Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Houston Curse

Real Clear Politics
The poll results are in. Six of you decided to get your hands dirty and get involved in the legislative process. But we have a tie! You couldn't decide between "Arguably funny and/or inappropriate Jack story" and "Pithy n' preachy Bible analogy". As it happens, I have neither preachy nor pithy today, so I'll try to post that soon. So 'arguably funny' it is, and this one is certainly arguable. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Reverse the Curse!
I sit here waiting for the DVR to rack up enough minutes to make watching the NFL tolerable (love ya, Mannings, but sheesh). I know, I'll tell you the one about the Houston Curse. Have I mentioned the Curse before? Like Arthur Conan Doyle's Baskervilles, snakes or the pre-2004 Bahston Red Sawx, some are destined to carry a terrible curse for (most of) eternity. We Comodoros are of that happy few.
The Houston Curse as we've come to know it has been there to kick us in the shins since early 2007. Everything from a 17,000 lb pine tree trunk over the house, a broken leg, temporary renal failure, and a hedge fund blowup have been evidence of its cruel wake.

However we started out, the crew is downright superstitious now. And we dread the curse's awful rumblings yet again, poised to strike at what we hold most dear: our vacation.

Exhibit A
So I walked in to Her Majesty lying on the kitchen floor this week. Now look, parents contort themselves in any number of ways to keep their children entertained, and that's no big deal. So that's what I thought of the situation until Majesty informed me that she in fact, couldn't get up (insert LifeCall joke here). So the rest of the evening was spent with me bearhugging her while she took 3 inch babysteps around the house. She torpedoed some big-boy painkillers and was off to seepy-seep.

CRASH. That was the sound that catapulted me out of bed at about 1am, heart pounding, the thought flashing through my mind of waking Mr. Glock up, too. Not necessary. H.M. had decided to pass out and land on the bathroom scales. I discovered this when I stepped on her in my haste. Excerpts from the conversation:
HM: I'm on the floor!
EC: Yes, I know.
HM: I passed out!
EC: Ya think?!
(EC drags her across room)
HM: I think I passed out. I passed out.
EC: Uh huh.
Crisis averted. Yay me. Until 3am, when we do it all over again. Excerpts from that conversation:
HM: I feel fine. I feel fine. I feel fine. I feel fine.
EC: You're going to pass out.
HM: OK, did I pass out?
EC: Yep.
(more reviving, even more dragging)
HM: Going... Going... (collapses again)
EC: Gone!
I almost passed out, myself. From laughter. Like this:

Exhibit B
Not to be outdone, Jack gets sick last night and gets me up either 4 or 5 times (I'm the dad-on-call for weekends). In no particular order, I walk in the room to find Jack: (1) turned 180 degrees from starting position yelling to himself, completely asleep; (2) sitting in his bed, left arm through his PJ collar, sleeve hanging limp, saying BEH! [Belle] BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH! BEH!; (3) standing in his crib yelling DOH! Dadadadadadadadadadada BEH! and (4) sitting there weeping, looking like Job in sackcloth and ashes, scraping himself with potsherds.

I administer Benadryl (Trip #2) for the HUGE insect bite. Long story, but a wreath of garlic and some holy water is the next stage of treatment. Trip #3 involved Motrin. So the kid was probably good and hung over this morning. Majesty finally succeeds in putting him down for good with the Nuclear Option*. After several attempts, she wakes me up at 3ish in the upstairs chair I've fallen into.

Y'know, it strikes me as ironic (and somewhat disturbing) that giving meds falls to people out of thier gourds that might or might not be fully conscious. But we're in charge, baby!

So you can imagine this little guy in glow-in-the-dark skeleton pajamas (see pic) covered in bug bites, with the worst smokers' cough imaginable. Flanked by Majesty, who's spine looks like a scrawled question mark. Followed by the snoring guy in the chair with a pharmacy piled up in his lap. Maybe we should apply for international recognition.

Anyway, all this bodes ill for the First Official Get on a Plane Family Vacation. Ill, I tell you. The crew is now avoiding cracks in sidewalks, ladders, and black cats. And they're trading the ship's plate for incredible numbers of rabbit's feet and framed shamrocks. I've had the same socks on for 2 weeks. You can't imagine the smell.

As an added bonus, enjoy the video of the Skipper and a very recalcitrant FMB below.

UPDATE: Flash! The Curse has gotten wind of this post, and H.M.'s crown fell off (no not that one, the other one). She's now at the dentista getting re-coronated. I hear it's quite a spectacle.

*a.k.a. breastfeeding, the sleep-inducing atomic weapon.


Jennifer Reinsch said...

Sorry to hear you guys have had a good bit of sickness passing around your house. Feel free to steal some holy water from the church (although, stealing may not be the best option). Hope you guys have a good trip.

Anonymous said...

I know, personally, of people who wear the same underwear to ward off evil spirits of loss, thrown-out shoulders, keeping the hitting streak alive so maybe the sock thing will work.Anyhoo, good luck with the 1st plane ride and have fun.Love the video, that's one patient dog!!but then I guess she'd be crazy to snub the hand that throws her scraps!!