I've been fighting a cold for a few days -- that Kathleen Kelly "my head's getting fuzzy" kind of cold. It's a strange thing to have a stuffy nose in 90 degree weather. I'm not a fan. The problem with a cold (aside from the sneezing and the blowing and the aching), is the fact that I always feel that I should still be productive. It's not like I'm lying prostrate with a fever, I just have a fuzzy head that's about to explode.
So Saturday morning, as I was willing the cold to behave nicely, or perhaps even end up being just allergies instead, I decided to get groceries. I really wanted to put it off, but the cupboards were bare. I heavily applied the hand sanitizer and zipped through my list as quickly as I could, sneezing only once on the samples. Just kidding. The kids were very helpful, but in retrospect I've realized that it's not a great idea to shop while ill.
I first realized this when I got home and decided that I'd like to soothe my head with a cup of tea. I reached for the new box of Trader Joe's Earl Grey. It wasn't there. I paused. How did that happen? It was on my list. I dug through my purse and double checked. Yep -- the list said "tea." I remembered being in that aisle, I remembered thinking "tea," and I had even crossed it off my list. But it wasn't in my cupboard, and it wasn't on my receipt. Rats. Fuzzy head.
I started to scan the pantry and fridge to find further evidence of lapses. No orange juice. Rats. I always get orange juice. Three cartons, in fact. But not a one to be found. I did grab the hot dogs . . . but no hot dog buns. Rats. And where was Aidan's soy milk? Oh drat. I later told Jamie about my shopping problem. He smiled kindly and commented, "Yeah, I was thinking it all looked a little . . . disjointed."
Well, my disjointed head wasn't a whole lot better on Sunday morning. I did feel well enough to get the kids out the door to church, though. Jamie had to be there early for a meeting, so unfortunately he wasn't around to guard against the effects of my fuzzy head. But I managed to iron a few things and pile the kids into the van anyway. I signed Avery into her class and noticed the very large costume jewelry she had decided to wear. Oh well. She's only four.
Last night as my head hit the pillow, the fuzz cleared just enough for me to suddenly realize that Aidan hadn't worn the outfit to church that Jamie had ironed for him. He had worn his swim shorts. I seriously doubt he was anticipating baptism. I'm guessing that instead he picked up on mom's fuzziness and thought he could get away with something. I couldn't help smiling as I sniffled myself to sleep, thankful that my mistakes this weekend weren't terribly scandalous. At least he had on shorts.