Craig’s health form arrived in the mail today. I glanced at it when it arrived and noticed that the doctor did not fill in her name and address in the designated spot on the form. This annoyed me (I mean, it was pretty clearly marked) but I figured that was an easy thing for me to just write in. So, I set it aside.
When Craig got home, I picked it up again to show it to him. And at that moment I realized that not only had the doctor signed the spot that said “Signature of Doctor” (as she should have) that followed the portion where she attested to the good physical and mental health of the applicant (Craig), but she also signed the above portion, which started out, “I, Craig…” and continues on to state that Craig (in the first person, mind you) says he does not have TB or any physical or mental ailments. She signed on the line that said “Signature of Applicant.”
I mean, COME ON. Can she read? Can she read the itemized instructions I sent, or the actual form that she just signed? Obviously she didn’t read what she was signing, or she wouldn’t have signed her name where Craig’s signature was obviously needed in addition to the part where her signature was needed.
It took all I had not to burst into tears when I saw this. Not because it’s all that big of a deal, but because it was just another illustration of the frustrations I’ve had with this paperwork. I don’t do well with things that are out of my control. (And yes, I realize that 99% of this process will be out of my control. I’m apparently a glutton for punishment.)
WARNING: PITY PARTY AHEAD. I seriously feel like we have not had one single straightforward task in this journey so far. The fire inspector came three times, we had to repair an exterior retaining wall to pass our health inspection, I had to pee in a cup three times to get my urinalysis done, they forgot to run Craig’s HIV test, the background clearance letter was not sent as it should have been, and so on. I even had to get a new driver’s license just to get fingerprinted. Argh!
I don’t see any way around this. Craig needs to sign this form and there’s no way for him to do so without crossing out her name or whiting it out or something like that – and we have been expressly told that things like that will not fly. I don’t think this is an instance of me over-thinking again. So, we’ll be taking a new form to the office next week. Phooey.
Anyway, instead of crying, I jumped into a task I had planned for the weekend – re-assembling our basement after our carpet was installed earlier this week. Since our little flood back in May, our basement has been in varying stages of disarray: first the flood clean-up control, then the drywall repair, and finally the carpet installation. So, I moved the furniture back in place, vacuumed and dusted everything (it was all covered in drywall dust), and put our pantry back together (it was spread all over our laundry room and kitchen). This isn’t a fancy finished basement, and we rarely use it now, but we do hope it will be a good play area in the future. It’s looking great now. I’m sure in a day or two it will start to accumulate the crap that basement spaces accumulate, but for now, it’s nice and neat and tidy. It was nice to work on a project that was fully in my control.
The tears did come, however, when in re-stocking our pantry shelves I dropped the lid to my grandmother’s cookie jar. It broke in two places. This is really not a big deal as this lid has been dropped and broken and glued back together a few times before, but it just got the best of me. This was the one thing from my grandparents that I really wanted when we cleared out their house. There’s something about thinking about childhood visits to Grandma’s always-stocked cookie jar that always makes me smile. A cookie from Grandma always makes a kid feel better, right?
There are no cookies in the house tonight. So I shall drink wine instead. Yes, I can practically hear the wine calling my name…