Anne Nahm

One little green booger in my nose is apparently what it takes to drive me insane.

Well, one booger that turned into a boogery nose. That turned into a sinus infection. And from there? Well, you know. Mostly very unglamorous unadulterated panic of having to call the Cheekbone Doc and get some antibiotics. Or a referral. Because it is always three o’clock on a Friday when these things happen. And what the hell? How many times am I going to have something removed from my head? Is there anything even left? I thought not.*

So on Saturday, when I woke up with puffy face and hangover symptoms despite my sad lack of par-tay attitude the night before? I just rummaged through the dozen half empty bottles of antibiotics and dosed myself up. I’m taking self-medicating to a whole new level, even under fear of losing my non-existent medical license. Wheee!

Because, yes, I am the brightest bulb in the box. I don’t care. I just want this to be a garden variety sinus infection and if no doc ever needs to see my face for this occasion, I will be all the happier.

Also on the Anne-front? I have many confessions that are clogging up the works. Unfortunately, most of them involve back-story with family members. I tell you, those people are just lining up with Teh Dramaz, just practically begging to be blogged about.

On the other hand, it seems kind of unfair to talk about their antics when they don’t even have blogs with which to defend themselves. But I’m telling you, baby. I am This! Close! I am that kind of close that I should scream, “don’t make me turn this blog around because you know I will! I will turn it right around and I will blog all about you!”

It’s OK that I scream that kind of thing from time to time. My family is pretty well acquainted with my lack of coherence.

But as I was mulling over what is truly a baffling amount of restraint on my part, I did stumble upon the notion that I tend not to write embarrassing things about my adult family members, all the while I have certainly written about my kids. All I could come up with in my defense is that it will be a few years until the kids can read. My family might fall upon this thing at any moment. Maybe I should have a new tagline – Anne Nahm: Where I embarrass my family more and my kids less.

And sadly, I do have to segue here for a moment and tell you that my kid ate a raspberry this weekend that had a bug on it. She spit the bug out right away. She is so delicate, the bug actually was able to crawl away unharmed.** My husband asked if she tasted bug and my kid answered, “No! But I tasted what a bug would taste like!”

Shut up. She is too adorable.

And I guess for embarrassing my family more, I’ll confess I’m trying to figure out how to be a good sister.***

It’s easy in theory, right? Middle sister asked me to do something that is kind of irrational and hella pain in the ass on my end. She wants me to drive 10 hours with my kids to spend ten minutes with the guy she is going to marry, and to do it over a 48 hour period. Also? Please bring my kids in cute clothes so his mother can see…. I dunno what. That Middle has good breeding potential or something.

I won’t get a chance to meet The Fiancé before the wedding if I don’t do this. Not line-in-the-sand drama, just the way things fall out.

But if you wanted to look at it squarely from the pain-in-the-ass perspective, Middle’s known a) they are getting married and b) I hadn’t yet met him c) and she’s know this for the last six months. All of which time, they could have hauled ass my way and not the other way around.

When someone says to you, “I know this is crazy, and I don’t know why I didn’t need it before, and I’m not sure if I even really need it now, but please?” What do you do? I want to think of myself as a good person and a good big sister. When everything in life is over, I want to feel as if I did the honorable thing, or the thing that was good when someone needed it from me. But I don’t want to be a martyr. And I don’t want to be pissed at my sister for giving her more than I was able to give.

So I don’t know that I’m looking for an answer, or even for you even to still be reading at this point. Ughh! I’m trying to stick to my guns and not be afraid to say anything here, including that I might be a crappy sister even if I want to be a good one. Instead, I think I might just be left with a crappy interpersonal bitch-fest blog. And that sucks, because I’m so much happier just talking about poop, farts, and ugly shoes.

On another note, when I was peaking out on my tea-induced caffeine trip, this song popped up on rotation. Awesome.

* I had cheekbone implants removed last year. You can read all about it in all its gruesome detail here, although crappily, my archives go from most recent to least, so its like you’ve got to travel backwards in time.

** And wow, never thought I’d be bragging about that.

*** Yeah, my restraint mentioned in above paragraph? Ha! I’ve decided to be unrestrained like a very fat man in a very small bathing suit. Sure, I’ll think I’m restrained, but you will just be staring in horror at the emotional Speedo barely keeping me tucked in.