Recommended wine for today’s entry: My mother-in-law, Barbara, had a perfectly chilled bottle of Kris pinot grigio in her fridge when we arrived there. It’s a repeat — I’ve recommended it before, but it is one of my faves and I’ve only found it one place here locally, so it was a big treat!
I know I posted an entry during Phase I of my visit to Connecticut, and I meant to let y’all know how Phase II went – at my mother-in-law’s place in New Haven. But I got tired due to my husband’s latest malady – his back went out somewhere in the friendly skies between Kentucky and Connecticut, and if you thought a 16-year-old with a virus moans a lot, you haven’t heard a husband with back pain.
Just to catch you up, while we were staying at my father-in-law’s (Phase I), hubbie was unable to stand up straight. Because we are always trying to find ways to help, my two daughters and I hauled the luggage hither and yon. None of us is particularly hale and hearty; I would estimate that as a group we have a cumulative 9.5 pounds or so of muscle. We are talking about carrying 40-pound suitcases up steep stairs … anyway, I digress.
The second night there he was perhaps hobbled even more by a brisk, long, ill-advised walk along the beach. A walk during which, I might add, I pointed out two sections of beach that had apparently been used for some sort of festive gathering the evening before – citing piles of beer cans, cigarette butts and balloons. It wasn’t until we returned back to the house that my 19-year-old pulled me aside and quietly informed me that those weren’t balloons. I am sure that my in-laws are impressed with my street sense.
That night, he shifted position, tossed, turned, moaned, tossed, moaned, woke me up to tell me to bang on the wall and tell the girls to get off their phones, tossed and moaned. Finally I took two Benadryl and possibly slipped into a light coma.
The next day he decided to go to a chiropractor, and while there, he actually asked the guy if he should go to “a real doctor” when he returned home. A question to which — go figure — the chiropractor took offense and stated, apparently vehemently, that chiropractors ARE real doctors. He then “adjusted” my husband’s back.
I think it is very sensible and rational to insult someone and then offer them complete access to your spinal column, don’t you?
By the time we got to his mother’s house, he was constantly holding ice on what he euphemistically called his lower back, but which was pretty clearly his butt. And still the pain was shooting down his leg. Well, I thought as I lugged the 40-pound suitcase upstairs yet again, if you think THAT hurts…just wait until we get home.
At least there I took sleeping matters into my own hands. I made myself a little bed out of the sofa cushions from the girls’ hide-a-bed and a cushy comforter and set up a nice little room of my own. Everyone else called my room “the hall,” but I found it quite charming. I had easy access to the potty and was happy to offer my family an element of protection from intruders, much like a large dog who sleeps outside the bedroom door at night.
He was able to participate in our activities in Connecticut, which, to be honest, mainly consisted of visiting restaurants and one two-hour outlet shopping experience, during which he sat with all the other elderly men at the tables out front. In between he sat in his mom’s kitchen in his underpants with an ice pack on his back/butt/leg. I hope our children don’t inherit his bad back, because I’m pretty sure they’ll already need therapy to erase the vision of daddy in his grippies with a puddle of water on the floor beneath him.
We had fun regardless, visiting with his family – and my sister-in-law Bev and I were able to enjoy quite a few refreshing glasses of wine. Bev, a teacher, was celebrating the end of school and her daughter’s 8th grade graduation, and I was happy to celebrate with her!
Just for the record, I do feel sorry for my husband or else I would have written this two days ago when I really wanted to strangle him. And yesterday, I even bought him his own little belt-thingie, a strap-on ice pack, appropriately named the Cryo-MAX. Now that I’m home, with a fresh bottle of Benadryl and my own bed, I am ready to weather the storm.
And the dog has taken his rightful place in the hall.