Our Saturday was, and really the whole month has been, very busy. As a rare Sunday with no scheduled activities, naturally I have a ton of things on my todo list. Tomorrow is my test in emergency medicine, followed by a short presentation on the topic of my choosing. Yesterday I borrowed a book as preparation for today’s whole day devoted to studying and creating a powerpoint for an as-yet-undetermined topic. I’ll be productive and studious, I tell myself, all while accomplishing the usual necessary tasks of the weekend to prepare for the usual hellacious week.
I am awakened by the dog at 0600. I am mad. But I take her out, accompanied by Zoe. It is the nicest five minutes we have had in awhile, commenting on a lovely fullish moon and some things I’ve now forgotten. Determined to get just one morning of sleep, I return to bed, only to be plagued by my hamster wheel of todo list items and one I had forgotten – a quick email remedies this – but unleashes another set of tasks. Eventually, I drift off again for much too long, finally getting out of bed around 1100.
You know how when you sleep longer than you planned, you’re grateful but feel really behind for the day? So I set about checking off the todo list, putting away dishes, getting people & animals brunch, starting laundry, cooking a chicken, contemplating the correct spot for the half-eaten princess shoe that has been sitting on the counter, fielding a constant barrage of requests for play dates despite the answer being, repeatedly, NO – the usual. I sit down with my coffee and read several pages. I am proud. Off to a good start, I say. Feeling very studious, I suggest that Zoe begin her homework. We read one page.
There is a fight.
I am the insanely frustrated and fuming person with bedhead, in her pajamas and Danskos, carrying an open book, stomping around the apartment complex trying to calm down. It begins to drizzle. I return home, dress, and pack my things for a day of studying outside the house. Meanwhile Joel has coaxed Zoe into apologizing and encourages me to talk with her. We make up, and I decide to stay home. I’m not sure what brings it on, but there is a decision to move the fish tank from her room into the living room. Cleaning – of the fish tank itself, and the place it will go, and the place all that stuff was in before will go – ensues. The fish are relocated and happy, but Zoe’s room needs attention. We clean her room. And then her closet. And then the bathroom, and the hallway, and the living room. It’s time to eat again, and we do. It’s 1800. I realize for the first time in hours that I haven’t worked on anything for tomorrow. I text friends for topic ideas. I open my computer, reply to emails, adjust the YouTube video of Zoe’s Rockets game performance, attempt to archive some school emails and lose them, tweet about it, and remember I have to make a presentation for tomorrow. Oh and study for a test.
I choose the topic of seizures and dig in. So far I’ve made way too many slides, but I’m happy with my progress. It’s time for bed. I take the sheets from the laundry and am successful in enlisting help making the bed. Leaning over to tuck in the corner, I am plowed in the side of the head by a charging dog. I do not pass out. Joel administers aid. I sit in the floor of the bathroom imagining the possible injuries to my brain and what it means for my future while holding a Hello Kitty ice pack to my head. I’m unconcerned about the idiot dog whose head is evidently harder than mine.
Next it’s bath time. I’ve used all the hot water with the laundry and dishwasher, so I use the electric kettle to warm Zoe’s bath. I blog. And I’ve miles to go before I sleep.