The word I used to describe today was "relentless." A year ago that would have meant something entirely different and altogether unpleasant. Not so much today (though, of course, I missed that last hurdle at the end of the day.)
Work today -- all week, really -- was non-stop. Literally: e-mail a report, check e-mails, send a fax, make some copies, return a phone call (this is the first 10 mintues), then haul it up to radiology for 3 hours of swallow study fun (or not in some cases). Follow that by a lunch meeting, another check of voice and e-mails and I'm right on time to get out the door when I realize I've missed a page. MD wants to talk (AWESOME). Can I walk the report up to him? Uh no, not really. Beg a co-worker to do it for me (so lucky to have fantastic colleagues) and race to be only 2 minutes late for the automotive relay with Rob.
Decide to finally tackle downtown and turn in some Schwab forms I've been hauling around for - and I'm not exaggerating - about 2 months. Circle for parking, circle for parking and... got one! And there's even 8 minutes left on the meter which is good, because I have not a single penny on me.
Beg the Schwab lady to let me use their rest room. (Oh yeah, I forgot that I haven't had a chance to pee today. Oh yeah.)
Huzzah! A guilt-inducing pain in the neck errand -- done!
Off to the grocery. Full cart. Lots of people in line. Only one lane open? Seriously? Seriously?
And another page. The Boss. I'm official! The new job starts Monday. (God I HOPE the new job really starts Monday...)
Tank up for the trek down to Hope tomorrow. $2.65 a gallon! A steal.
I'm off just in time to pick up Rob. Make a phone call and start reading "Raising Your Spirited Child" while I wait for him to leave his lab.
I am a machine today! Go me! I changed financial institutions, did the weekly grocery run, secured a new full-time position, tanked up the car, and started a new book -- in the the span of 2 hours! (Why is it I'm not this productive every day?)
We go get the Bear. She isn't really interested in her parents. We take her with us anyway.
Get home. The phone rings before I can set my stuff down. It's my sister. I'm sure I sound like a bitch but seriously -- not even two seconds to breathe? Rob immediately leaves for work. I put away the groceries & throw a Stouffers casserolle in the over. Sara is exhausted and this can only spell disaster. I hand her a box of yogurt covered raisins to try and buy some time. She thinks it's candy. I don't correct her.
I still have calls to make to iron out the details for tomorrow's events. Sara insists on talking RIGHT IN MY FACE WHILE I'M ON THE PHONE or smashing her finger or jumping on me... you get the idea. She is truly coming apart at the seams. I start to do so as well. I devolve into one of those mothers that you look at in horror as they (literally) drag their children along the ground and seem to only know how to say awful things in slightly demonic voices. I know I have gone too far when Sara starts to talk back to me that way, too.
Bath time. She plays rag doll when I pick her up. She is wet and naked. I drop her. This is great.
We pray and I ask her to forgive me for being so rotten. She hasn't got a clue but I feel a little better. Still, the damage is done. (Sigh) There goes Mother of the Year and we're only half way through January.
I really just want to get into bed. But it's trash night and I've got to make sure the Giant Percolator is ready to go tomorrow. You know, the Giant Percolator. Your mom had one too, in the 70s. It is probably Harvest Gold or Avacado Green. Ours is the gold version.
I go down to the basement. Spy the Giant Percolator box. Open it up. Grab the lid, grab the pot, grab the -- wait, what? No power cord. No, really? REALLY?? Why would there not be a power cord? Cause now, it's just a Giany Ugly Useless Urn. This is GREAT.
Briefly reconsider buying a few boxes of coffee-to-go from Starbucks, but remind myself that they'll never make it sitting 3 hours in a little cardboard box. And let me tell you folks, there ain't no Starbucks in Hope, Indiana.
Screw the trash. I go back to plan A and get in bed.
And here we are. My sweet husband, after a 14+ hour day with not a single break for rest or meals, has just gone out to our storage space to find our big coffee pot. God love him. His reserve of kindness and service just doesn't seem to run out.
Think I need to wait for him to come home before I go to sleep? Hmmmm. Let's find out.....