So Much

I generally think of my life as being fairly simple. I have one kid, one husband, one cat, and one house. And zero outside-the-home jobs. Simple, right?

Except sometimes, it all seems like so much.

My dad and my stepmom came to visit last week. And while I was in the middle of trying to entertain them, feed them, and provide them with a place to stay that wasn't covered in a thin coating of filth, I managed to lose my wallet. I lost it at the Museum of Science and Industry. It could have been a lot worse. I still had my keys, cell phone, and camera in the backpack from whence the wallet was lost. Or stolen, because pickpockets are common at science museums. Anyway, whether or not it was removed from my backpack by sticky fingers or gravity, somebody stole something out of it, because only my driver's license, ATM card, and credit card were found from it, and those were all on a train headed out of town on a train line that isn't the line that we use.

Anyway, losing your wallet is one of those things that isn't an earth-shattering crisis, but which kind of throws you off a little. I lost the wallet on a Friday afternoon, and I had to wait until Monday to get a new driver's license, and that whole weekend I felt like I had no identity.

Another thing that throws you off is plumbing problems, which we also had after my dad tried to do a good deed and install a new garbage disposal. The plumbing problems resulted in a lack of drainage in the dishwasher, the dishwasher that took an act of Congress to finally get delivered from Sears. The dishwasher for which Sears still hasn't refunded us for charging us for it twice. Not being able to wash a significant number of dishes made me not want to cook, but at the same time I was sort of limited in my ability to buy take-out food because the only way I could get money was to borrow my husband's ATM card, and sometimes he has the gall to not be home. I felt like such a loser.

Meanwhile, my husband was suffering from a two-week headache. I was trying to be sympathetic, but he, like most men, is a whiny sick person. Additionally, he is very dramatic, and that is a bad combination with my tendency to worry that every headache is a brain tumor. So when he would (repeatedly) say things like, "I'm too sick to drive," I just freaked out. So for two weeks he was simultaneously causing me great panic and great irritation. And my parents were here, and I had no functional kitchen plumbing, no money, and no identity.

It all hit the fan the day my parents left and my husband demanded that I take him to Urgent Care. He had been consulting with Dr. Google and was worried that he had a whole slew of horrible maladies, and he felt he would get quicker attention from Urgent Care than he would from the doctors who weren't taking him seriously and/or returning his phone calls. Urgent Care did a CT scan and couldn't find anything, but they suggested that he spend the night in the hospital for further tests.

Now, perhaps it's because all of this was filtered through my never-ask-follow-up-questions husband, but I never really understood the whole hospital situation. Bill seems to think they had him spend the night in the hospital for two reasons: one, to cover their own asses, and two, to get him in to see a neurologist more quickly. Apparently parking yourself in a hospital bed is the quickest way to see a doctor, since they have such limited office hours for appointments (because they're so busy seeing everybody in the hospital). Neither of those should have caused me any worry, but words like hospital and neurologist are instant triggers for panic in a person like me.

Oh, and did I mention this was the second time in a year that they have had him spend the night in the hospital just to take tests that could have been done on an outpatient basis?

Anyway, so Wednesday he was sitting around the hospital. I was at home with Nathan. By around 2:00 nothing had transpired at the hospital, but I was able to call a plumber and have him come out and fix my plumbing within an hour after I called. So in the battle of plumbers vs. doctors, plumbers are way more efficient.

By 8:00 I was able to pick Bill up, and thank the Lord he has nothing significantly wrong with him. The assurance that he isn't suffering from Google-itis seems to have instantly cured his headache. (And thank God we have insurance, or the headaches would have continued long after the hospital stay was over.) The dishwasher is draining, and replacements for most of the cards in my wallet have either arrived, or will do so within 7-10 business days. (Unfortunately my Frequent Rider Card for the Orland Square Mall carousel can never be replaced, and I think I had 6 horse-shaped punches in it.)

All crises averted.

I have spent the last few days trying to decompress, as best you can when you have a three-year-old who doesn't seem to have an off switch. Oh, and can I just say What About Me? for a minute here? (Of course I can, this is my blog.) All week long Bill has used the excuse "But I was in the hospital" to explain such things as his tendency to sleep in until 11:00 every day. (Not sure what his excuse was before that.) And I feel for him, I really do. The hospital is an awful place, and they wake you up at random hours just to complete tasks that could be performed during normal daytime hours. (For example, after my c-section with Nathan, they woke me up at 4 a.m. to see if I could dangle my legs off the side of the bed. Because that couldn't wait until morning?) But still, what about me? Like I'm not exhausted and overwhelmed from having to keep a brave front at home while my husband was in the hospital?

Anyway, onto lighter topics. Since the health crisis has passed, we have resumed our normal summertime activities. Like the pool! Yay! And the beach! And all three of us are in our respective summer reading clubs at the library. I'm reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

And tomorrow ... Nathan is starting his day camp with the park district! I get to drop him off for three whole hours a day while he burns off some energy doing crafts and running through sprinklers. And hopefully having fixed bathroom breaks, because the boy's toilet training is still a little bit iffy. Anyway, the whole thing seems very big boy. I got a 12-page parent handbook e-mailed to me, which outlines the many items Nathan has to bring to camp, labeled with his name. He has a new camp backpack that weighs more than he does.

I have signed Nathan up for continuous weekday activities from now through the first week in August, when the park district's summer program ends. He will do camp for two weeks, then two weeks of swim lessons, then back to camp, then back to swim lessons. It seems like a lot, but camp is only half-day, and swim lessons are only half an hour per day, so we'll still be able to do things in the afternoons. I find that it's better if we have some reason each day that we have to get out the door.

And next weekend we are going on Amusement Park-Based Vacation 1 of 3.