Do you ever watch SNL? I don’t because it’s way past my bedtime, but back in the day when I was young and wild, it was a weekend staple. During that time, Jim Breuer had a recurring character called Goat Boy. All these 
years later, it turns out that I am married to a very similar creature.
No, my husband doesn’t randomly bleat in the middle of sentences. Nor does he eat weird and inappropriate things. OK, maybe sometimes he eats weird and inappropriate things, like during the great kimchi incident of 2014. But in this instance, I’m talking about the goat horns. My husband has goat horns.
He developed his first horn decades ago. It involved a bicycle accident and a storm drain. The injury healed, but the huge lump remained. Before we hit middle age, his hair nearly covered it, but as the years have passed, his hairline has slowly given ground to his forehead and the lump has made its presence known.
To be honest, I barely even notice it. It’s just a small part of what makes Brian…Brian and I love it along with the rest of him. And it probably would have continued this way if he had not gone out and gotten himself a matching lump on the other side, completing the horn ensemble.
It was a pretty nasty head injury. This time, it was a battle he lost with a New York City street sign. The collision was so hard it sent him to his knees. I know, it’s terrible and when he sent me the first picture, I was properly horrified, concerned and worried. However, when, instead of heading to a medical professional, he decided to come home and take a nap, I lost a lot of the sympathy.
Because last time I checked, napping after a significant head trauma is not the recommended course of action. I mean, I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but I feel pretty confident that this was wrong. And I was quite vocal about this feeling. However, my husband is a man. And, as with most men I know, if he’s still breathing, then in his estimation, the injury isn’t really that bad.
So he took to the couch for the rest of the day. And then the children and I spent the next two weeks watching the lump transform into several different variations of horrible.
The first day, it was like a submerged Cadbury egg that more than doubled in size from the onset of the injury through the first six to eight hours. It did not, however, bruise. It was literally like someone had inserted an egg under his skin. It was super creepy.
When we woke the next morning, it was before dawn so I thought perhaps I just had too much sleep in my eyes when I examined his head. But, no, I was seeing just fine. The egg had been smashed and the swelling, instead of being concentrated into one lump, was now spread across that side of his forehead and had also moved down to his eye. He looked like Frankenstein.
Understandably, I had a few things to say. I said things about doctors. I mentioned that emergency rooms are open 24 hours a day. I suggested professional help and I may have even used the words “brain bleeds”, “widow” and “sudden death.” And yet, he was undeterred.
Over the course of the next few days, the head lump did new and bizarre things. His eye swelled and a dark red streak came out of the corner and extended about two inches towards his hairline. His forehead developed a yellowish tinge (that, it seems may be permanent). The lump went from smallish egg to largish egg to spread across his forehead and then receded back into an egg and currently, has shrunk to a golf ball size. And turned black.
Because life is a funny thing, the current lump is equidistant across his forehead from the old lump. And the look is unmistakable. They are horns. And since he is still walking, talking and breathing, the jokes cannot be suppressed. I mean, seriously? How could we not.
And we’re not alone in our trajectory to hell. Though the kids and I like to make lots of goat references that Brian finds less than amusing, his colleagues have taken it many steps further. His role as a teacher lends itself to all sorts of Satan jokes and any other evil, horned beast. Hey, at least when I go to hell, I’ll know someone in management.
For now, I find goats more appealing. And I want to keep him healthy so that in case this injury doesn’t actually kill him, we can tease him for years to come. I’m pretty sure goats like grass so I found this great recipe for a wheat grass smoothie that we can all enjoy. Or at least suffer through. <a href=”http://wickedwheatgrass.com/how-to-juice-wheatgrass/wheatgrass-juice-recipes/#prettyPhoto”>Wickedwheatgrass.com</a> has a whole list of recipes that they rate for health, as well as taste. Hey, at least they’re honest. This one gets one of the best flavor ratings:
<strong>Wheatgrass Juice Recipe 5: Mint Madness</strong>
This is by far the best tasting recipe of them all. Feel free to use more mint until you have the desired mix. Personally I like a lot of mint but mint pretty much grows wild at my house so I always have plenty around. If you try this and love it then I suggest planting some mint at home. Mint is also very good for you and helps to eliminate toxins from the body as it also cleanses the blood. Furthermore, mint is great for any stomach related problem and can also help with concentration. Simply add a few bunches of wheatgrass to the hand juicer then add the handful of mint and follow through with more wheatgrass. If you have any organic peppermint extract add in half a teaspoon for a fresh mint aftertaste.
<span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Ingredients[starlist][/starlist]</span>
Handful of mint leaves
30mls of fresh Wheatgrass Juice
1/2 teaspoon of organic peppermint extract
Nutritional factor: 7/10
Taste factor: 9/10
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street in Riverhead.
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