The family that's sick together sticks together...or something!

It’s like a houseguest who refuses to leave.  Over the past six weeks, four members of my family have been sick with the flu.  

My youngest son is the one who first brought The Crud to us.  I don’t know who gave it to him, but when I find out, that person is definitely off my Christmas card list.  

Evan never had the flu before and couldn’t believe how he physically couldn’t get out of bed for a week.  I took care of him, though, bringing him plenty of fluids to drink and whatever food he felt he could tolerate eating.  In the process, he learned that the IDEA of a sick day is much more fun than the REALITY of a sick day.  Even Algebra class is preferable to being sick in bed with a runaway fever and teeth-chattering chills for days on end.

Two weeks later, it was my turn, even though caring for a sick kid for a week should have earned me a free illness pass - or, at the very least, sainthood.  

The flu struck me down on a Monday.  Interestingly, the same kid I’d taken care of a couple of weeks earlier never even popped his head inside my room to see if I was alive.  Kids...you give them life and they end up leaving you alone to become a flu casualty.  

Thankfully, my husband was more responsible.  He made sure that I had soup and tea and whatever else I could actually get down which wasn’t a lot.  Not many foods sounded appetizing, and of the few that did, the food didn’t taste right.  

On the positive side, the flu is a heckuva diet plan.  Once the week was done, I’d lost ten pounds.  I can hear the infomercial now for the New! Exciting! Flu2014 Diet:  Lose your appetite!  Sleep for a week!  Cough until you pee!  Lose ten pounds while trying not to die!  Can Weight Watchers promise any of that?  I don’t think so.

The flu’s next victim was my oldest son.  Like me, he disappeared into bed on a Monday and didn’t emerge until the following Sunday.  Ryan didn’t ask for much while he was sick, and when he did, he would text me with his request.  This was actually a fabulous system, eliminating the need for me to climb the stairs 400 times per day to check on him only to find that he was always sleeping.  

His texts were concise and to-the-point:

           

           

            “Can I have cough drops?”

“Can I have tea?”  

“Can I have toast?”

“When will this end?”

As soon as Ryan felt better, the flu hit my middle son, Matt, who is still sick as I write this.  Taking care of him has proved to be much more challenging than the other two.  For starters, he refuses to accept that food just doesn’t taste good.  He keeps asking for different things, hoping that one of them will be palatable, and his requests are much more specific:

            “Can you stop at the store and get me some beef stew?”

            “Can I have a glass of water with ice cubes and a bendy straw?”

            “Can I have strawberries and some other kinds of fruit on a plate?”

            “Can you bring me some scrambled eggs, ice cream, cough syrup, and grapes?”

Honestly, if he weren’t obviously sick in bed, I might begin to suspect pregnancy.

While Matt is still trying to feel better, Ryan and Evan and I have discovered that this flu leaves behind a brutal, annoying cough.  People probably won’t want to invite you to the movies, but sounding as if you’re about to cough up a lung does a great job of chasing away hovering bosses and chatty co-workers.

Want to try some Flu2014 for yourself?  The kids and I and our germs will be right over.  

How the Internet Helped Paint My Kitchen

For the past two months, my kitchen has been under some sort of construction.  We had an undetected leak inside the kitchen wall which seeped underneath the whole floor.  Since you can't dry out water from below a tile floor, the entire kitchen had to come out in order to replace the damaged floor and walls.

          This experience has not been as much fun as you'd expect.  A forced renovation doesn't feel nearly as exciting as a planned one, and I can personally attest that there's at least twice as much swearing involved.  Still, we had to do what we had to do, so the past few months have been spent packing up things from our cabinets, tearing them out, replacing the floor and walls, and putting everything back together again.

Since our cabinets were undamaged, we didn't have to worry about selecting new ones, but everything else had to be chosen.  Tile or laminate floor?  Should the countertop be solid surface or granite?  What color tile for the backsplash?  Which accent tiles?  Of course, every new choice had to also match the previous choices or the kitchen would look as if it were coordinated by a colorblind five-year-old.  While my decorating skills are not among my greatest talents, they are superior to those of a colorblind five-year-old.

Through this project, I've learned that there's nothing like a home renovation to put a marriage to the test.  In the beginning, Dan and I happily chose a countertop and flooring together, each respecting the other's opinion.  By the time we had to choose a paint color, though, neither of us could muster any energy - or cooperation - over yet another choice to make. 

Since Dan was also our contractor, working every spare moment on the kitchen in addition to his regular full-time job began to take a toll on him.  Picking a paint color was not something he was the tiniest bit interested in doing.  He just wanted to be DONE.  So instead of attempting to help me choose, or even giving me any kind of advance warning, I simply received the instruction, "I'm painting tomorrow, so pick a color."

This request should not strike fear in anyone, but it did in me.  The last time I picked a paint color, it did not end well.  What should've been the warm color of terracotta somehow morphed into Pink Panther pink when it was applied to the walls of my kitchen.  The color was so ugly that when I told my mother about the water damage in our kitchen, the first thing she said was, "Does this mean you can finally get rid of that godawful pink paint?"

After that painful pink experience, I was determined to choose a paint color I wouldn't regret.  But how could I select the right one with only a day to pick it?

I had a rare day off from work, so I set about the business of selecting paint for the kitchen.  Dan gave me one of those huge contractor paint swatch fan decks with a gazillion color choices.  Since there was a lot of gray in both the countertop and the floor, I started with the gray palette.  There were so many choices!  Names such as "Mindful Gray," "Worldly Gray," "Amazing Gray," "Intellectual Gray," and "Agreeable Gray" were amusing but not at all helpful.  I wasn't sure I wanted my walls to be smarter or more interesting than I am. 

A different color strip offered "Proper Gray" (as opposed to IMproper Gray?"), "Essential Gray" (made me wonder what "Non-Essential Gray" looked like,) and "Grayish."  Of the last one, my son Ryan said,"'Grayish?'  Really?  It's like they weren't even trying!"

I had high hopes for this color strip in spite of the lackluster names, but didn't feel confident enough to choose by myself.  I needed some real experts, so I did what any other clueless mom would do:  I asked my Facebook friends.

I posted photos of potential paint candidates along with samples of my floor, backsplash tiles, and countertop.  Within moments, friends were there to offer advice and opinions about the best color for my kitchen.

They were with me when I posted photos of the samples in the early morning sun.  They were with me when I discarded those colors and had to start all over later in the day because the dim light made them look dreadful. 

I thought my choice was settled until a friend recommended that I hold my favorite color next to my oak-colored cabinets to make sure it didn't clash.  Oops.  I'd completely forgotten about the cabinets!  She was right: the color that looked wonderful with the countertop, floor, and tile looked terrible next to the warm wood tones of my hickory cabinets.

Another friend had previously suggested a green palette which I hastily dismissed.  Now, being back at square one, I was willing to try anything - even (gasp!) The Green Palette.

I went to the paint store and selected several green-hued swatches.  Even though I had an entire color wheel at home, I wanted actual swatches to hang on the wall.

One color jumped out at me:  Silvermist.  It was a green-ish , gray-ish, aqua-ish, blue-ish color that was absolutely beautiful.  Plus, in no way did the name "Silvermist" make me feel inadequate as those gray colors had done.  Paint definitely wins points if it leaves my self-esteem intact.

I taped the swatches to the walls around the room.  The Silvermist one kept catching my eye.  I took a photo of the Silvermist swatch as well as two others and posted them to my Facebook page.  Within moments, friends commented in support of my choices.  Happily, I wasn't the only one who liked these new green-based swatches.

Dan came home from work and saw the paint swatches hanging all over the kitchen.

"So, did you pick a paint?"

"I think so," I said.  "I just want to see how the one I like looks in the morning with the sun hitting it."

Dan walked up to the Silvermist swatch.  "I really like this one."

"You do?" I was surprised that he expressed an opinion.  I mean, how would he hold it over my head for choosing an ugly color if he liked it, too?

"I like that one, too.  So do my Facebook friends."

"You asked your Facebook friends about a paint color?"

Clearly this man doesn't understand a thing about decorating.