Is it ok if I call you Ed? I heard Tom Petty call you that on on the YouTube video of you singing “Waiting Is the Hardest Part” with Tom and his band, so I figure it’s probably ok for me, seeing as you’re the only candidate for my second husband if things with Kevin and I don’t work out. But I digress.
The reason for this letter is not to swoon over you uncontrollably (Warning: I WILL BE DOING THIS TONIGHT!), but rather to tell you that it is completely up to you to save my weekend. Tall order, I know.
Here’s the deal. Pretty much right up to this very point (11:30 a.m. on Sunday), this weekend has blown major chunks. Sure, Lebron brought home a win against Boston on Friday night, but I was feeling pretty beat down myself and just praying for a restful, productive Saturday.
Saturday morning, we awoke to cold, blustery, rainy weather when we had planned on planting our veggie garden. Plans changed. It was a slow morning. I blogged, talked to my sister. Kevin, however, woke up with the most severe back pain. He took a hot shower, I gave him a long, deep lower back massage (I have magic fingers…if we ever get together, you’ll know this). Nothing seemed to stop the pain. Still, we had grocery shopping to be done, clothes to wash, dishes to do, etc.
Never did I think that basically the moment I got in the door, arms full of grocery bags (reusable, of course, cuz that’s how I roll), damp from the cold, pelting rain, that I would have to turn almost right back around and take my husband to Urgent Care. An hour later, I’m sitting in a room at the doctor’s office watching Kevin grimace with every move and chug water to give a urine sample to help diagnose what the doc said sounded like Kidney Stones. Ugh. We went to the ER next to register so that Kevin could have a CAT scan done to complete the diagnoses.
A trip home and a stop at 3 different pharmacies to get the Rx for pain meds filled, I was finally back at home and trying to keep laundry going, wash dishes so I could have room to prepare dinner, and preparing dinner thusly. I burned things, undercooked things, but by 8:30 p.m. we were eating and had a call from the doctor letting us know it was not the dreaded Kidney Stones, but a “bulging disc” that was causing him so much pain. Vicodin and ibuprofen is the solution. Oh wait. We don’t have any more ibuprofen. Out the door I go.
Fast forward to this morning when I arrive home from my work function (yes, I was up at 6:20 a.m.) to find my husband giving me the saddest, most dissappointed eyes. See, the concert tonight was not only to be the light at the end of horrid tunnel of a week for us, but it is my birthday present. Major blues ensue. Do I go without him? Does that make me a bad wife? Can I find someone to go with me, being that it is Mother’s Day and a Sunday? More sighing commenses.
Luckily, I came to my senses and found a concert proxy. But, I’m depending on you, Eddie, to make all this drama worth it. Are you with me? Just blow me a kiss or dedicate a song to me tonight and I’ll know…