Friday, June 15, 2012
The party was a success. Plenty of food, lots of family and friends and an evening of fun. Other than the occasional need to empty a trash bag or restock bottles of water, I had things set up to run themselves so that I could be in hostess mode and visit with our guests uninterrupted.
Unfortunately, I forgot to request that my husband please not tackle me into the pool during the party. My bad. I remember struggling, then feeling us both plunge head first into the water. I remember wondering if we just killed innocent children who were floating in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember rage-filled thoughts as he rode me down to the drain at the bottom of the 8 ft deep end. And when I finally rose to the top, I remember the stabbing pain in my right ear.
I finally broke down and called the doctor Monday and made an appointment for Tuesday. The doctor I hadn't seen in 2 years because I can't stand going to the doctor. In my desperation, I agreed to see the nurse practitioner, who I always refuse to see because I believe she's incompetent.
Monday night, I took Tylenol PM at midnight. At 1:40am, my eyes popped open when I heard the distinct sound of a 5 year old who's about to vomit in the bed beside me. In my drugged stupor, I pushed her off the side of the bed while yelling "RUN TO THE BATHROOM" in that slow-motion voice. Then I lay in my bed and helplessly watched as she projectile vomited cherry limeade and chicken nuggets all over my room. The front of my husband's dresser, the carpet, computer chair, computer desk, computer screen, computer keyboard....pretty much anything connected to the computer...before leaving a trail behind her when she finally ran to the bathroom.
Six short hours later, I arrived at the doctor's office to discover that my son had once again neglected to return my credit card to my wallet. I sent him a really mad text. We're talking all caps, people. This was his response: "I laid it by your purse. I thought you'd see it. I guess we're both to blame for this."
After being diagnosed with an ear canal infection, I picked up my drops and stopped at the library to administer my first dose. I parked in the spot directly in front of the library fountain. I use the term "fountain" lightly. It's actually a large metallic gold monstrosity with what appears to be a faucet that must never turn on because I've never seen water in the thing. I don't ask, because I don't care. I just wanted my drops. As I'm sitting in the van with my head tilted to one side waiting for drops the consistency of molasses to roll down my canal, an elderly lady pulled her car into the spot directly across from me on the other side of the fountain. Then she gunned the gas, sped over the parking curb and hit the fountain. THUNK.
She casually backed away from the fountain, off the curb, back into her spot, turned off her car, removed her walker and teetered into the library without a second glance back. Maybe this happens often. Maybe that's why the fountain doesn't have water. Maybe I'm the lunatic in a sane world where no one asks questions like, WTH?!
That was just Tuesday. What happened to lounging on a raft? Oh yeah, I've been forbidden to swim for 7 days per doctor's orders. What happened to my perfectly cleaned house? Oh yeah, a 5 year old reenacted a scene from Exorcist and spewed vomit while her head spun in circles.
Which brings me to this morning when I felt an undeniable urge to order my next Beth Moore study. A study on Esther about how hard it is to be a woman. I was on the final step of the check-out process with my hand on the mouse and the little arrow hovering over the words "Place Order," debating what to do.
With my heart beating wildly from fear of what God has planned for me now and whether or not I'm ready for the ride, I thought....WTH....*click*