So- Dan is on the mend. But it has been a LONG two weeks. He's laid on ice bags, heating pads, massaging things. He's taken anti-this and anit-that and some serious serious pain pills. I imagine when this is all over he will 'awaken' and wonder where he's been for the past 16 days. To top it all off- last Friday he developed pneumonia. More pills. More sleeping. Probably exactly what he needed to keep still for a few days and try to heal. But he has been one sick dude.
And me? I've done all the cooking, kid running, concerts, errands, shopping, trash taking out, house stuff. lawn stuff and everything else that we do. I even had to assemble my own cheap pressed board shelves, which I'm pretty sure is totally Dan's responsibility. I'm flat worn out.
Sunday- Dan's fever came back and he was feeling horrible. So he remained at home on our comfy living room furniture wearing a sweatshirt, hat, and a blanky and shivering his heiny off while I prepared and left with our family for church. Upon returning home, I grabbed some frozen pizzas from the freezer and popped them in. I needed something simple and quick- I was hoping to get to sit down somewhere that afternoon and rest before taking the kids (again- by myself) to a fancy show that evening.
When I called everyone for lunch, I heard Dan mumble from the living room. Any guesses what he said????
"I can't remember the last meal we've eaten that wasn't Italian".
And there I stood, totally dumbfounded in the kitchen where I had washed the dishes, made the lunch and had it all plated up (with drinks) for everyone.
He was still sittin' on the couch trying to figure out why I was mad when chopped his head off with a pizza cutter.
Don't mess with the momma maffia.