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The Dirty Dozen

December 11th, 2012 · No Comments

Sunday I just woke up in the most foul mood; more grouchy than Oscar, meaner than Grinch…the Abominable Kimmer.  I had no reason for it, but I still took it all out on Hubby. He has yet another cold. I yelled at him for the germs. I doused everything he ever touched in Lysol and made him clean up all of his snot rags and water bottles.

Of course, if you know the Hubby, you know he just took it like a man. He even let me drag him around a few stores, decorate the Christmas Tree, listen to Christmas Music and then sat through a sappy made-for-TV Christmas movie. We sang a new Christmas carol: Bitching all the way.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Sunday was December 9th. An entire dozen years to the day had passed since the day that my one and only sister died. I didn’t forget, I never forget. It’s internally imbedded in me. Obviously. Maybe I tried to not acknowledge, but it’s there. It is always there.

Then it hit me like another ton of bricks! I could have lost the Hubby just 8 months ago. We came way too damn close! So I hopped in his chair with him. I knocked his laptop off of his lap. (I know he didn’t care for that as he was in the middle of an intense video game battle. Incidentally, this new addiction drives me even crazier than the snot rags). I hugged him tightly and simply said, “You’re here”.

Thank you Rebecca, for reminding me once again, the important things in life. Snot rags and all.


Tags: Biographical

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