2 year old (why YES I DID GIVE HIM A DONUT this morning, why do you ask) and the snotty, bedraggled mother who accidentally left the house in flip flops that had a heel completely chewed off by a Great Dane.
It’s 1 p.m. and I still feel like poop. The five year old managed to splatter applesauce all over the interior of my newly washed car on the way home. I fed an entire classroom of 5 year olds donuts. I have given any care for personal appearance a last place priority spot.
(Example: this morning I asked my husband to pass me HIS deodorant, because I was too tired to get mine out of the drawer and he was already using his. Impressive, right?)
Basically, I’m hanging on by a thread and I smell like a man, which is remarkably better than what I smelled like yesterday when I hadn’t showered for four days.
And so, despite the fact I don’t have pneumonia, my standards have been so lowered that I feel a deep sense of accomplishment today. I am a perfectionist by trade and Pinterest is my lover, but when snot hits the fan and I’m forced to lower my expectations, eventually a deep sense of peace comes. It’s the peace that comes when you face the fact that you, finite human, are a ball of snot with a deep attraction to naps and the home gardening channel. I have now fully come to grips that my patience is almost nonexistent but my eyebrow hair is plentiful (try waxing or plucking with a runny nose, I dare you), and yet, there is grace.
I’m so thankful today for donuts and modern medicine, and for a God that remembers I am dust, even when I forget, so when I fall down He is already there, ground level, ready to hold me and whisper, “Blaming Derrick for the donut thing is sort of funny.”
Because it is.