Late. I am never late. In fact, early is on time for me. I rush to be no less than 30 minutes early for everything. (I never got the "fashionable early" award, but we already know that fashion is not my forte.) So, I forgot to set my alarm, and we woke up at 6:50 AM. Oops. I was supposed to be at school for "Duck for a Buck" at that time. Oops. (If you read the blog from last night, that would make sense.) Luckily, it was a last minute comment that I would go help as there was already someone signed up for the event. I had prepped the migits about it last night, and they were so excited to go. Oops. Then, we struggle through the frantic rush to get into the car since we obviously can't make the bus at that point seeing as it comes at 7:03 AM. Charlie decides that red is not his favorite color, and he goes through two more outfits before settling in with a pair of khakis, with a belt, and a baseball style jersey. Nice. He looks just funky enough to make it obvious that he dressed himself, and between the first outfit with a pull string pair of "swish swish" pants that he couldn't figure out, to the frustrating manipulation of the belt, we finally get him downstairs and he is sans socks. Oops. Grabbed two Special K breakfast bars and in the car we go. As we are are on the road, Charlie reminds me, "My medicine!" Oops. Yeah, that got forgotten too, along with everything else this morning. So... My daughter pipes in with, "Great reminder Charlie!" She was serious. I was then turn into "Sarcastic Mommy without her coffee who is running late and needs medication for moments like these." Have you met me? You would know this is clearly not a cry for help, but a true statement that I have probably had to practice in order to attend some addiction meeting. "Hi, my name is Erin, and I am a mommy who needs her coffee and medication for moments." So, I then went on about how useless the reminder was, and how his leg might fall off from not taking the medication for the skin infection, but have no worries, since he has another leg, and he likes to hop around anyway. (For real, they are going to be all sorts of fooked up before I get to the school.) I need to filter some of the things that are in my head sometimes. That might have been on those times. Oops. Get to school, and there is a huge line of car riders in MY way of dropping off my kids. HELLO? I'm late! The bell is going to ring in like 4 minutes, and your people should not be driving them everyday. This is for people like me who don't waste gas and occasionally forget to set an alarm. I swear, in the five years my son has been in school, this was the first time I was almost late. Not tardy once last year, and only missed two days I think with illness. So, as they are getting out of the car, I yell "I love you and have a kind heart!" and off they went as the bell was ringing. So... I had a rough start. Then, I get home, and the fun didn't end there.
I get a message from a friend who was asking for prayer. I drank my coffee, and prayed. I got up to wash my coffee cup that I drank like it was a shot of tequila, and I saw it. A little wall decoration that seemed to jump out at me for the first time since I bought it at the Dollar Store a few years ago. I took a picture, and texted it. Sadly, I then saw the dust that was magnified by the flash in the picture. My inspiration was there, but not for prayer. Rather, I became cleaning frenzied, as a clean house is the only type of house I feel comfortable in. Well, I decide to call and check on my friend and hear what sort of stuff is happening that required prayer. As we are on the phone, I think, "I will pull off this vacuum job by putting her on mute as I vacuum. No problem, let me pull this canister off and empty it before I begin." Before I knew what happened, I had knocked the canister that was on the top of the stairs, and it made a loud, and seemingly, Ssssslllllooooowwww motion descent to the first floor, opening along the way, and filling the air with dirt, dust and hair. I was literally tasting it in my nose. Oops. The vacuum canister was broken, and now, I had a huge mess, a slight panic attack, and not sure how I was going to clean up the mess. Dust buster. I was able to get the vacuum back into working order, sorta'. I cleaned, and then started getting ready for my workout at the YMCA.
|A cluster on my floor.|
|Obvious- a cluster on my couch. Not wasting time with a copywrite.|
|A cluster on my stairs. Take the picture. I don't need a copywrite.|
I get to the Y at exactly class start time. And wouldn't ya' know it? I run into a students parent I knew from my class last year in Sunday school. We chat for about 25 minutes. I get into class late, see THREE people I know, expecting only to see one. Not one of them makes eye contact with me. (whew) I stretch myself out, as the only thing I have learned about all my sports related injuries from the past 7 months is that I am my worst enemy by NOT stretching. SO, I manage to find a place in this packed class, and then I manage to find my way out within 10 minutes. Are you kidding me? This is for fit people. I, my dear readers, am not what most would consider to be "fit." I am fit to eat. I am fit enough to make food. I am fit enough to get out of the car, and bump into the car next to mine at the YMCA (every freakin' time!), and I am fit (sometimes) as a mother. Other than that, I am seemingly fit enough to swim, and so, I headed to the pool and found 30 minutes of therapeutic swimming to focus my lack of energy on and then to feel just bad enough that I am not fit enough to exercise. It's true.
I am close enough to Walmart to stop and see that my "Site to Store" shipment has arrived. I go and find that the home gymnastics mat that I had ordered for Charlie's birthday present is in, yet, not acceptable for doing anything more than sitting, and even then, you might feel the floor more than the padding. IT WAS TERRIBLE. Oops. So, I returned it, and now, I have to get back into search mode and try to find an affordable mat.
|Redemption Photograph © Erin Ahrens 2012|
That, my friends, IS worth a hug and a copywrite. True story.