I woke up yesterday with the worst sore throat known to man. I couldn't eat or drink or swallow without wincing in pain. Waaaaaaaaaah.
When I wimped out on our morning walk, my friends offered whatever they could to help. Stephanie called with an offer of soup for lunch but I'd already choked something down. (Hard to eat with all that wincing.)
I decided to go to the doctor. I don't like going to the doctor unless I'm pretty sure they will give me antibiotics to make me all better. (Adam thinks this is kind of crazy. Whenever he tells me I should go to the doctor, I say, "What can they do?" He says, "I don't know. I'm not a doctor. They are.")
But I thought it was probable that I had strep throat and I could be fixed. Sign me up. I drove myself to the doctor and before I left, I told Mark that if he wanted to, he could load the dishwasher.
In other words, load the dishwasher.
The doctor was very kind and sympathetic and the strep test was negative and he recommended Halls lozenges which advice may or may not have been worth my copay. (It wasn't.)
So I was a little cranky when I came home and the dishwasher had not been loaded. Mark said, "You said I could load it. I thought it was optional."
Then he threw his arms around me and told me he was so very sorry I was sick. I told him (still cranky) that if he'd loaded the dishwasher, I would believe the sincerity of his concern...
So he practiced the piano...and then loaded the dishwasher.
Sometimes a mother just needs to employ some guilt.
Later I was on the phone with Marianne. She was telling me about all the funny valentines her children made for her. (If you want to think your children love you, don't talk to Marianne.) I told her my children had given me exactly zero valentines. This time I wasn't even trying to create any guilty feelings, I didn't realize Mark was listening to my conversation.
I was still on the phone and he handed me this:
Nothing like guilt induced love notes. Valentines under duress.
I did enjoy my conversation with Marianne though (besides the fact that her children need to cool it in the valentine department because enough already.) The day before I'd talked to Olivia. My sisters are good ones. They both get all the crazy that I hardly need to explain because they understand. We tell each other our deepest fears and desires and frustrations and then we put each other back together again.
I owe my parents a lot but I think Marianne and Olivia are right up there on the list of The Best Things They Gave Me.
(Also Marianne gave me a better cure for my throat: tea tree oil and it helped. It cures everything apparently. The tea tree oil people should give Marianne a cut of their proceeds.)