See that? Robin O'Bryant, my writing bud and roomie at Blogher12, just summed up my life in one simple Facebook update. The woman is hilarious and speaks truth, I tell you. Case in point? Take a look at my week:
Ice skating was only supposed to be an hour but morphed into running to the post office, stopping at the doctor to get a prescription, dropping it off at the pharmacy, spending hours on this resume job thing for a columnist spot I am drooling over, and somehow I have managed to get 1/2 of the homeschooling goal in already. There's still tax write-offs to categorize and add up for the accountant because that's how we roll, calling the bank about refinancing the house we can't sell because it's so underwater that I'm pretty sure Atlantis wasn't lost--the economy just crashed and took the island with it. There's still work for Girl Body Pride, writing something funny just to remind myself that I still got it, finishing homeschool, bill paying, laundry, cleaning one room in the house just to make myself feel less like Pig Pen's big sister and it's on my To Do list which makes it equivalent to Jesus leaving me a message on a tortilla.
I'm Mexican. So I can say that. And yes. You are allowed to laugh.
Oh right, and the making of the dinner, the sniffing of the pits to see if I can skate on giving little girl a bath tonight, the story time, the waiting for her to fall asleep next to me because it might steal away a few hours from my writing but that time also grants me the opportunity to make up for one too many "Mommy's Busy Right Now's" and the chance to breathe. And then I get back out of her bed and work until 2 am, clock out, and try to fall asleep before 5.
note: I never cleaned that room.
There was an appointment with the same doctor I went to yesterday for the handwritten prescription required by law to be handed to me directly for the shit I take to keep my head on straight because people like to make it in their basements, which is only annoying to me because I always sucked at chemistry This time, I'm here to follow up on the crazy high thyroid levels that are not supposed to be crazy high (and probably explains EVERYTHING I've written that has sucked, so I should get a doctor's note for that while I'm here to send along to my agent ), grocery shopping, and calling the realtor to line up a few houses/properties to look at on Wednesday.
The grocery shopping never happened because when I got to the pharmacy I learned the doctor had never signed the prescription for my ADHD sanity pills, which required me to call the office in hysterics, the staff to hunt to doctor down before he left for the day, and me to hightail it back to the office with a very pissed off five-year-old who was missing out on her date with Disney Jr. and the couch, and then back to the pharmacy for a 30 minute wait because the great irony of an ADHD person without their stimulant to slow their brain down is that they tend to turn into zombies with responsibilities that like to call them Mommy and ask for things like dinner and attention.
By the time this whole mess was done, I texted The Husband, told him I was done and the groceries could wait, and came home to do nothing for just a little while, knowing full well I'd be up until 2 a.m. playing catch up with my words to be written for daring to just freaking relax for once.
note: I texted the BFF with the following: "went from 90 to 135 on the armpit thyroid pills to get my happy ass back on track." Then I followed up with words like "fucking auto correct" and explained that my armpits are fine cuz I shaved them this morning and had actually been referring to the armour thyroid pills I take.
Addendum: Forget it's Fat Tuesday. Preemptively decide to skip Ash Wednesday, and will offer up my sanity for Lent. I'll even promise not to ask for it back when I show up to church with Buttercup on The Day We Go Look For Eggs, which coincides with the one day a year I actually make it inside a Catholic Church.
Ice skating because it's free and the season is almost over and I'm milking this free private ice time for all it's worth until the moment they drain the rink. Then hopefully home to work on Buttercup's science fair project with her (that's on Friday) and clean, work, write, breathe while Buttercup drives The Husband crazy because she is his shadow on his days off. Possibly looking at houses? Wait, nope. I forgot to call the realtor guy.
note: Don't let the simplicity of the day's list fool you. Trust me on this.
Shit. I'm not sure. Vet appointment? Oh wait. Therapist. Right. The sad thing is I didn't even do that on purpose. The punch lines write themselves, people. This is why I write non-fiction.
Dammit. That means I probably forgot to get the dogs to the vet. No matter. I'm too busy for that. I'll probably be driving to the Sam's Club in Bangor to buy things in bulk because things like toilet paper are nice to have on hand when the plow truck gets stuck plowing out your driveway and needs to get plowed out by an actual construction truck front-loader. And that's after the therapist and before I sit down to write at 11 and come up for air at 2 a.m. because when the hell else am I going to do it?
note: Don't tell me you don't have time to write. Because that, my friends, is bullshit. No one HAS time to write. Not even the best-selling authors I know because of all the speaking and self-promoting and hoops involved when big book deals are involved. And especially not us moms who are doing this for free while trying to build our platforms. You don't have time to write? Awesome. I'll relate after I tell you I don't have time to watch The Bachelor and Jersey Shore.
It's a skate day. MILKING THIS, remember?
Also? Ice time is like $100 per hour for private rental. So? Yes. I am totally about making myself crazy for $300 of free time to find my zen on the ice while my little girl finds her confidence on the double blades. Then it's off to a knitting lesson with the nice old guy who runs the local shop, home to clean up, relax, eat dinner, and head off to the science fair before coming home to do the clean-up, story time, bed time, snuggle time, Screw the Dishes cuz I Need to Write thing.
note: Estimated bed time? 4 a.m.
This is the day I get to load the truck up with two weeks worth of trash to haul off to the town dump because that's how it works up here, y'all. Why two weeks? Because Snowmageddon 2013 hit this past weekend on freaking dump day and the squirrel in the shed probably popped a nut (the kind you eat, okay?) when he realized he was going to have seven extra days to tear through the trash and leave rotting broccoli all over the dirt floor. Which means I get to stop at Tractor Supply on the way home and buy some steel garbage cans before heading home to, you guessed it, work, write, home school, and go to bed at 2 a.m. because there are never enough hours in a day whether the kids are in school or at home.
When Mommy is a writer, time is carved out of stone to be present for our kids and families because Mommy's brain is always working. And when she's not, she's mentally filing snapshots made of words in her mind to use later when she makes the time (because time doesn't make itself and never will) to sit down, ignore the sink full of dishes again, and empty her brain of the words within. note: I'd like my padded room now, please. And let the front desk know I'll be requesting a late check out.