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The Next Level: Laflin native Marissa Durako wins 2 MAC titles in King’s College’s first track and field season

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Students at Wyoming Area Catholic School in Exeter complete projects on gray whales

<p>Sometimes this happens, and when it does, the Heck Asylum gets turned on its ear: Mama got the stomach flu.</p><p>We had been to a (pretty tame) party the night before, where I discovered that new, glorious oxymoron called &#8220;hard soda.&#8221; Honestly, I probably should be worried about my husband slipping anti-freeze into my drink, because the alcohol in these bad boys is equally undetectable. And, as a result, doubly awesome. When I arrived home, I predictably got a little sick. (Code to my children= Mommy ate bad shrimp. Again.)</p><p>When the tumult of my belly didn&#8217;t pass, I realized I gave the hard soda a bad rap. Thank goodness, because this is something I really don&#8217;t want to cut out of my life like I was forced to do with Canadian Club and any, (but mostly generic), tequila. The year 1983 was a tough one as I spread my mixed cocktail wings and crash landed next to any available waste receptacle.</p><p>I miss Penn State.</p><p>At any rate, this flu grabbed me with such malicious intent and toxicity, I compared it to both passing a kidney stone and the beginning stages of labor. In other words, I was brutally sick. And aside from the recent preponderance of boob surgeries, I&#8217;m never restricted to bed, immobile and delirious, with only the popcorn bowl beside me to receive my intestinal maelstrom of offerings. I don&#8217;t do supine well. (Unless you count last month&#8217;s Real Housewives of Orange County Marathon).</p><p>My husband was incredibly worried.</p><p>Him: &#8220;How&#8217;re you feeling?&#8221;</p><p>Me: &#8220;Hrmph.&#8221;</p><p>As he&#8217;s backing out of the room: &#8220;That&#8217;s too bad. Can I get you anything?&#8221;</p><p>I croaked: &#8220;Ice cream.&#8221;</p><p>Him: &#8220;Ohhh &#8230; I meant, like a can of warm ginger ale. I can&#8217;t get you ice cream! I&#8217;m late. It&#8217;s Golf League Monday!&#8221;</p><p>I threw up. And dedicated it to both he and his golf &#8220;league.&#8221;</p><p>Idiot. I can&#8217;t wait to serve him popcorn in that bowl.</p><p>When Son arrived home and when he finally noticed me, (only because there was no dinner), he sprinkled this delightful nugget upon my inert form: &#8220;Mom. I&#8217;m going to tell you what Dad tells me every time I get a concussion during a wrestling match: Toughen up!&#8221;</p><p>I chirped: &#8220;I almost died giving birth to you, you little turd!&#8221;</p><p>Him: &#8220;Yeah, but here you are. I need Sabatini&#8217;s. See ya.&#8221;</p><p>No one cares.</p><p>On the third day, my husband decided he needed underwear. And socks. So he had no choice but to figure out the washer and dryer. Here is what I heard from the laundry room:</p><p>&#8220;Lint trap, or is it lint wrap? Where is it? I know I should empty it &#8230; but &#8230; huh, maybe it empties itself &#8230;&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;This maroon towel has been washed plenty of times. I can totally put it in with the whites. I don&#8217;t know why she separates everything. Such a huge waste of time.&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;This says it makes whites brighter. Then that must mean it makes colors more colorful, right? I&#8217;m going to try it &#8230;&#8221;</p><p>&#8220;What does &#8220;delicate setting&#8221; even mean? Why would you wash anything delicately if you want it clean? I don&#8217;t get it. Heavy duty cycle; that&#8217;s where it&#8217;s at.&#8221;</p><p>From Sick Bay, I painfully rolled my broken blood vessel-dotted eyes and laboriously sighed.</p><p>What. Ev. Er.</p><p>If he wears a fuchsia golf shirt to his next &#8220;league&#8221; get together, I&#8217;ll assume everyone will know why.</p><p>And so it goes. Mothers don&#8217;t do sick. Unless bad shrimp and Canadian Club are involved. And for the love of God, don&#8217;t mix the Canadian Club with warm ginger ale. Or it&#8217;ll all come full circle. Stay well.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck of West Pittston is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Mothers don’t do sick