I’ve had a head cold lately, so I haven’t really wanted to get out and about. With a toddler, that means we’ve been stir-crazy. Actually, I haven’t. Just John. John has been stir-crazy. So yesterday I texted a neighbor and asked if John could come play. She said yes. We have good neighbors.

I went and dropped John off, then lay down to take a nap. About two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Ethan. He was sick at work and asked me to come pick him up.

Now, my husband does not easily admit that he’s sick. Certainly not to the point of leaving work. And certainly not to the point of asking someone else to come pick him up. And certainly not when that person doesn’t have a car available. I assumed I should hurry. Within a few minutes, I was driving toward Center Street in my upstairs neighbor’s car. (We have good neighbors.)

When I got to the bookstore, there was nobody at the desk. I started for the back office, wondering if he was in there, when I noticed the employees’ closet was open. I found him moaning on the floor in there. He had already lost his lunch in the bathroom once, and he had a garbage can next to him, just in case. I helped a few customers until one of his coworkers arrived to cover his shift, then loaded the mail-out packages into the neighbors’ car, helped Ethan outside, waited while he threw up in the back alley a few times, and drove him home with his sweater over his mouth, just in case he lost it again.

While this was happening, the alarm went off on my phone to go pick up John, so my neighbor could get to her daughter’s appointment. I parked the car in time for her to pass the baton (my child) to me, while Ethan went inside. John and I came in to find Ethan lying on the floor of he bathroom, shivering.

This worried me. The last time I saw Ethan like this, he ended up in the E.R. Which was frustrating, because they basically just gave him some Zofran, a little saline, and sent him on his merry way. (It was Valentine’s Day weekend, which was also frustrating.)

Anyways. Ethan told me to keep John away from him so he wouldn’t get sick, so we took the car keys back to the neighbors, who offered to go pick up our van later on (since Ethan obviously wasn’t in any shape to drive it home.) They also transferred the packages we needed to mail out to the back of our van. We have good neighbors.

We came home, Ethan took some medicine, threw it up, ate some bread, threw it up, and around hell-o-clock in the morning, asked the neighbors to come give him a priesthood blessing. They did. We have good neighbors.

Ethan fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, lying on the floor, listening to my most soothing voice reading from The Catholic Catechism. It was the most boring book I could find. (Sorry, Catholics.)

With a good night’s sleep, Ethan stopped throwing up, but discovered that every time he stood up and tried to do something, his entire body shouted, “STOP!” So he’s been watching anime most of the day.

This morning, renewed by the realization that my common cold symptoms were way more functional than his flu symptoms, I took John out to run errands. We went to the post office, the bookstore, the Asian market (after he insisted on buying cookies to pay for his behavior at the bookstore), the United Way office, the doctor’s office, the pharmacy, and finally McDonalds—where he ate chicken nuggets, strawberry yogurt (in a tube!), and met the cutest little Samoan girl I have ever seen in my life*, who “helped” us play with his happy meal toy. The kid is lucky that arranged marriages aren’t a thing here. Because I already know who I’d be shipping him with. This girl was The Cutest.

So basically, we’re alright. Ethan’s recovering well, and taking care of himself. I’m recovering well, and about to collapse into bed. And John is recovering well from his flu shot, and collapsed on the way home from McDonald’s. He slept through a diaper change, a change of clothes, and most of the evening. He had a busy day.

*This is poorly written. She was not the cutest Samoan girl I’ve ever seen. She was the cutest girl of any background I have ever seen, and she was also Samoan. At least, I assume she was, because she looked Polynesian, and her very grumpy dad/grandpa/I-couldn’t-really-tell-under-all-that-winter-clothing was wearing a hat that said SAMOA on it in big letters. But I didn’t have a better way to say that without a huge run-on sentence. So here you go. A footnote.


A Tiny Opera

Yesterday, I was sick. When Ethan left for work, I was feeling a little queasy. Five minutes after Ethan left for work, I put the baby down for a nap and went to throw up.

And up. And up and up and up. I threw up everything I could possibly have had in my stomach, and peed my pants just for fun. Apparently, I still haven’t quite gotten my bladder control back since having the baby.

I crawled back into bed with a bucket, got up twice more to retch, and finally texted my upstairs neighbor to see if she would feed Jonathan when he woke up. She readily agreed, and that’s when things got really funny.

Her baby is about two weeks older than Jonathan – and apparently, he’s a sympathetic crier. John woke up to find a strange, not-Mom in his room, and started crying. My neighbor tried to soothe him, and shoveled applesauce into his mouth, hoping it would calm him down. The high-pitched screaming turned into high-pitched gurgling.

Then her baby started up, with his low, grunting yell. Every time my baby stopped to breathe, he contributed his rough baritone, and the two sounded like a duet of tiny desperation. In the middle of the cacophony, my neighbor’s phone rang, and she put her sister on speaker-phone to sing a song to the babies. The crying stopped for a few minutes, then started back up again.

I lay in my bed, laughing weakly as I tried to hold down my cookies and listened to two grown women trying to calm down two crazed babies (one of whom was still gurgling through a mouthful of applesauce.) I think I owe my neighbor some cookies, or something. How in the world do some women handle twins? ♥


For those of you who missed my posts (I flatter myself), I apologize. I literally dusted off my laptop today and checked my blog for the first time in weeks. Basically, what happened is, everybody died.

Well, maybe not died. But it’s been a rough couple of weeks. My doctor told me last month that pregnant women have very weak immune systems – I’m about as susceptible to the flu as an 80-year-old. That’s not good. (I got a flu shot.)

About 3 weeks ago, while preparing to move to a new apartment, I came down with a cold. Not one of those “sniffly nose” colds, either; it was more of the “feels like somebody shoved a wet octopus up your nose and into your sinuses” variety. Also, I was terrified to take any medication, because every box you buy over the counter tells you to ask a doctor before you breathe if you’re pregnant or nursing. So, while Ethan went student teaching during the day, I stayed in bed and blew my nose. By the time our contract at the new apartment began, we had almost started packing.


Fortunately, we had paid through the end of November at the old apartment, and we had several weeks for the moving process. In the evenings, we slowly started packing and moving what we could spare. Between my stuffy face and my pregnant brain/body, I wasn’t much help – but between us and a few friends, we managed to get the bed and some necessities over to the new apartment and moved ourselves in, if not everything we owned. A few days later, we managed to get the rest of it all into the new apartment, cleaned the old place, and turned in our key. We were living from boxes, but we were all in one place.

By this point, the octopus had moved from my sinuses into my throat and upper chest, and I had developed a smoker’s cough. Lovely.

I was also spectacularly bored. Those of you who know me are well aware that most of the stupid things I do happen when I’m bored.* Ethan kept telling me I wasn’t allowed to move anything, because I was nearly 8 months pregnant, and we didn’t want me to go into early labor. Or hurt myself. Naturally, I got bored, disregarded his advice, and moved in some of the books. A book doesn’t weigh that much, I reasoned. Of course, a whole box of books does – and I ended up tweaking** a muscle between my ribs.

bad decision

This hurt for a couple of days, especially when combined with the hacking cough I had developed. Adding to my general health complications, an 8-month-old fetus leaves very little room for a bladder. That means that every time my hacking cough started, I went running for the bathroom. Few things hold as little dignity as sitting on the toilet with your pants around your ankles, coughing, peeing, clutching your side, and groaning all at the same time.

After a few days, the rib was starting to heal, and life was starting to get bearable again. My family came down to help us unpack (thanks, guys!) and we made some serious headway on the home front. Then I had a particularly bad coughing fit. After a spectacular cough, I felt something in my wounded side expand like a little balloon, then pop. A whole new wave of pain came, and stayed for the next few days.

At this point, I asked for a priesthood blessing – which brought some relief, especially by mentioning specifically that I would heal, and that the baby would be fine. I should also note that while my body was being shot to pieces, the baby was getting increasingly wiggly. This was good; it meant I wasn’t worried about him.

I slept on my left side for another week, while my right side started to mend, and the cough slowly abated. I made a breakthrough a few days ago, when I realized I could laugh or cough without any significant pain. Hooray!

Then a few days ago, Ethan called me on the way to student teaching. He had pulled over somewhere in Draper to throw up by the side of the road, and he needed me to contact his professor to let her know why he wouldn’t be at the elementary school. Having done this, I crawled back into bed (on my left side) to wait and pray he made it home alright. A long while later, he managed to drive himself home, and spent the next 32 hours bonding with the toilet.

diarrhea since easters

After much dysfunction and misery, I am happy to report that Ethan’s intestines have forgiven him whatever sin he committed, and my chest and sinuses are almost back to normal. I can now lie down on my right side for upwards of 10 minutes at a time, if I get the angle just right. And my head has cleared enough for me to do some writing/editing, if I feel so inclined.

I might not have any work to do for a while, though. My boss called today. He’s been sick all week. ♦

*This is closely followed by the category “Stupid Things I Do For a Cheeseburger.”
**Pulling? Tearing? I did something, and my muscle was not happy about it.

I Laughed, I Cried, I Threw Up a Plate of Nachos…

Pregnancy does funny things to a woman’s hormones (which are a little skiwampus even on their own).

For example, last night I ate some delicious nachos and watched a movie with friends. After the friends left, I started crying because I was worried about something. I don’t even remember what it was. Ethan consoled me, talked it out with me, then started acting goofy just to make me laugh.

I laughed hysterically until tears started coming out of my eyes and my throat hurt. Then I started sobbing hysterically instead of crying. Not because I was sad, mind you. These were sobs of hilarity…somehow. After laughing myself to tears, and then sobbing myself sick, I went into the bathroom and threw up.

My poor husband must be so confused. ♦

I Have Found the Tree of Life

Citizens of Earth, do not be alarmed. I have found the fruit of the gods.

It is delicious. It is mild. It is sweet. It is square, and comes in smallish boxes, and it’s on sale 6 for $10 at LoLo’s. Free gallon of milk with purchase.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I can eat Golden Grahams. With little fear of retribution or vomiting, I can eat Golden Grahams. Oh, happy day.

And I hate to say this – because I am very excited to be pregnant, and I’m thrilled to have a baby on the way, and I can’t wait to be a mom, and I know Ethan’s so excited to be a dad, and we’re just so stoked to be the world’s weirdest parents – so I hate to say this, but after all you’ve put me through, you toxic little Gummy Bear of a baby… take that! Kabam! It is about time you let me eat something! I didn’t anticipate disagreeing this frequently with a child until at least the tweenage years.

I digress. Point is, Golden Grahams are fantastic, I’m holding down food, and I’m on considerably better terms with the baby inside me than I was last night. Take that, universe. ♦

A Word About Nachos

I’m sick again. Bleh. Fortunately, I’m on the upside, and I’ll probably be better by tomorrow, if my predictions serve me well.

But I just want to brag a little about my husband. A few nights ago, I told Ethan I was coming down with a cold. So he went out and bought me orange juice and Powerade. Yesterday, he made me breakfast…and lunch… and then for dinner he made a big ol’ plate of nachos, and we sat down to watch silly youtube videos, and laughed until we cried. I think Ethan is probably at his handsomest when he’s laughing so hard he can’t even keep his eyes open.

Anyways. I’m a little sniffely, but life is good. My husband loves me, life is still hilarious, and nachos are still delicious. So if you’re having a bad day, stop and think about the good things. Some of them are pretty small – but where would we be without that happy little spot of grass outside the window, or the birds chirping in the morning? Or nachos? Where would we be without nachos?  ♦       ‌ ‍ ‎ ‏


So, I’ve been sick. And after a night of horrible pain, a blessing and some counsel from my home teacher (who works in medicine), and some ultrasound tests, we’ve come to conclude that I have no appendix. Or at least, I don’t have appendicitis. Apparently, if the doctor can’t find your appendix, then it must not be ready to burst.

So we’re assuming I have a bad stomach bug, and I’m staying in bed a lot. Which means lots of time for reading! Hooray!


I revisited an old favorite from my childhood. And when I’m talking old favorites, of course I’m talking about sword-wielding mice banding together to defeat ornery, power-hungry wildcats. Mossflower! What a great book.

A great classic? No. The best book of the year? No. But a good read for kids? Absolutely – and therefore, pretty much perfect for a grown woman stuck in bed. Yay! It’s a good read, with lots of twisty plot pieces, and a good deal of action to boot. It’s kind of like reading Robin Hood… with woodland animals. Yeah. Well, maybe you should just read it. It’ll make more sense then. ♦