Barking Mad

Germs 1 - Auds 0

What do pneumonia, strep throat, dual ear infections, dehydration, and exhaustion have in common with the wife? 

They are all cohabiting rather unharmoniously right now.

After turning over several times last night thinking one of the cats had crawled into bed with us and was mewling pathetically (not something that's uncommon, yet they are never very loud), I realized it was Aud's laboured breathing and the wheezing sound that was produced as she struggled to breath and not the cats.

After a couple of hours spent in her physicians office this afternoon, accompanied by a chest x-ray, she was sent home with strict orders that if her lungs haven't cleared up by Monday morning that she's going for a stay in hospital for a while.

Auds, being just a little on the stubborn side, insists she'll be back in the saddle on Monday.   Knowing her intense dislike of more needles and the general smell of medical facilities, let's hope her hard-headed nature wins out and beats each of these illnesses into submission.

In the meantime, me and Lil'G are taking good care of her (you know she has to be feeling really bad, because she let me cook dinner tonight).  I provide the matériel support and Lil'G provides the hugs, the smiles and the laughs.  With us for support, she'll be right as rain in no time.

Big G & Lil'G

Is Trauma Contagious?

Hi there. G here, "pinch-hitting for Auds, who's laid up in bed with what could be the flu.

Now, I'm sure you are all aware of Aud's nickname of "Trauma Magnet" and it is fair to say that she has had more than her fair share of "stuff" happen to her. However, the question in the title is a very real concern of mine, being married to her. So, is trauma contagious? I'll let you decide.

This story goes back to yesterday, just before 11am, at the office. That's around the time I usually like to have my mid-morning cup of tea. OK, it's an industrial-sized mug, but you get the picture. The office has an open kitchen area, with a big double sink and one of those kitchen faucets (taps to all the Brits out there) that you can pull out from the base unit, with a braided hose, rather like a shower head.

The short series of events begins with me realizing the time and thinking I want a cup of tea. So, I go to the sink in the kitchen to wash out the mug, same as I do every time I want a drink. I turn on the faucet and notice that it's not quite seated properly in the base unit. Then I do what 95% of people would do and push the attachment back into
the base unit.

Big mistake.

Next thing I know, the attachment gets fired in my direction, almost clearing the sink and almost hitting me. Thankfully it didn't. Unlike the jet of water from the hose, which, instead of pointing vertically down, as would have ben the case had the faucet attachment still been, like, attached, was now pointing directly at my chest, at maximum flow rate.

Cue water everywhere. There was water all over the kichen area. There was water all over the floor. Spike, our admin girl, thought it was raining in the office as the spray cleared the partition into her cubicle. Even Beanpole, whose space is one cubicle back from the kitchen area, a good 20 feet away, felt the splatter effect. And the thing couldn't have been running for 5 seconds before I shut it off. It was a watery disaster and I was soaked (as was a good part of the office).

Turns out the hose had come 99% unscrewed from the faucet attachment and that I was the (un)lucky one to make that a round hundred. To make matters worse, the smallest spare shirt in the office, one of our company polo shirts, was an XL. Now I'm not the smallest guy on the planet, but you could fit 2 of me in this thing. I guess it just wasn't my day.

I really hope this trauma thing isn't contagious. On a Trauma Magnet scale of 1 to 10, this rates as maybe a 3 and I really don't want to find out what a bad case of trauma looks like.

Do you think they have a vaccine?

G

The Things We Miss

G here...

As this arrives on the blog, the in-laws are on their way home to Southern California after a week here in Maine, spending time with us and catching up on two of their granddaughters. The Little Imp especially has had a whale of a time with her Grammie and Grampa. Grammie is her new best friend, good for hugs, snuggles, stories, giggles and general, all-round love and affection. Grampa, on the other hand, is a source of clementines, more of them than is probably good for a 2½ year-old girl, and really BIG hugs. Well, Grampa is 6’-4” after all. Together, they’re a wonderful set of grandparents. 

It amazes me how little time it took for her to have the two of them wrapped around her little finger. I guess it’s what grandparents are for. There was a slight worry before their arrival that the Little Imp might not recognize her Grammie, as this would be the first time in over a year that she would be visiting. Of course, there was no need to worry. She was so excited that Grammie and Grampa were coming to visit, that she would talk of little else in the days before they arrived. And it took mere seconds for the initial shyness to wear off and for the Little Imp to be totally at home with the new visitors.

She loved the rounds of photos and looking at the pics on the cameras. Playing and singing was another favourite pastime, and with the cool toys the grandparents have we will have some quite fabulous video footage to remind us of some really good times. And no evening was complete without the sound of her calling “Grammie and Grampaaaaaaaaaaaaa …..” to get her big hugs before she went to bed.  I know the Little Imp is going to miss her Grammie and Grampa now they’re on their way back to California, but I know, too, that she is going to have some wonderful memories of their Summer ’08 visit to Maine and so will the rest of us.

And yet, I can’t help feeling a little blue. The Little Imp has one set of grandparents who love her to bits. But all she will have of her other set of grandparents are pictures and stories. My mum passed away in 1996 and my Dad in 2005. Neither of them will get to meet the little packet of sunshine that is the Little Imp. One day, perhaps, we will give her the family slide show. It has been a family tradition, to subject people to our history in slides and photographs, mainly, I think, to see the four Sons of Mum and Pops squirm as the ancient past comes to life. For the Little Imp, however, it will be a glimpse of two people she will never meet, yet will have such a big effect in shaping her future. Sights and tales from around the world, of two ordinary, yet extraordinary, people, who raised four sons, the youngest of which is her Dad.

I know Mum and Dad would have loved the Little Imp, the precocious, curly-haired, sunny-smiled bundle of fun. It’s my job to let Lil’G know that. Even if it does make me a little sad sometimes.

G