Lock Down

Mike may finally get his Christmas wish this year. No, not trading me in for Scarlett Johansson. No, he may just get some long-hoped-for peace and quiet. From me, anyway.

See, over the weekend, somewhere between taking the kids to the Museum of Natural History and the tree in Rockefeller Center on Saturday, and Christmas shopping on Sunday, I came down with lockjaw.

Before you worry that I contracted tetanus by brushing up against a rusty barbed wire fence while chasing a pheasant for Sunday dinner (as I often do), that's not how this happened. I have a bite problem called TMJ dysfunction. And I'm not supposed to chew gum, eat bagels or snack on pumpkin seeds. But c'mon. Who really listens to a doctor anymore? That's so yesterday.

I have an occasional bagel. Pumpkin seeds, not so much. But I like chewing gum. Normally, I chew gum in lieu of snacking. Or if I'm thirsty and don't have a water bottle on me. Or if I need to concentrate for work. Or, and this is a biggie, if I've eaten a head of raw garlic for breakfast. I enjoy it with coffee. Or with a glass of wine (Orbit Wintermint with a glass of white wine. Now there's a sparkling taste sensation for ya). I suppose it's like a cigarette habit, only less disgusting so long as I don't spit the gum into my palm before giving a handshake.

Anyway, I woke up Saturday and my jaw was locked on the right side.

Even though it took me 45 minutes to eat a bowl of cereal, I thought, "No prob. We'll just go to the city as planned and it'll fix itself." People go to school for a long time to achieve that kind of medical insight. Cut to us eating lunch at the museum and there's me with a strawberry yogurt, trying to macerate the heretofore unnoticed chewy berries, without moving my mouth.

We continued on to the special gold exhibit, and an Imax movie about cowboys, which kept Ryan entertained enough that he stopped trying to talk to me for half an hour, giving my tired jaw a break. Then we took the C train down to see the Christmas tree. We were met with a massive amount of humanity, and I was grateful we all escaped without a cracked rib incident.

By then, everyone was getting hungry so we walked to John's Pizza in Times Square. Never does a thin-crust slice seem so monumental as when you can't open your mouth. Who knew?

I went to bed thinking I just needed a good night's sleep and my jaw would fix itself. It was a sad hope that I was clinging to. Because Sunday came and both sides of my jaw had become stuck. As of right now, I can only open my mouth about a half-inch.

And if I had any sense, I'd hang on to this condition until after the holiday calorie explosion.

Catherine Schetting Salfino

Game Time

Well, this was nearly it: the weekend that I, the Football Widow, became Cath the Real Live Widow.

I went out with two of my friends from high school, Pat and Steph, and we were having a high ol' time Saturday night. We were drinking, laughing, talking about the old times, forgetting about the stresses of the holiday season, work vibes. We were just chillin'.

I come home, and tell Mike, "Man, did we have a good time."

To which he replied, "Well, I almost died."

Which ... is kind of a damper. But, I'm a nice person and didn't want to seem selfish. So, instead of ignoring him and telling him about my night, I compassionately asked, "What the HELL?!"

When I left the house, he only had Ryan with him. Cara had spent the day with Alex and Barbara, going to the mall, and going to dinner with them. When she came home, she and Ryan decided to play Connect Four, the game with the checker-like red and black chips.

Well, Ryan apparently figured out a way to beat his big sister on a consistent basis. And then she figured out a way to block him. Then Mike, apparently, decided to help Ryan develop a new strategy. Which got on Cara's nerves, apparently. So, there were Mike and Ryan, having a high ol' time developing Connect Four strategem, laughing at their ingenuity, when Cara just grabbed a bunch of the chips and chucked them at Mike, who for some reason had his head thrown back in laughter, so it was in just the right position to catch a playing piece, which lodged in his throat. Apparently.

Now, the parenting magazines I lived on when Cara was a baby always advised that if you come to find yourself choking to death in front of young children who aren't capable of administering the Heimlich, you're supposed to save your own life by launching your abdomen against something like a chair or the back of a sofa. Mike (who was never one for the baby mags), instead, stood up, and then fell to his knees and turned three shades of blue and then somehow coughed it up. It was all very avant-garde.

Me: "Did Cara even try dialing 911?"

Mike: "I don't know."

Me: "How long were you choking?"

Mike: "Twenty seconds. Ten seconds. I don't know."

Me: "Were they upset, or trying to help?"

Mike: "I think they were laughing. Until I fell down."

Oh, yes. While my friends and I were yukking it up, Mike was chuckin' it up. Buon appetito!

Catherine Schetting Salfino