When It Rains, It Floods

Suffice it to say that this summer hasn't quite turned out exactly the way I was expecting.

It started back in June when my poor husband who was content to stay at his desk and work while his cohorts attended a golf tournament was pretty much ordered by his boss to go along. A misstep off the wet grass resulted in a dislocated knee and a long recovery which still isn't over. The knee problems led to very painful back problems which led to a hypersensitive nerve that causes even something like the sensation of his shirt on his skin to be uncomfortable.

This happened as I was congratulating myself for weaning my little guy and therefore, I thought, hastening the end to the months of hormonal flux that was causing me more than a little emotional discomfort of my own. It turns out my relief was short-lived and definitely premature. Last week when the waves of anxiety came back and brought back with them terrible fatigue, nausea, and other emotional and physical symptoms, I realized that this isn't anything I can try to handle on my own anymore and talked to my doctor again. My current theory is that this is post-partum depression that has been there all along, unacknowledged and untreated, waiting for a break in childcare, moving, etc. to show up and demand attention. So it's getting attention and I've been feeling hopeful that these days will pass and I'll be back to my old self again soon and feel better able to handle life and all its ups and downs.

I didn't realize that I'd get the opportunity to test myself so quickly. This morning, when Ray got up to take some medicine around 5, he head the sound of running water. When he went downstairs to investigate, he stepped off the bottom step into two inches of water.

A pipe had burst under our kitchen sink, and you can imagine the rest. Water everywhere. Everywhere. We spent the day in clean-up mode. Mold is a real threat. So our beautiful walls that we had painted before we moved in 4 months ago have had the baseboards ripped off and a foot of drywall cut out to prevent water from seeping up into them. Our gorgeous wood floors are now ripped up and our furniture is all over the place. The kids were out of sorts this morning as they tried to figure out why they couldn't watch TV or play with their toys. Julia has announced that she no longer likes our house. Hopefully she'll feel differently when this is all over. Who knows when that will be?

Of course there's a bright side to every calamity and ours is no different. This could've been much, much worse. Offers of support have come in from friends and family. My parents were here practically as soon as I called, taking care of my boys and me and everything all at once. Never mind that my mom has been nothing short of an angel for the past week, here practically every day, with the singular focus of helping me get better (and feeding me). We don't call her Saint Violet for nothing.

Throughout this crazy day, I only had one moment of sheer despair. That was when I realized that years worth of pictures, probably close to a thousand, meticulously organized and sitting in a giant canvas basket on the floor of my scrap room, had been subject to the water. Along with my awesome dad and husband, we were able to save just about every single photo, although I did lose some lovely memorabilia. I got very, very lucky. My pictures will never again be stored in anything that's not water-proof. Of all the things I ever thought would attack my photos and my home, a flood wasn't ever on the list. Now I know better. But it'll be OK and we'll get through this intact. I can't promise the same for my sanity.