Mosaic Life

At least it’s not the bird flu

I took the day off yesterday to study for finals and write a paper. I’m really glad I did, because when I woke up yesterday morning, Brandon had a high fever and the classic signs of the flu. He never gets sick. Really, never. But apparently this was the sickest he’s ever been. So we drove to the student health clinic and he tested positive for the flu. Did you know they have a test for that? That’s so cool. We’re getting to a point in healthcare where it’s going to get hard for kids to fake illnesses. Good thing I escaped childhood before that happened or I would have had to go to school way more.

Anyway, so yeah. The flu really sucks. But Brandon was able to start taking Tamiflu within 24 hours of symptoms, so I’m hoping he gets better fast. Oh, and I hear that the flu shot I got in November is useless, because a different strand of the flu is going around than the three strands I was vaccinated against. At least I tried.

The most important meal of the day

My husband rocks the hizzy. (Yes, this is one of those bragging about the husband posts.) He made ham, egg, and cheese english muffins this morning and brewed coffee. Why is that such a big deal? You see, in the Wason household, we don’t do mornings. Well, Monster does mornings, and it gets him locked in the bathroom until 8 a.m. or so. And so the very fact that I had more than an apple for breakfast on a weekday is amazing. Less healthy perhaps, but far more tastey.

So I’ll be making breakfast tomorrow as a sort of thank-you. And it’s going to be the best cereal ever.

A grand marquis, a shack, and the kid who picks his nose

I remember when I was in elementary school, the girls had this game they would play to see what their lives would be like someday. This included folded up paper and a sort of eeny meeny miney moe approach, and would tell you what kind of car you would drive, who you would marry, and what sort of house you would live in. Of course, this proved to be untrue, since (as of yet) I do not drive a BMW or own a 2-story house, and I did not marry the class nerd. I married a nerd from across the country, thank you. Even when I cheated and got the best options possible, my life did not turn out to be anything like I might have imagined. But I’m so glad it didn’t.

So if I could go back to my elementary school self and tell her about the future, I’d say that it won’t be anything like you thought it would, but it will be so much better. And stop doing your bangs like that.

New Address

So apparently, we didn’t do a good job of informing people that we’d moved last May, and that a lot of people (okay, more like a few people) got their Christmas cards that they sent us returned to them because of that.

So if you have an Atlanta address for us, it’s old. We live in Decatur now (even though we’re only 2 miles from our old place). If you want our new one, e-mail me (my e-mail is under the About section) and I’ll gladly send it to you, as long as you plan to send us something good.

Now I’ll return to celebrating Presidents’ Day by finishing off Plato’s Republic and being lazy. It’s the American way.

Day after Valentines Day

 

I know what you’re thinking. How will Brandon outdo last year’s heart-shaped pizza? Well behold, my friends, the heart-shaped chocolate cherry cake that he masterfully baked. He also got me a batman card similar to the cards I mentioned in the post below, and some Dove chocolate. Altogether, a very healthy V-day.

Happy V-day!

I remember when I was in elementary school, how I would give out little Valentines Day cards to everyone in the class. I’d pay special attention to the ones for the boys, so as to not give them the wrong idea. Especially the ugly boys. They’d get things that said “have a sweet valentines day!” with a picture of a chocolate candy or “I’m just being nice and giving you a card so don’t think that I like you because I heard you pick your nose and eat it.” Okay, so maybe not the second one, though it would be a popular card I think.

Have a great Valentines Day!

A way with words

My dad often tells me that I have a way with words. Apparently, this trait runs in my family. Here’s a quote from my great-great grandma, Lacie Newsome:

“The worst whore in the world is better than any man.”

Did she harbor bitterness toward men? It’s hard to tell. But from the pictures I’ve seen of her, I doubt many men would dare cross her.

Self, I said

I recently noticed that I talk to myself. Okay, when I say noticed, what I mean is that I admitted to myself that I do it (probably aloud), and I am officially more like my mom. Growing up, I could always tell what she was thinking about or upset about because she’d talk to herself about it. And now I do it.

Usually it’s not like, a full-on confession or anything. It’s just something like “Seriously, I need more sleep in my life” as I blowdry my hair or “You have GOT to be kidding me” when I get a really messy document to edit (people, if a number has the word “thousand” in it, I guarantee it needs a comma) (Oh, and spellcheck) right before lunch that needs to be finished pronto. Oh, and instead of cursing, I say shizzle. As in, “Shizzle! There are maiden names reoccuring in my family tree!” You get the idea.

I talk to my cat as well. I guess that’s not really talking to myself, except that Monster is highly unlikely to answer or defend himself when I say “SHUT UP, I get it, you’re starving to death and that dry food in your bowl is inedible” or “Why did you push that glass off the counter? Huh? Why? Did you think the carpet needed grape juice on it? I’m locking you in the bedroom, freaking cat” or “What a sweet kitty you are. Now wake up!”