Friday

Friday was one of those days.

insert eye roll here.

For starters I thought for certain the dog was going to die... not Jones and I am not lucky enough for it to be one of the labs going down (shut up!  don't judge me!) but rather our 14  year old lab/husky/mix, Pele.  

Pele predates our marriage and was one of those dogs for whom little leopard print beds and pillows proclaiming, "Princess" were bought... we were nothing if not mortally wounded when Hugh's father announced her, "A cute little pup".

 

You know what I mean - the child you have before you have human children.  

But she is now quite old, like eleventy million in people years, and her back legs are weak and so is her bladder and she had a massive external tumor removed in September, yet for all intents and purposes, she carries on and enjoys herself.

But Thursday night she was sooooo restless and soooo panting and huffing and puffing that I got up at the crack of dawn and sat with her and thought, "If she dies do I tell the kids or try to pass her off as sleeping until they have left for school?"

By about 10 a.m. I realized that she may have been a little extra thirsty because I am cheap and changed the dog food and the crap I am now feeding my pets seems to be sawdust and horse meat with a couple of chemicals thrown in for filler, and it appears the old girl has once again cheated the Grim Reaper to live another day.

So the dog is fine but my shoulder is not.  I don't know if it's from the gym or sleeping weird, or bad posture or the fact that I have become one of those women who vacuum their walls, but that whole shoulder blade area is a miserable hurting mess and all I can take is Tylenol and soon the soreness and the exhaustion of the dog vigil catch up with me and form the perfect storm of headache from hell.

Eva, the little doll, climbs up on our bed with me and we proceed to both fall asleep for a good part of the morning.

Fast forward (and really, weren't you waiting for me to say that... I mean, do I even have a point here?!) and suddenly it's 2:50 and all I have done is water the plants and send a couple of emails and now (sh*t!) I am running late to pick up the boys from school.

School is out at 2:55 and by God be prompt because by 3 o'clock those kids not picked up will be signed into daycare.

Which is fine, you know.  You run a little late, you park the car, hustle into the daycare room and carry on - takes about 3 extra minutes out of a day.

But, the thing is, I am not dressed.  Yes, it's 3 p.m. and I am still in pajamas of sorts - worse, really, in that I am wearing a muumuu... it's very Mrs. Roper and I threw it on when I got out of the shower and hello, I cannot get out of the car to go and sign my kids out of the daycare which they will be in because I am late.

What's a girl to do?

I first call a handful of friends to see if anyone can grab my kids and I'll just meet them across the street in front of Jamba Juice... no can do - 1 has a kid home, 1 isn't driving carpool and 1 has a kid with detention.

And so I am forced to call the school and tell the school secretary to please not send my children to daycare as I am still in jammies, well really a muumuu, and cannot get out of the car to sign them out... 

And with that move I have made official my status as ultimate loser of the '07-'08 school year.

So that's my story - Hi, I'm Kristin, and I will make you feel better about yourself.