Secretly happy for sickness

He he he*

Let's just be honest here. Being sick does have its benefits as well as its obvious downfall of feeling like poo. You get an excuse to do as little as possible and lay in bed as much as you want with no one giving you grief about it. In fact people will make you do nothing at all and wait on you hand and foot so you will feel better.  Plus you get to miss work if you have a job.

When someone else in your home is sick that also has its own set of benefits and disadvantages. You feel awful for them but then you get to take care of them and they're so sweet and helpless. Especially if their your husband. They get to come home early or stay home from work. You also get to have a little more alone time and you don't necessarily have to cook dinner because sick people only want little to nothing to snack on. You get to watch what you want. Stay up as late as you want. Play on your phone and blog as long as you want without those looks. You know, the seriously-are-you-gonna-do-that-all-night look. So when Josh texted me saying he was sick I'm ashamed to say I was looking foward to it a little. 

Josh graphically went on to say he had a stomach bug and couldn't keep anything down. I initially thought he was joking. Besides his constant allergies, he is never sick. Ever. But no, he was so miserable and trying to work and deliver packages while stopping to get sick or find a bathroom the whole day. I felt so bad for him. All I wanted to do was help but I couldn't do anything. He had to wait for someone to come get boxes off his truck and then his dad brought his car to him and he had to drive from Spartanburg to home. He didn't even get here till 4:00. The last time I talked to him he felt like he was going to pass out and couldn't even move. I was wrecked with worry and helplessness. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I went shopping. 

After I knew someone had arrived to relieve him and I knew he was on his way home I started thinking about how I could take care of him. So hi ho, hi ho, off the the sto I go. I got all kinds of things to take care of him for about 2 days. I also got him a car magazine to read since we took the TV out our room and I knew he would be bored just laying around in bed. I cleaned the toilets and put double trash bags in all the trash cans (cause no one wants that stuff to leak out of the free "recycle me," walmart bags). I set out little medicine cups with ginger ale and anti-projectile medicine on the bedside table. I made the bed and turned down his side. I laid out his pj's and propped up his magazine on my pillow. Then I picked up every obstacle out of the floor that would prevent him from a smooth sail to any bathroom or trashcan. I put wet washcloths in the fridge and then I waited.

Josh got home and I was outside with the girls. At a distance he barely resembled a shell of the man I fell in love with. His face was washed. His stature was slumped and he was shaking from exhastion and dehydration. And I felt my gut flip with empathy and guilt. Here I am thinking about being needed and about how it was going to benefit me and my dear husband is feeling like death. God forgive me.

Go ahead and judge me. I deserve it. 

He went straight to bed. I didn't hear a peep all night. He didn't need me at all. He got up the next morning and went to work.

As for me, oh I got my pay back. I stayed up way too late and then realized I was going to have to sleep on the couch. With the cat. Purring and pawing and licking my face. All. Night. Long. 

Moral of the story. Resist the urge to be selfish. Cause, you know, it's just selfish.

*I do not support nor watch "Family Guy" but this seemed to be the most appropriate image to capture the context. Judge me on my character, not my cartoon choice. :)

I might get a dog. maybe.

Stop trying to make me want you with those...cute, adorable, droopy eyes.
Oh alright. If you insist.

It started about a year and a half ago. Josh was dropping hints about getting a dog. He'd talk about how much he missed our Walker hound, Bella, we had to give away when Delores was an infant. He'd suggest we just go look around at the humane society. He even went to the point to send me a picture of a stray he saw on his route with a "pleeeaase?"

My answer, always, was "NO WAY!" I'm the one that has to train the dog. The one that has to clean up the poop. The one that has to chase it around the house while also chasing around the lewis ladies and trying not to loose my friggin mind. 

But because I'm a deal makin kinda gal, I agreed that when our last child was around 3 years old I would consider getting a dog. Seemed like a fair deal. At 3 kids can kind of take care of their self and play by their self and I wouldn't have to spend so much time trying to keep the child from killing their self. 

I figured that would buy me like 3 more years. Little did I know the rollercoaster we would be on trying to have our last child. So here we are. Approaching the due date of our second miscarriage and my last little fireball, Lydia, is rolling right along to the threes and I've been catching myself contemplating getting a puppy.

A cute droopy basset hound puppy with its long floppy ears and short stubby little legs.  Not small enough to be an ankle bitter. Not big enough to knock glasses off tables or knock one of the ladies over. Still has the hound qualities I love, yet not too energetic that it needs a ton of yard space to follow its hunting insincts. It has Goldilock's Facebook status written all over it. Just right.

Now around my house everyone has been trained in such a fashion that when mamma says "jump," they don't wait to ask how high. They just start jumping. I don't bark demands at my husband but when I put an idea out there like "I think I want to get a dog. A basset hound in fact." He doesn't wait around for me to elaborate. He gets on it. Which is great. That's how I got walls knocked down in my house. Literally. But, sometimes that can backfire.

He's looking on the humane society's website, craigslist, iwanna, everywhere. He's showing me pictures of these puppies an hour away for $400. Then I get than panicky feeling like $400, what?! An hour away? Oh jeez and we have to buy food, a lesh, a bed, a collar, toys, treats, bowls. Where are we even going to put the bowls? Will Rosy eat next to a puppy?  God, what if I can't keep the puppy from eating the cat food? Will Rosy go all psycho kitty from jealousy? Will pee and poop even come out of concrete? Another vet bill! Crap I still have to take Rosy's to get those other two shots due like a year ago. Shuga! What did I get myself into?

Breathe...

Then I remember you take the good with the bad. Pray. Weigh your pros and your cons. Set your limits. Pray some more. Trust God. What is meant to be will be...but not for 400 big ones, that's for sure.

So we will wait till God puts the best dog in our path. Of course, I don't know when that will be. But at least I do know I want a puppy despite all the axiety ridden variables. I think. Maybe.