Crash and Burn

Ugh, I'm having a miserable week. Coughing. Coughing. Coughing. Night and Day. I stayed home from work Wednesday, and got some drugs from the doc on Saturday, but I still feel pretty rotten. Can't sleep unless I am propped up by four pillows, and even then I wake every hour with a coughing fit. Or drenched in sweat. Attempts to speak either come out in whispers or devolve into hacking fits. I dread having to call out to the kids to stop doing something, because half the time I can't get the words out.

The silver lining is that Dan took a week's vacation to chill out a bit. So every night he's been home to corral the kids. Except last night, when he was passed out drunk on the futon from too many Jager Bombs. You see, his co-workers like to have a yearly bar-b-que party, and since they're all apartment/frat house dwellings college kids, it was decided a few weeks ago to have it at our house. I cheerfully cleared out, and took the kids to the Grandparents for the afternoon. I expected to come home to my loving husband, who, knowing I've been sick all week, would have had things cleaned up and be prepared to take the kids off my hands again. Instead, he was the victim of peer pressure, which I'd think would be pretty hard since he's not only the boss, but also 8-15 years older than everyone else.

At least his friends can hold their liquor better, because someone did manage to clean things up, and one guy stuck around to make sure Dan wasn't alone. Although I was also really ticked off that they lit a bonfire in the backyard. Not surprised, these are chefs after all, they have to set things on fire, it's part of their nature. But I mentioned it to Dan last week and told him if he thought they'd like to burn some of our yard waste for fun, we should first get a permit. Instead, I came home to an illegal fire that was way to big to burn out before bedtime. The aforementioned responsible friends made sure to clear a ring around it and bank it a bit, but it was still smoking in the morning. Not happy about that, especially because I think that enough smoke got in the house to send me into twice the usual number of retching fits.

Whew, had to get that all off my chest.

P.S. You have to watch Ratatouille. Just don't watch it on an empty stomach.