Pent up in your bedroom. . . .

November 15, 2010



All week Keith has been sick.

Again.

Thanks to Emily, who has always taken my edict, we share in this house, literally.

So last week, her brother camped out on the couch, computer, tv remote, school books, and X-Box within arm's reach should he feel inspired to do anything more than just lay there, and moan about being sick.

By Wednesday, Stephen was complaining of a "tickle" in his throat.

If I was a better wife, more astute, paying more attention to the almost imperceptable signs, I would have realized this was a Stephenism for "I'm getting sick."

Since then, except for a bout of Superman-like strength on Saturday when he just *had* to wax the car, he has been in bed.  Hot and feverish one minute, flinging off covers, turning down thermostats, opening windows, causing the cats to turn blue, and the dogs to burrow under the couch cushions; chilled the next, closing all the recently opened windows, turning up the thermostats, and burying himself in every sweater he owns and the covers, and forcing the cats and hounds to seek out the farthest, coolest corners of the basement for respite.

Em, who brought this discombobulation into our house, worked all weekend.

Avoiding the kvetching and moaning that accompanies sick men.

And the argument, via text, I had with Keith Saturday evening.

He finally drags himself off the couch to work Saturday.

After missing school, and Thursday's double-time-shift-because-it-was-a-stat-holiday.

While driving him to work, he tells me he'll be "in" that evening because he had school work to finish.

I looked at him and asked him what made him think he was going out anyway?

Cause he had just spend several days on the couch and as far as I was concerned he wasn't going anywhere.

At all.

Unless he wanted to take me on.

Happy in my ability to restore order among my little chicks, I went about my day, doing my thing, and while sitting down to my dinner of baked beans and homemade bread with my parents,  our first time together since the birthday dinner from hell, I get a text from my son telling me he's going out that night.

I knew what was going on.

Keith was caught in the middle between two impenetrable, unswerving, motionless, stationary forces.

Me on one side.

Mer on the other.

Keith in the middle.

Mer encouraging him to come out and spend time with his friends; after all he's been in the house, on the couch for several days, and some time out of the house would do him good.

Me, waging war through text, telling him he isn't, under any circumstances, going anywhere.

Reminding him of my maternal authority; my authority in matters pertaining to his health and well being.

Him reminding me that he's 19.

And suffering from cabin fever.

After working a 6 hour shift.

Really?

After several texts ending on no one making any headway, he says we'll talk about it when I get home. 

After grocery shopping.

When I arrive home, car laden with groceries for my always hungry family, ready to wage war with my son because I really don't think he should be out cavorting and carousing with his friends when he is still not feeling well.

But no war was to be had.

Because Pookie was AWOL.

Gone.

Left.

Absent.

No forwarding address.

Well, maybe not. . .I knew where he was.

Luckily for Keith, I was just too tired to engage any more.

If he wanted to be out and about, drinking and revelling, I wasn't going to stop him.

Sometimes you just have to let people learn the hard way.






I had my weekly session at Simply for Life, pouring out my heart and soul regarding my never ending food fray.

Convinced, assured, persuaded that I had gained those hard lost pounds.

I stepped on the scale, staring intently at the wall directly in front of me, waiting to hear those fateful words, you've gained. . .

But, the Lady Luck of weight loss was on my side, and I lost another 3.2 pounds.

12.2 in total.

In spite of the shit storm week I had lived through; the tantalizing tastes of birthday cake, Swiss Chalet fries, the beckoning of Bulk Barn bins full to almost overflowing with chocolate in every possible shape and form, peanut butter cups, chocolate covered almonds, foil wrapped chocolate mint squares, icy squares, peppermint almond bark, dark chocolate almond bark. . .

I wanted it all.

To take away the crazy crap that was going on, much of it beyond my control, the result of long standing, deeply entrenched family dynamics that I was not going to be able to change now.

I settled for almonds, salad, stir fry veggies, chicken, fish, whole wheat English muffins with organic peanut butter, herbal tea, apples, grapes and the odd square of 85% dark chocolate.

Intellectually, I know I am making the right choices.  I feel better, I look better, I am sleeping better.

Emotionally. . .well, let's just say that is coming a long slower, but I think it'll catch up.

It better.

Or I'll just remain emotionally stunted for the rest of my life.

Wouldn't THAT be something new!





The Emily-introduced virus has slashed and burned its way through most of my family.

Mer and Tim are suffering it's ill effects and they don't even live here.

One victim remains for its finale.

Me.

A tingling rawness in my throat.

Coughs where no coughs were before. 

A hint of flush on my cheeks. . .the beginnings of a fever, perhaps?

I can't wait to see if this will hatch into a full blown-cancel-classes-because-blinking-my-eyes-hurts-too-much-in-bed-for-three-days-leaving-me-more-behind-than-I-was-to-begin-with-incident.

And if it does, the child who invited in this malady will be making meals, marking papers, teaching classes and handling all other Dawne-duties.

Because if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.



Title Lyric: Learning the Hard Way by the Gin Blossoms