When Life Gives you Lemons, Make Wine

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I wrote a post in my head last night while I was doing the dishes, but then I fell asleep and all the words fell out.  It was definitely NOT snoring…it was leaking literary greatness.  You are just going to have to trust me on this one.

Nerdguy has been off on vacation last week and this week.  We had big plans to get things done before the kids are home from school.  What really happened was that he learned exactly how short the school day really is (I have serious concerns about how much the children could really be learning during the school day which is roughly 45 minutes long…I’m sending out a change.org petition to get the school day moved to end at 10pm…watch your inbox).  Our vacation consisted of meetings, cleaning up the garage, packing and unpacking for camping, frequent periods of time dedicated to listening to me whine about camping, and quite a bit of TV time, watching How I Met Your Mother on Netflix.  With vacation itineraries like that we’ll be opening our own travel company anytime now.

So last night I was a little shocked when Nerdguy threw down the fliers and announced “Tomorrow we make wine!”  I laughed at first.  Until he said “It’s time for summer wine.  We have to do it right  now.”  At which point I just slow-blinked and casually felt around my skull for contusions.

We like to drink wine.  We have never made wine.  And what on earth is summer wine?  If it means drinking wine all summer (because Lord KNOWS I’m going to require wine to survive the next 2 months), then I’m on board.  And making wine sounded a lot better than cleaning today.  Sign me up.

I am slightly less psyched after being told that it actually means that the wine sits there all summer.  Taunting me.

So I would tell you all about the wine making experience, but he didn’t even mention it today.  I’ve returned to feeling around for head gashes.

Are wine-making dream sequences a symptom of malaria?  Because that’s my other theory.  My legs are covered in mosquito bites from camping.  Except none of them showed up until we got back.  They are so itchy and welty.  People are stopping me in the street to ask me about them.  Or maybe I’m randomly accosting people and making them look.  Tomato tomahto.

We had a rather rough morning yesterday with Molly, leading me to comment later to Nerdguy that I was rather hopeful that the mosquito bites were going to kill me.  To which he replied that I wasn’t getting off that easy, and that he hoped that my death dragged out for 6 months of itchiness.  And if I wasn’t suffering enough he would ask the doctors to add meds to my IV that would make me itch from the inside out.  Greeting card writers…if you’re reading this…don’t even think about stealing these sweet nothings for your new line of Valentine cards.  I know you’re tempted.  Stealing is wrong.  And I think he might seek revenge.  Just a hunch.

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