I Saw This Play One Time.

Let's get down to brass tacks here.  I do not enjoy being sick.

Nor do I enjoy my beloved spouse being plagued with a nasty bug either.

But, dislike it as I may, the universe was at odds with the Eddington family this past week.  Pestilence burned through our food and earthquakes shook our floors, too.  Okay, I'm joking about that part.  But I did find a moldy biscuit.  

It all started out so innocently.  Going to see a play together.  We made the poor choice of sitting ten seats away from the isle.  The rest, I'm sure you can figure out.  But I'm sure you clicked on this link for a good story, and a good story you will get!  

Chad noticed my apparently apparent queasiness.  "Are you okay?" He whispered to me.

I couldn't manage much legible speech at the time.  I just managed to stand up and stomp down the row of filled seats, surely filling the occupants with unspeakable anger towards the now green faced girl stepping on their toes.  Next objective: find a bathroom. And fast.  Luckily, and I mean very luckily, there was a bathroom right outside the door.  If ever there was an award for perfect timing, I should be awarded said award.  I wont go into details, but I lost my dinner. And my lunch. And my... stomach lining... And a lot of sleep.

Good story, right?

Unfortunately, my wonderful husband came down with the bug a couple days ago. Only I think bugs like him, because he was way worse.  Need I be embarrassed that I almost cried when I heard him surrendering his insides to the porcelain throne?  I think not.  A sympathetic wife am I, and I hold tight to my title.  

Chad was a bit loopy during his hours at deaths door. So much so that at one point, he began whispering to me, "Alex, do you... do you wanna... you wanna get me... a popsicle... so I can... I can l-.... I can lick it?"  Of course, being the sympathetic wife I am, I was elated to get him a popsicle.  I got down on the floor next to him and gave him his delicious strawberry delight. He licked it. Smacked his lips together a few times. Smiled. And then said "Okay, you can put it back now." and handed it back to me.  A joy he is, I say. A magnificent joy.  

Luckily we are all better and happy to be so.  We don't do well being sick.  So I daresay we shouldn't become so ever again lest we be tempted to roll over and die.  Anyway, I'm gonna go to bed now.  Healthy wishes to all!  And if you live in the Burg... Watch for the bugs...

Oh, the memories I... Remember....

I am of the opinion that every female, admitted or not, has a stash of highly embarrassing and or awkward monthly visitor stories.  You know what I'm talking about.  The 'dot' as I used to call it.  Period.  Yep.  I said it.  If this is a TMI moment for you, I want to let you know that this is the part where you exit this post.  Because I plan to elaborate on past and recent happenings revolving around that very subject.  If this impending horror terrifies you, turn back now, my friend.  I fear that if you don't turn back immediately, the fluidity of my writing skills will have you trapped before you can say "that's just weird" and you will have no choice but to continue on in forced indulgence of the hilarity and awkwardness that will ensue.... now.

First, you may wonder what on earth is bringing this to my mind.  Well, for one, one story is from today.  And for two, just because I'm a woman.  And women are random and unpredictable.

Back when I was a youngin', I distinctly remember a certain visit to the doctors office.  Not so much what it was for.  I just remember having to pee in that stupid water-colored dixie cup.  You know, the kind that seems like it's not even fit to hold four drops of liquid without sustaining considerable damage.  And they expect many a person to pee in said cup.  Well, I also remember my little monthly friend decided to accompany me to the doctors office.  So considerate, really.  I guess.

Well, I made that dixie cup work.  Put my business in the little cupboard and waited to hear the other side open.  I always pictured the nurses gathering around, laughing maniacally at the little dixie cup.  It made me self conscious.  Didn't they know that urine is no laughing matter?  Anyway, I digress.

I remember walking out of the bathroom.  I hated that part.  Let's face it.  When you walk out of a doctors office potty room,  EVERYBODY knows your business.  Then you have to take the walk of shame past every single open door back to your room which is always the last door on the left.  You can almost hear the laughter and the accusing whispers.  

Sadly enough, my walk of shame was actually cut short.  This frantic little old lady came running out of the pee-observing room with a terrified look on her face.  She deduced that I must have been the owner of the tainted subject she had obviously just observed.  Must've been the guilty look on my face.  Or the fact that I was just exiting the potty room.  She shuffled up to me and looked me in the eye.

"Are you menstruating???"  I had to think about it for a minute.

My first instinct of course, was to tell her it was none of her business.  But then I realized that I pretty much handed it over in a dixie cup.  So I guess it was.

"... Yes?"  I remember it sounding like a question.  Like I was afraid I'd be in trouble.  

(When I read this part of the story to my husband, he became defensive. 'She was probably just concerned.  If you weren't on your period, you could've been really sick.')

She sighed and turned back into the pee laboratory.  Now that I think about it, I was pretty inconsiderate.  Should've replied with a "Yes, thank you for asking!" or perhaps, "Why yes, and yourself?" 

And now the reason for the memories.  I have another story of the more embarrassing variety.  Perhaps awkward, too.  But mostly embarrassing because it was my doing.

I get sick on when my monthly friend visits.  Usually I like company.  But in this case, I rather sleep on the bathroom floor.  

Chad asked me if I'd like to go to devotional today. Sounded nice.  He'd pick me up.  Life would be good.  

I got a text message from him saying, "Do you want to meet on campus?"  and this simply wouldn't do.  I replied with a hasty, "What? Huh? Meet where? For what? I'm sick and hot and I feel gross and I'm still on my period."  Only after I sent said message, did I notice it wasn't Chad at all.

It was someone interested in buying clothes I'd put up for sale.  I quickly messaged back and attempted to explain the situation.  She was a good sport.  She hasn't expressed anymore interest in clothes though..

So, everyone. The moral of the story is, our monthly friend is the kind of unwanted company that we laugh about later.  Like the friend of a friend that your friend wants you to be best friend with.  Or like wrecking a car.  "You'll laugh about it later."

Only the car part isn't funny.

Does anybody else have these kinds of stories?  Feel free to share.  If you laugh about it, we should all laugh about it.  I like laughing.

Ha.

The car still isn't funny.

And a Little Added Sunshine For Your Day...

Enjoy.

Wednesday Is a Special Day.

You know Christmas?  Right.  I figured you did.  Well, you know how kids get all excited for Christmas?  So much so that they lose precious hours of sleep over the hullabaloo of it all?  Wee chillins tucked in their beds find themselves chasing those dancing sugar plums in the middle of July?  Utter excitement, I dare say.

Lucky (or unlucky) for Chad and me, our hullabaloo comes not once, but a grand total of fifty two (fifty three, if you count Christmas) times a year!  Our hullabaloo day?  It's Wednesday.  Do you know why?  Of course you don't know why.  That's why I'm going to tell you.  Is the suspense killing you yet?

Chad has a 'strict' bed time of eight o'clock.  Usually around seven his brain starts to get foggy and he starts saying strange things... and talking to me while he's in the bathroom.  Never a good sign.  Why the insane bed time?  Because of his job.  Chad works as a janitor for the BYU-I campus.  His shift starts at four.  In the morning.  So naturally, him being a sleep lover and all, he tries to stock up.

But Thursday is a glorious day.  It's his day off.  Therefor, on Wednesday, we do not abide by the eight o'clock bedtime rule, no matter how tired we are.  Nay, we stayed up until ten last night.  And guess what?

We didn't even feel bad about it. (snicker)

But anyway, we always try to make the best of the hullabaloo.  What did we do this past Wednesday, you ask?  Well, I'll show you!

A tent.  Yes.  Held up with educational text and the like.  We are smart people.

Chad and I built a tent, made some fudge, and watched a movie.  That was our celebration of the hullabaloo. Of course, Chad tried to fit our mattress inside the tent.  I felt like a little kid stealing my siblings chocolate moneys when I told him that it just wouldn't work...

The mattress was omitted and the tent was smashing.  Even if we crouched a little bit.

He's very focused, isn't he?  Probably doing homework until the fudge is done.

Orrrrrr NOT! (Note the sock.  Halfway off.  Not sure why he prefers that.  Why not off?  Or on?  Is he self conscious about his feet?  Or does he like the feel of it better?  Not sure.)

But honestly, adoring fans, I feel like a kid on December 26th.  You know what that feeling is?

What the heck do I do now?

And that's when I decided the best course of action would be to post on the blog.  Instead of do dishes immediately.  Let's face it, when you open up presents on Christmas, the last think you want to do is take down the tree.  Well that's just it.  I'm going to leave our tree up for another hour or so.  And then wash the tree... Dishes.  And then probably...

Wallow in self pity.

I. Just. Don't. Know.

Happy belated Wednesday, fervent followers!

It was the onions.

I had no idea that onions had such a horrible effect on me.  Not eating them, of course.  Cutting them.  Even before I cut the onions I was feeling teary eyed.  Seriously.  Days before.

Okay, maybe it's not the onions.  But whatever it is, it's got me spouting all sorts of... "emotions"... everywhere.  Crying seems to be the go-to.  But why?  I. Don't. Know.

A few days ago I cried because I cut my finger.  Because it hurt?  No.  I couldn't feel a thing.  More or less because I suppose I felt rather sheepish.  Chad never cuts his finger.  So I laid in bed and made a fool out of my sheepish self.  Cry, cry, cry.  I sucked it up eventually.  But Chad still won't let me around any sharp objects...

Then came Sunday.  Things were going pretty well, I suppose.  Then I got ready for church.  The dress I had but on was ever so slightly too short.  Oh, it's fine! I said. It's just getting caught! My faulty attempts to pull it down ended with me in our room, looking through my closet, still holding tight to my cool.

I put tights on: Run.

It's fine. I didn't really want to wear them anyway. And I put them away. I opted for a completely different outfit.  Complete with a white shirt. Problem is, I don't own any white tank tops.  Needless to say, I looked a tad silly with a black one, and it proved to be too much when even Chad noticed.

"I can see through your shirt a little bit."

I threw myself on the bed, and do you know what I did?  Cried.  Go without me!  I pleaded, as if my will to live had all but been swiped out from under me.

I know what you're wondering. Did Alex find an outfit?!  Well, yes.  I did.

Moral of the story?  I'm not really sure.  Perhaps it has to do with us all needed a good cry every 24 hours.  Perhaps there isn't one.  Either way, my husband rules.  Know why?  He didn't laugh at all until I was DONE crying.  At that point, I'd realize how ridiculous I was being and laugh along.

Anyway, thought I'd share that little nugget with you.  Until further notice, I'd stay away from onions.  Don't even think about them..

Onions.

I Was Sleeping, And Then I Woke Up...

There you have it. My day so far.  I know you've all been dying of curiosity.  I can hear it now.  Your brains humming to the tune of "what is Alex doing RIGHT THIS SECOND." Just kidding.  But if that just so happens to be what's going on inside your brain, that's it. I woke up.  I sat on the couch.  I ate some saltine toffee.  And I opened my computer.  The end.  The mystery is a mystery no more.

Chad and I had a pretty great weekend.  Excuse me while I try to remember it.

Ah, yes. Saturday, we ran errands, pretty much.  Grocery shopping. Yadda yadda. BUT, we also had a pillow fight.  I won.  We had been using the little square pillows on the couch, and Chad thought it would be a good idea to throw me on the bed and walk away, as if that would silence my reign of terror.  Absolutely not.  Was he unaware that there was bigger and badder ammo on our bed?  Silly Chad.  He wont made THAT mistake again... soon.  But yes, I won.  Big time.

Then I got a big boo boo on my finger later that night, and we didn't have and band-aids!  Chad, without question or needing to be asked, grabbed his keys and got in the car and went and bought a first aid kit, complete with Kit-Kats.  Could he be any cooler?!  I don't think so.  I daresay I like my husband.

Then Sunday came around.  Church was awesome.  We love our new ward.  Chad is making friends faster than me though.  You know how I know? Because.  Yesterday, we went to drive Julia home, (that part comes later) and he waved at a guy.  But he didn't just wave.  He did the "nod".  And you know what?  The guy waved back.  Also complete with the "nod".  Seriously, best friends if I ever saw it.  How can  this come from the guy that said four words to me the first time we went out?!  It's not not okay.  I think maybe I'll stop talking.  Maybe you catch more flies that way, if you catch my drift.  Only I don't like flies...

Anyway, we came home and started cooking a delicious spaghetti dinner!  We invited Chad's sister Julia over for the evening, and it was pretty much going to be awesome.  We also enjoyed my bread sticks, which were delicious on top and so so on the bottom.  I pretended to like them though.  Just so everybody else would pretend they liked them.

We got to Skype the Eddington fam fam!  We all seemed to enjoy eachother's e-company.  Especially papa Eddington, when the stories involved his son... and gas.

Then Chad and I started yawning.  Julia was laughing at us.

And so we talked and talked and then we all got in the car to take Julia home.  The "nod" occurred.  We dropped Julia off and went home and Chad ate cocoa puffs.  He's coo coo, you know.

That was our weekend.  Riveting, I know.  If you want a piece of the action, come move in for the small price of only seven hundred dollars a month! I know it's more than we pay per month, but you get furniture.  And food.  And a room to yourself. I don't even get that!  Plus, we'll even give you the nice comfy floor to sleep on.  Best deal in town.  This is the only place you get to live with awesome itself.

Anyway.  I'm going to go eat some more saltine toffee.

Okay, bye.

Ahh, Wedded Bliss!

What more can I say?  The dishwasher exploded, I nearly caught the apartment on fire, and I should be doing dishes.  Welcome to the Eddington family!  No, really though.  It's rather fantastic.  Our family, I mean.  We're thinking of making shirts.  So you, the person I just welcomed to our family... I'm going to need your shirt size... And some new dish detergent...

Twelve days into marriage and it's only getting better!  My stupidity average is blasting through the roof, as you probably gathered from the previous paragraph.  It's not my fault they make the knobs on stove tops and their corresponding burner different depending on the brand.  How was I supposed to know I couldn't turn on a burner with my eyes closed?  Needless to say, it wasn't my fault when a whole bottle of vegetable oil made its way into every nook and cranny of our stove top.  Not my fault, I say.  Chad was wise enough to keep me at bay once the oopsie was discovered.  Then he promptly made a new rule: NO PUTTING THINGS ON THE BURNERS.  If you haven't made this rule, you should.  Unless its a pan of course.  Maybe the rule should read, "Don't put full containers of vegetable oil on the burners, whether or not you intend to turn that burner on, because odds are it will get turned on."  That makes much more sense. But super Chad came to the rescue and salvaged ALL of the oil. Not some. ALL.  You may wallow in jealousy if it floats your boat.  

The oil is now safely stowed away in a pretty little tupperware in our pantry.  Safe and sound.  No where near the burners.... Or me.

Well, world, that's our first post.  I will continue this epic tale whenever inspiration strikes...

Or whenever my husband goes to the library again...