In the Wilson Household; this week, Sunday through Saturday, holds two very big days. My anniversary, we double checked the math; it truly is the big fifteen years together AND Mother’s Day. Someone please text me in the morning and remind me to call my own mother.
I am working on gratitude. I have been doing it for a couple of years now, but I still fall short. So please don’t take this as I am not grateful, I truly am blessed. But I just said to Stinky Pete this morning, “If I had it to do all over again, I don’t know that I would have married your father…. on the same day.”
“Because it is too close to Mother’s Day; sometimes Mother’s Day even falls on my Anniversary.” You have to know it is not (someone may want to call a bullshit right here, just saying) totally because I am selfish… but I was also born on Christmas Eve, meaning for a lot of my life I never had a birthday, my friends were always busy. Plus, my parents, well-meaning as they were… would do things like say, “this is for your birthday and Christmas all-in-one.”
Four major celebrations for one person, narrowed down to just two days.
Which in reality means I have a good 28 minutes a year to celebrate; now you do the math.
- the planets align
- and the boys are out of the house
- and I haven’t had some life changing thought that upsets the whole family
- and I am not in a college class
- or volunteer activity
- or having my period
- or writing
- or drinking
- or at play practice
- I am gonna get laid…
- Raynard hasn’t fallen off a ladder
- Gotten toothpaste in his eye
- Come down with congestion, due to cough and cold
- Booked an educational seminar out-of-town
- Built a burrito and hurt his back
- Or the myriad of things life presents to distract him from me.
I am getting laid, fingers crossed!
So as this man, who wasn’t feeling well screwed planters to my deck so my 40 lbs. flower pots did not fall and kill someone this summer I thought about a couple of things:
- This guy loves you Sadie. The last thing he wants to do is be out here securing flower pots and that was evident by all the cursing.
- Raynard has always teased about my high tolerance for pain, which I never really noticed. I just thought everyone does that.
After the flowers were secure, I grabbed a glass of wine a cigarette and sat on the back porch and thought about Raynard’s pain tolerance vs. mine. And guess what? I win.
I bet most moms could say that with regards to their mates.
And my mind wandered to a couple of stories Raynard loves to tell, about me (oddly I am okay with it, ‘cause they seem to make me look like Super Woman).
I have been peculiarly struck by ear infections my whole life, most notably on my honeymoon; but I had them as a child too. Since my honeymoon, I am very careful about getting water in my ears, as apparently God just “made me funny.” (I have a medical diagnosis that proves that) I am prone to debilitating and life threatening ear infections. But about 7 years after my honeymoon I got another ear infection. Due to my past history I went straight to the E.R. and got I.V. antibiotics. And on day three, when I wasn’t getting any better I went back. They gave me another dose of I.V. antibiotics and wanted to admit me to the hospital for an ear infection. I told them I wasn’t a pussy, and that it would be too embarrassing to have my chart state I was admitted for otitis media. The doctor let me leave on the condition I checked in every morning to have a new I.V. antibiotic administered by nursing personnel. You should know that when you submit to this option the hospital personnel “stints” you, which is an I.V. that lasts longer. So I showed up to work for the next week with an I.V. sticking out of my arm. As if I was the world’s most brazen and well prepared drug addict.
(This one is Raynard’s favorite story to tell about me, but you should know I make tortillas without utensils, just hands in the pan. The way my mother taught me.)
I had life changing surgery four years ago. I was sure I would die on the surgery table. I stopped smoking and I followed every Dr.’s order to the letter. I was a better person back then. Because of the extent surgery I was put on a morphine drip, for 4 days. I got up every hour and walked, I did everything the doctors and nurses asked me to do. In my morphine haze I remember talking to the nurses and having them ignore me and answering directly to my husband saying things like, “You can tell she is not a user, she never complains and never asks for more medication. Plus I think it really cute she can’t finish a sentence.”
“Sadie has a really high tolerance for pain. She always has, it is unusual for her to take Tylenol.” Raynard said. That is true today, if we ignore the wine.
Let’s preface this next part by saying; I say a lot of crazy shit.
Under sedation, I say more crazy shit.
On morphine, not only do I say crazy shit; apparently I hallucinate. So as Loving Husband Raynard drove me home from life changing surgery, I knew it was wrong that I kept seeing things in the backseat, and I didn’t want to panic Raynard.
“What?!?!? Sadie? What is going on, why do you keep looking in the back of the car?”