the blind leading the blind

Yesterday we were both just in a bad mood.

We’d stayed up Saturday night until about 1:30 a.m. enjoying s’mores and conversation around a fire pit with four of our friends on our back deck. They left, and we quickly cleaned up and crashed in bed.

Usually we strive to hit the 10:15 Sunday morning church service, but when I rolled out of bed at 9:45 we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Since we knew that we aren’t going to be able to go to church the next three weeks because we’ll be out of town, we headed to the noon service and got our dose of Revelation and praise music.

There are so many reasons we are two peas in a pod – one of them being that we both feel like our day is totally over if we’re not strolling in the house until 2pm after church. By the time our sandwiches were cooked on the George Foreman and in our bellies and church clothes were exchanged for shorts and tee shirts, 3pm was rolling around.

The next 90 minutes consisted of Jamie washing our cars and me knocking out some cheerleading obligations on the computer. We’d both been kind of in a funk all day, and spending our time separately doing mundane tasks wasn’t helping. At 4:30 we hopped in the truck to head to our selected running spot. I knew that I needed to keep with my half-marathon training plan, so 80 minutes was on the agenda.

Fast forward to 6:22 pm and I am nearly about to Tebow because I was so excited that an 80 minute, roughly 8.5 mile run now had a check mark in the box. SWEET! We cruised home while talking to Jamie’s dad on speaker, and I hopped in the tub. Nothin’ like a good bubble bath (with a Lush bath bomb – score!) after a long run.

10 minutes later I was dying. Dehydration completely consumed by body, and I could hardly breathe. I tried guzzling water, but the shakes hit me like a ton of bricks. I crawled in bed and cried for an hour because I was feeling worse than I had felt in years. Jamie was running out to get me Gatorade and trying to figure out how to make me feel better, but since he’s a runner he knew that laying down and continuing to eat and drink was all my body needed.

Once he got me situated, he cooked dinner like he’d planned. Burgers were going on the grill and homemade potato chips were about to go into the pot of hot canola oil on the stove. mmmm HEALTHY! Mind you, I’m in bed. Crying. Dying. I have no idea what’s going on in the kitchen.

All of a sudden I hear all this crackling – he’d attempted to pour the canola oil down the drain but the sink was a little pissed about that decision. I suggested that he pour it into the backyard – it’s the blind leading the blind, people.

I go back to bed and Jamie decides to take my advice, so he slings the HOOTTTT oil over the deck… and all over his right hand.

He starts screaming some choice words, and I immediately fly out of bed. I’m calling my mom and Jenn to figure out what on earth to do!

He kept his hand under some cold water and ice while I ran to Walgreen’s and picked up $25 worth of burn crap – expensive dinner at home, huh?

I bandaged him up as best I could last night, and we hit the sack.

This morning at the doctor his hand looked like this.

Yesterday was the first “bad” day we’ve had together since he’s been home and real married life has begun, and I’m blogging about all of this purely because we are already laughing about our first “rough” day and want to remember it. Two kids trying to figure out life together – guess it’s not always rainbows and lollipops, but we love each other anyway!