The alarm has apparently been going off, but I have somehow missed it. I have to leave to take Oldest Daughter to String Camp in 20 minutes. She needs at least 40 minutes to get ready. I wake her up and take my verbal beating, knowing there is coffee in my future.
I walk into the kitchen to make coffee. We are out of coffee filters. The crying begins.
We leave for String Camp, late again. Oldest Daughter is angry and I am starting to shake from lack of caffeine.
I get coffee at Starbucks, but my Starbucks card is .52 short. I have to leave the coffee, go back out to the car to get money, and come back in to pay. There are four angry people waiting in line behind me, and because they couldn't override it on the register, so they had to wait for me. Suck it up, people, I NEED that coffee!
Other children wake up, and demand breakfast. I am out of cereal and bagels. Luckily, I have toaster strudel. I make the toaster strudel, but Youngest Daughter refuses to eat it because the design I made with the frosting is unacceptable, asks for Dots candy instead. I openly lose my temper for the third time today. YD eats toaster strudel with bad design, and somewhere, Michael Graves shakes his head at the tragedy of it all.
I take YD, her brother, and his friend to PetSmart so they can look at snake accessories. The Son and his friend both have corn snakes, which go on "playdates" to each others tanks. I warn The Son that snakes are not pack animals, and they will probably kill each other eventually. On the plus side, this will get me out of buying frozen baby rodents to feed said snake. YD asks if we can go to the Target next door for a free cookie. While out, I get a text from Oldest Daughter's cello teacher that the audition clinic for the local symphony youth string ensemble has been moved to today at 1. Is OD planning on attending? He strongly encourages it. And we will have to reschedule today's lesson. I panic, trying to quickly rearrange the day and figure out where and when this clinic is taking place.
Pick up OD from string camp and tell her she is going to ensemble clinic in 45 minutes. She begins to cry, says she is not ready, tells me she doesn't want to go, and blames me for the symphony reschedule. Because I hold unlimited power in the universe. I spill coffee on my shirt.
Yelling at everyone to "get in the van, we are late for the clinic!" Everyone is crying: OD because she is freaking out, YD because there is no candy involved, me because I am late AGAIN, and The Son because he is sad that everyone else is sad. Make note to self to Google which Norman Rockwell painting corresponds to this moment.
Pull up at audition site, comment on how empty parking lot is. Go inside, ask secretary where clinic is, she looks at me like I asked her how to make cat salad in Portuguese.
Force OD to text friend, find out clinic is tomorrow, cello teacher messed up. I swear profusely. OD is relieved. YD asks for Skittles to celebrate.
Get home to find gas company employee standing in my yard next to the For Sale sign, smoking, with the new gas line pipe sticking up out of my yard three feet from his cigarette. Briefly hope he flicks his butt that way. Instead, he opts for Port-O-John across street from my house (Did I mention my house is on the market?). Notice full McDonalds bag on my curb next to where the gas company truck was parked about an hour earlier. Hope prospective buyers avoid our house today.
Realize in cello panic, I forgot to give anyone lunch. Vegetarian daughter wants mac and cheese. YD does not want mac and cheese, she asks for Twizzlers. The Son doesn't feel like mac and cheese either, he would prefer turkey sandwich. Children start fighting about which lunch would be best. I leave to find Aleve bottle and a corner in which to rock.
Remember I intended to make barbequed ribs in slow cooker for dinner, but they are supposed to cook on low for 6-8 hours. I brown them in a frying pan and put them in the slow cooker on high, hoping that 6-8 hours on low heat means 3-4 hours on high heat will suffice. Suspect my meat math is off. Hope family isn't hungry until 9 p.m. and this does not result in multiple counts of food poisoning.
Remember The Son goes to resident camp over an hour away on Sunday, and I haven't sent in physical forms. Call camp and find out there is still a $285 balance. Secretary urges me to get forms in mail tomorrow, since they are supposed to be mailed in 4 weeks prior to camp. Crap. (NOTE: Same thing happened last year. And possibly year before.)
Call Current Husband to remind him that I am meeting friends for margarita and Eclipse, and need to leave by 6:10. He tells me he will be home in 10 minutes.
Current Husband arrives at home. George the Superpet is jumping on him. OD, YD, and The Son all run to him, grateful there is a non-swearing, non-caffeinated parent on the premises. CH comments on how good dinner smells, and I say, "You can try it now, but it may not be done until 8 p.m. Have fun!" and I leave.
Two margaritas under my belt. Rob Pattinson is filling up the screen in front of me. I have a Diet Coke, and am surrounded by eight great women. My day just took a turn for the better.
Arrive at home calm and relaxed. Walk in door. The Son announces he has a friend over for the night and they will be playing with the snakes. Oldest Daughter says she has plans with a friend tomorrow, and could I send lunch with her so she doesn't have the awkward vegetarian moment? YD comes yelling out of the back room, seemingly ready to stay up for another three hours. She asks if she can have a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I refuse. She is angry, fights the whole "going to bed" thing.
YD finally asleep. Blog is almost done. House is disaster. Have to wake up in 7 hours. At least I have coffee filters.
UPDATE: 1:13 a.m.
Realize as I'm going to bed that I forgot to call the real estate website by Wed 3 p.m. deadline to tell them we are having an Open House this Sunday, now all advertising is gone and I have to cancel Open House and reschedule for the next weekend. Because I am so organized.
Diet Cokes: 2
Medifast bars: 3
Tomorrow, I will wake up at 7 a.m. (I hope) and try all over again to get it right, but I am not optimistic. Perhaps two more coffees will get me there...
This is A Day in the Wife.
Please tell me your days are not dissimilar.