When It Rains (Well, You Know...)

So, I was working on a really perky, upbeat post about how awesome camp was (I know! Can you believe it? Me??) but alas, life had other plans. I thought it would be far more entertaining- cathartic, even- to share with you a little glimpse into the last 48 hours in the life of the McNeese family. As I write this, it's after midnight, I'm staring with bleary eyes at this screen and the television, listening/watching The Parent Trap (1998 version... before LiLo went all cray-cray) and trying to ignore the fact that our AC is out. What? Oh, don't worry... that little calamity is only a part of my tale of woe. Enjoy.

So, on Friday night at camp, Jonathan started complaining that he had the chills and felt achy. [Editor's note: this was AFTER I had spent half of Thursday in the bed moaning in pain from a heinous sunburn. Just wanted to throw that in there in case you were tempted to use up all your sympathy on a certain lanky McNeese). Since I can sometimes be a little mean somewhat lacking in sympathy and because it was hardly a convenient time for him to jump ship and abandon me with all the children, I was reluctant to buy his story. But I sent him down to our room anyway and followed when I finished eating (because the chicken was fabulous and I do have my priorities, people.) 

So, I went down to check on Sickie and, to my dismay, he was so hot (and while I think he's adorable, I mean his actual temperature.) He was burning up and his throat hurt and he was just miserable. It was pitiful, actually. So I gave him so medicine, dutifully laid a cold rag on his head (because that's what Laura Ingalls would do) and went back up to the service. And THEN during the service one of our boys, who had had pink eye the day before, came up to me with his eye swollen again so I went and got his medicine, shakily dropped it in his eyes, grabbed Jonathan a Powerade, and went back to check on him. 

He wasn't really any better, but he didn't want to miss the game time and fireworks (also, he was going stir-crazy) so he roused himself out of bed and powered through the next couple of hours. Bless his heart... he did get roped into doing a game/skit and I know people were probably like, "This guy isn't very funny..." (he's not really a skit guy, anyway) but I was really praying that he wouldn't pass out onstage. (That would have given the skit an unexpected turn...) Anyway, he lasted for an admirable length of time, but I sent him down to the room before it was all over. 

Right in the middle of his misery... he wasn't drugged up on anything, I promise... although he probably should have been.

I slept great that night, but unbeknownst to me, Jonathan was waking up, like, every hour. So, he didn't really sleep at all and then while we were loading up the van the next morning he threw up in the bushes. (It was as dreadful as it sounds.) And even though I offered to drive home, he insisted on doing it himself- a lack of confidence in my driving, perhaps?- and seemed a little more pitiful with each passing mile. (Okay, full disclosure: I was asleep for over half the trip and had the Aladdin soundtrack blaring through my headphones the whole time.) By the time we got back to the church, he was completely out of it and as soon as everyone was dumpedwiththeirparents picked up we headed home and promptly slept like the dead for four hours. 

Unfortunately things went from bad to worse (or worser, which is a double comparison but seems necessary to convey the level of despair in the situation) because when we woke up, Jonathan's throat was killing him and (lucky us) our ONE urgent care center was closed (since apparently we live in Mayberry) and so last night was a really fabulous bout of trying not to succumb to the horrible pain and only finding a little relief from some throat spray. Also, his fever was super high again, around 101, and one of his eyes was oozing something really gross... but more on that later. (During this time, I was sleeping like the compassionate nurse that I am.) Also, we kept wondering why it was so warm in the house...but, I am getting ahead of myself. Read on.

This morning, I was relieved to find that his fever had broken... but his throat was still really sore. It was my week to sing, so I left Sickie to go to practice, Sunday school, and church but rushed back home to his side (haha) and as soon as we could, we left to wait for the urgent care to open. Ah, Urgent Care... the great American oxymoron. First you get to wait for over an hour just to go back to the holding cell where they make you THINK you're going to see a doctor and then you get to wait for another hour. It's so much fun!!! It's even more fun for those of us sitting in the waiting room with screaming toddlers. Poor parents. (In the urgent care's defense, everyone there was super nice.) 

SO, the diagnosis was strep throat (obviously) and the nice people called in a prescription at Target and said it should be ready in about half an hour. We went and got some food, ate it in the car, and THEN went to check on the prescription and- shocker- the pharmacy hadn't even received the order yet. So, it was going to be another 20-ish minutes. Obviously, killing time in Target is one of my spiritual gifts but poor Jonathan was seriously about to keel over (since we'd been at the doctor, his fever had shot back up and he was achy again.) Finally, after we stocked up on the essentials (namely, orange juice and pizza rolls because we have the palates of broke college students), the drugs were ready and we were headed home. Home... where the air was set to 73 but the temperature was actually 78. Hmmm.... curious.

There was just enough time to rest a little and then head to church for me to run the kids class alone (well, with Mrs. Jo). Nothing reminds me how much more comfortable I am with teenagers than having to get up in front of little kids. Poor kids... thank goodness for Veggie Tales! (We watched Lord of the Beans and it was quite clever.) Also during this time, I got a text from Jonathan saying that his eye was swelling. (I told you that the eye would come back up.) I rushed home from church, distributed another round of drugs, and then noticed that the Oozing Eye was even more... oozy and was now completely bloodshot. Remember the pink eye?? Yep... that's it! On top of the strep, he's got an oozing, swollen, bloodshot eye. And naturally these symptoms are all compounded by... wait for iiiiiiiit.... 

...Our AC is out. SHUT UP. ("I beg your pardon? Shut up? Your majesty, in America it doesn't always MEAN 'be quiet'; here it could mean 'wow, gee whiz, golly-wolly.'") So, my husband is basically the Walking Dead and on top of that it's a billion degrees in our house. Since it's always too hot upstairs even when the AC works, our only option is sleeping downstairs with the fan cranked up, a move that's sure to give Jonathan a sinus infection by morning. Poor thing... his immune system is like Jacob in the Bible... all wimpy (and, since I never get sick, mine is apparently the hairy, burly Esau. What a lovely comparison for us as a couple!) 

So, The Parent Trap has ended... I forgot how much I love that movie. I laughed AND cried. Jonathan is conked out on the floor... I know he's going to be sore but it's been so hard for him to go to sleep that I hate to move him. (Well, wake him up so he can move. You know I don't have the upper body strength to lift a grown man.) But anyway, pray for us. Well, mostly Jonathan. Not only is he being hit at with illness from all sides, but he also has the world's most disorderly orderly (me) trying to take care of him. But even if you forget both of us during your Quiet Time, please pray for our AC situation. A broken unit in July? No. Just no. It's SO hot. 

And that is the tale of woe that I so pitifully spun for your enjoyment. I'm off to Lysol everything in sight and Google "how to fix an AC unit for dummies." Maybe I'll set the house on fire... not that you'd be able to notice.

EDIT: I finished this post and it was sometime after 3 A.M. So, like the insomniac that I am, I still couldn't sleep and started cleaning instead. I was only intending to "straighten up" the kitchen but I reached under the sink to grab the dishwashing detergent and smelled something... horrifying and mysterious. Turns out, there was a leak coming from somewhere (the sink or the dishwasher... don'tknowdon'tcare) and it had soaked through a bag of potatoes, leaving them a moldy, soggy pile of nastiness that smelled like the bottom of a filthy pond. 

So, picture me, if you will, completely freaking out over the mess (and the smell) and standing on my back porch at 4 in the morning, swinging a bag of rotten potatoes and hurling like a discus thrower into the woods behind our house. And then scurrying back inside with Kronk-like, awkward humming ("He's got his own theme music?") and saying (in my best Kronk voice), "I hope that doesn't come back to haunt me." I'm still freaked out just thinking about it! Oh, and since that apparently gave me an adrenaline rush equal to scoring a goal in the World Cup, I proceeded to clean the rest of my house, take a shower, and organize the guest room. Guess when I went to sleep? Around 8:15. And so ends a crazy night and this crazy story. The only plus to all this is that my house is spotless... stifling, but spotless.


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