I am now hoarse and under normal circumstances, that would be a good thing. But I am anything but normal, so I still talk and yell commands and I sound like a choking duck and it's waaay more annoying than my normal drill sergeant voice- my whole family will attest.
Every inch of my body aches. I am souped up on NyQuil until I can figure out a way to sneak the percocet from my husband's medicine cabinet. I have considered refilling the bottle with aspirin, much like the vodka/water trick I used as a teen with my parents. Seeing as how my dad was an alcoholic and too drunk to notice that he was drinking water instead of vodka, after a certain point, it worked.
The fact that my husband will not take the percocet and the bottle is still completely full and he still is quite coherent- I must come up with an alternative plan. Maybe I could disguise the "A" on the aspirin by carving the straight line that the percocet has on it. However, the fact that my plan has gotten so elaborate, I'm thinking I have a problem and should just stick with the NyQuil.
I'm not a good sick person. I am a control freak. I don't like giving up said control. My husband's aunt was going to stop by today to drop off a casserole. In my well state (I use that term loosely) I would have done an overhaul cleaning job so I could be comfortable for the visit (yes, you read right, I cannot be comfortable with someone in my house unless it is spotless to MY standards. I won't hear a word that is said! I will just focus on that smudge, or dust bunny or piece of paper laying around!) Since I am not well(physically because we know the train wreck that is my mental well being) and the NyQuil had just kicked in, I went to bed and slept for 3 hours.
When I woke, my hardwood floors had been cleaned with PLEDGE furniture polish ( already lost count of how many times I have slipped), tile floors cleaned with Clorox wipes (can you say wasteful?) windows cleaned with what I can only assume were wet towels, plants watered enough for a year's time and, as a result, pools of water surrounding those plants, and my husband's idea of laundry (1 of HIS shirts, 1 pair of HIS jeans and a pair of HIS socks= 1 load=wasteful again!)
Is it just me? Why can't I be grateful for the help? Not only am I not grateful- it's pissing me off! They made more work for me! I try not to seem too bitchy to the kids- after all, they're kids. But MY HUSBAND- REALLY thinks they all did a good job- patting himself on the back numerous times- seriously? Did they remove your brain with the gallbladder? Imagine the amount of great drugs he'd have if that were the case.