a Monday of Misadventures

Today felt like a real-life enactment of Robert Quackenbush's children's book Henry's Awful Mistake.  I have been thinking about that book quite a bit lately, because I want to have people over to eat with us, and I have been seeing ants in the bathroom.  But that has nothing to do with today.  Today was just weird. 

Henry's Awful Mistake, Robert Quackenbush

Last night we discovered that one of our cats had gotten locked out of the bathroom where their litter box is, so when we came back from our dinner excursion at the fine dining establishment of KFC, we found cat doodie and cat tinkle on Sam's backpack in his closet. 

When we threw the backpack into the washer and went to finish the cleanup, we discovered that the floor was damp and the carpet was stained a sort of rust color.  There was a musty smell.  This closet wall is opposite of the master bathroom shower.  Dreading the worst, we put a fan on it and went to bed, deciding to tackle it in the morning.

Severe thunderstorms swept through north Georgia early this morning, so the house was cool and dark when the alarm went off at 7-something and I rolled out of bed at 8-something.  The first half hour of the morning was quite pleasant; I got up, had coffee, a bit of a quiet time, and listened while the thunder woke Lizzie. 

Shortly after breakfast, Sam and I began discussing bills needing to be paid and being past due, and it was not the most peaceful conversation.  I wondered what had happened to the quiet that had been in my heart.  I realized it was dueling with the pride in my heart, which was trying to convince me that I had hardly any fault.  I chewed on that for a while, and eventually went to apologize to Sam, who was trying to figure out what was the best way to deal with the mold in his closet. 

I had the cute, demanding, and infinitely miserable half-pint hanging on my leg, and on my neck when she managed to convince me to carry her.  All day she's been wiping her nose on her sleeve, and has been generally discontent except when outside or in the bathtub.

While Sam was extracting black molded carpet frames and carefully putting them in a bag inside a box to keep the toxicity at bay, I had been trying to at least make a list of things that need to be done this week, and had high expectations of making a grocery list and starting dinner.  Lizzie was napping, and I was going to take full advantage of the time.

I picked up the living room to vacuum so that Sam could vacuum in the closet, then we could throw away the vacuum bag.  I am outrageously out of shape, because I was winded by the time I finished.  And when I stood the vacuum upright in the master bedroom, I heard Lizzie's pathetic, snuffling cry through the monitor.  She had been down for about 30 minutes and I let her cry for another 10, just to see if she would calm down.  No good.

The rest of the day was spent in a low-grade panic.  Late in the afternoon I chased the wide awake and exploring Lizzie into the bedroom to find Sam leaning over the sink quietly washing his hands.  I asked if he was alright, and he said he had stabbed himself with a rusty nail.  He'd been wearing thin plastic gloves to protect him from the grossness, but they had been no protection against a nail.

New distress surfaced when he said that the last Tetanus shot he had received was in 1991.  So we spent 20 minutes trying to pinpoint the county Health Department, where he could get a shot without having insurance.  While searching, we found out that our county's Health Department's website is absolutely blank.  No information, no phone number, no 'click here for details.'  Just a banner letting you know you found it, and the rest is empty.  Taxpayer dollars at work.  We found the location, thanks to Google Maps, and Sam left with 20 minutes before the clinic closed, hoping for an open slot.

In the meantime, I had to figure out whether I was going to make something for dinner or just call Sam to ask him to pick up another healthy meal from a drive-thru.  I decided to give dinner a go while Lizzie was semi-mesmerized by Veggie Tales' Pistachio.  From what I heard, it sounded entertaining. 

Around 6 PM, Sam made it back home, to tell me that he has to go back tomorrow, since they didn't have time to give him a shot today.  In all honesty, the Chicken Cacciatore was the highlight of the day, which I photographed and I hope to share the recipe with you soon.  We all devoured it.  Perhaps we were starving and didn't realize it, and that's why everything seemed a little more awful than it really was.  Or maybe it really was just a crappy day.

The evening progressed, and refreshed from a delicious meal, we got up and got Lizzie in the bathtub, where she had a wonderful time as long as both parents were present.  When we got her out, she promptly tinkled on the floor.  That was laughable and I cleaned it up, diapered her, pajamaed her, read to her, nursed her, and medicined her.  The nighttime routine is very long, and I had not made a pit stop before it started, so I asked Sam to keep an eye on Lizzie while I ran to the bathroom for a minute. 

What happened, though, is that I actually ran to the bathroom.  And as I ran, I swung for the lightswitch in the bedroom, but missed.  That's OK, because I've lived here for over 3 years and can navigate my way to the bathroom in the dark.

Unless there is an upright vacuum cleaner in the pitch black room. 

C   R   A   S   H   !!!

I nailed it with my knee, my shin, and what still feels like my entire upper right leg.  And I kind of lost it, if you know what I mean.  I cried in pain and embarrassment and fatigue.  Sam and Lizzie came in to help me up and give my boo-boos kisses.  I changed into my pajamas and finally got Lizzie into bed. 

Now that I listed it all, it's pretty funny.  But I was on the verge of tears of complete weariness and frustration most of the day.  And I am thankful that nothing worse happened.  And I am so very grateful that tomorrow will come with fresh grace to help and the sunrise will come with new mercy to meet our needs. 

Now, to--slowly--find myself some Advil.