Ode to Benedryl

Ode to Benedryl

Oh, you little pink pill
Magical and wondrous
In twenty short minutes
My airways clear
Breathing in and out
With nary a sniffle to be heard
Glorious scents of flowers and trees
Without a single sneeze

My eyes no longer itch
My nose without a twitch
And then comes the price
A deep long sleep
Right here would be nice
My head nods and bobs
My mouth starts to yawn
My sinuses may be clear
But my mind is a fog

Cottonwoods

The Cottonwoods are in bloom.  They are absolutely beautiful with dripping white blossoms making yesterday's roadtrip quite scenic.

And they are my nemesis.

I love the blooms and the sweet scent they add to the air, especially at night.  But in a few weeks they will go to seed.  Little fluffy puffs will drift in the wind looking exactly like snow and my eyes will water and my nose will drip and I will cough profusely.

I am allergic to cottonwood pollen.

Very allergic.  And I know this without any doctor's proclamation.  It is a simple if/then statement.  If cottonwood puffs are in the air, then I will look and feel like someone punched me in the face.  When the puffs go away I will be able to breathe. 

It's already starting so I will begin my drug regimen and continue through late fall.  Once the cottonwoods stop affecting me something else is in the air, but I'm not quite so sure what that is.  Fortunately it's not as severe as the cottonwood reaction, just minor congestion.

Welcome to St. Louis!  It's allergy season - all year long!

Are You There God? It's Me, Dazed and Confuddled (Another TMI post)

Girls, you know what I'm talking about, right?  Mother Nature?  That "time"?  Wouldn't it seem that at 43, I would have a basic grasp on my body's activities?  And yet, I walk into the bathroom and SURPRISE!  I've been blessed with a visit I anticipated to arrive sometime next week.

It's no wonder men find women so mystifying.  We're always changing.  If we don't know when or how to expect our hormones to hit us how can they be expected to keep up?  Guys are straightforward and never changing, besides a classy touch of gray.  If Steve was an asshole at twelve, chances are he's still an asshole at fifty-two and is an asshole just about every day of the year.  Cathy, on the other hand, can be a raging bitch all through high school, come to some sort of epiphany in college and start being the nicest most generous person you ever met... well except three days before her period which may or may not be this week.

The Husband swears I bring this on intentionally, ruining a full weekend of being at home with no kid.  Yeah right.  Not like I would want it at work or on a busy weekend or... well... anytime for that matter.  No I do NOT will it to happen.  My baby production years are over and thus my need for monthly anything can gladly go bye-bye.  The doctor who made sure I can't have babies would gladly give me a full-on hysterectomy if she ever found out I got pregnant again - she did not enjoy the hell I put her through with my high risk pregnancies.  I know better than to wish for any of the reasons to yank out body parts, so I won't.  No tempting fate here.

But still, wouldn't it be nice if on the morning of, there would be a little bell ringing warning of the impending doom headed your way?  I don't even need exact times, just a little heads up that today is the day that I need to trot to the bathroom with my purse securely tucked under my arm.  I bet the guys didn't know that the original purpose of purses was solely to transport monthly supplies and lipstick?  Not wrenches and flickering lugnuts won at the car show?  Seriously.  Purses are God's way to ensure women can sneak into the bathroom without announcing "HEY, I'VE GOT TO CHANGE EQUIPMENT... AGAIN"

Shit bring back the cramps!  I can't believe I'm even asking for that.  But at least I knew, well sort of.  I would bitch and moan about not feeling good and how my back hurt and then it would strike me, hey dummy those are cramps, get ready.  That's right, I would have cramps and not even know it.  EVERY DAMN MONTH.  A couple of years ago they disappeared.  YIPPY!  But then I also lost any sort of sign that you-know-what was about to happen.

When I talked to my doctor about the change in symptoms, she smiled sweetly and told me that I was experiencing "peri-menopause."  I'm so pissed I won't even bother looking it up.  I presume it means that lovely time when my body is trying to switch gears into full blown menopause, but not yet, we're still having fun with the bathroom surprises.  And all of you who have lived through the menopause years - I don't want to hear it.  The hot flashes and the cold flashes and the continued surprises and mood swings.  I just cannot wait.  Usually I want all of the details so I can enter the new phase in my life fully equipped, but I really and truly do not want to know.  I think I've had information overload and really need to cope with the issue at hand and as far as I can tell there is no coping, just whining.  And SURPRISE.

I used to like surprises.  This is really fucking up my entire sense of self.

The Basement Grocery

He says he hates to shop, yet every week my beloved scans through the newspaper ads carefully cutting out coupons. He watches for the best deals and spends his days off hopping from one grocery store to the next. He may hate shopping, but he does love getting a deal. Saving money is his favorite pastime.

When I moved into this house, before my coupon crazy husband entered my life, I reveled in the fact that there were shelves in the basement. That for once, I could finally stock up on a few necessary items as my previous houses never had ample storage. Little did I know that in a few years these shelves would be quivering under the weight of our latest booty.

I take great pleasure in picking on my husband for his shopping adventures. The endless supply of toilet paper amuses me to no end. Between coupons and some store sale last spring, he brought home all that his little minivan could carry. We have enough toilet paper to wipe our asses for quite some time. This picture was taken just a few days ago and hardly a dent has been made in our supply. I thought it would take us a year to go through that much toilet paper, but it looks like I may be wrong. It will be much longer.

Before I get all smug over the toilet paper frenzy maybe we should peek at the shelves.
Notice the over-OCD manner of neat rows, labels pointing forward?
Yeah, that would be MY illness rearing its ugly little head - the compulsive need for order. At least my husband and I have complimentary illnesses? When we move I have dreams of a real, honest-to-God pantry. Can you imagine the damage we could do with one of those??? And yes, I'm pretty sure we'll need a few shelves in the basement to catch the overflow.

My daughter finds the current storage room extremely hilarious. And is a little envious. Her little apartment dwelling self swears she's going to come to my house to do her shopping. We've started referring to that corner as "The Basement Grocery Store".