My day was crazy. The following drivel may bore you or put you to sleep or give you a headache, verging on raging, like it did me. But, you must plow through it to get to the end. The punch line. The climax. The comic relief. The reason I live:
Plus or minus 14 calls, it went something like this:
6:30: Alarm goes off. Pushed snooze.
6:37: Alarm goes off again. Get up, wake my 3-year-old up, go to milk. He goes with me because yesterday he threw a 20 minute tantrum in his room because I didn’t wake him up and take him.
6:43: 3-year-old whines the whole time I’m milking. I am rethinking my decision to wake him up and threaten that I won’t do it again.
7:05: Get up to the house from milking. Wake 6-year-old up for the first time.
7:06-7:19: Make breakfast, strain milk, put away milk, heat up yesterday’s coffee, wake up 6-year-old for the second time, make 6-year-old’s lunch, wash some dishes, wake up 6-year old for the third time.
7:19: 6-year-old: “Whoa! It’s already 7:19!”
Me: “Well, it was 7:05 when I first woke you up!”
6-year-old: (lying through his teeth) “Wow! I didn’t even realize it! I must have been REALLY asleep!”
7:19-7:45: Get both boys ready to go to school and ready for picture day (with Animal Whisperer’s help). Drink 3 drinks of reheated coffee.
7:45-7:54: Do whatever we do that makes us late.
7:54: Leave for school.
8:00: Shove 6-year-old out of car, tell him to “Run Like The Wind!!” because he’s late. Walk 3-year-old to school.
8:30: Repost 7 ads on Craigslist, drink the rest of my reheated (again) coffee, eat a delicious breakfast of farm fresh eggs, tomatoes and onions that Animal Whisperer made.
9:00: Begin taking the first of 107 phone calls for the day. Do that for an hour.
10:00: Go running. Take 3 more phones calls (while running). Try to pretend I’m not out of breath. Apologize to people I don’t even know for being out of breath. Pass out. OK, not really that last part.
10:27: Shower. Get a bloody nose.
10:43: Race to pick up 3-year-old. Late.
10:57: Finish getting ready to have lunch with grandmother at her assisted living.
11:15: Start lunch with grandmother. 3-year-old is with me.
12:20: Leave lunch.
12:50: Put 3-year-old down for a nap for the first time.
12:55: Begin making cheese. Answer the next 17 calls and emails.
1:20: Put 3-year-old down for a nap for the second time.
1:47: Keep making cheese. Put 3-year old down for a nap for the third time. Phone keeps ringing. Realize this is either a punishment or a blessing for posting so many ads on Craigslist and for running a business.
2:22: Throw 3-year-old into car. Race out to pick up 6-year-old. Late.
2:40: Invite myself to a friend’s house. Tell her I just want to sit there. And catch up. Tell her I forgot my phone and I’m taking a break from it anyway. Confirm that she wouldn’t say no even if she really didn’t want me to invite myself over.
3:21: Accept reality. Go home. Finish cheese. Answer a “can you help me with this mom?” question every 3 1/2 minutes.
4:15: Leave. Run errands. Answer 9 more calls. Tell myself it is not safe to talk on the phone while driving. Do it anyway.
5:15: Start dinner. One of the 107 phone calls knocks on the door. I have no idea who she is or what she is here to buy from my Craigslist ads. I vaguely remember talking to her around call number 32. I show her to the pea green carpeted bar and bar stools that Animal Whisperer and I have agreed to part with. Phone rings. I answer. Rice starts boiling over. Phone rings again. I answer. 3-year-old starts screaming. I tell Animal Whisperer I have to leave for my meeting, bar and stools are $50, buyers are downstairs looking, kids are on the computer and rice is on a timer. I blaze a trail for my meeting. Make two calls on the way while the phone beeps constantly in my ear with the missed calls that are coming in.
6:10: Arrive at meeting. Late.
6:43: Leave. Out of gas but we’re adhering to a tight budget this month. Put $3 (cash) of gas in the tank.
6:57: Home. I have a headache, I’m exhausted, I want to lie down. I am starving. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I’m going to the bedroom to vegetate.
6:58: In his low, monotone, sounds-like-he’s-already-gone-through-puberty voice, 3-year-old shouts from the dinner table: “WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE A PENIS MOM?”
9:04: I’m still laughing.
– The Goat Cheese Lady