Argh.
Today, after Ben got up to go to the gym at that wicked awful hour he does, I got up, used the potty, and almost giggled when I realized I get to go back to bed for a whole hour! Yippee! Never mind the drama that was to come, I had another whole hour to sleep, dammit!
Indeed, Bob woke up (I'm told) more wigged out than his usual. I sprung the news on him last night before he went to bed--admittedly not my best parenting move, but I knew the kid would stew over it from the time he found out til the time we entered the lab, so I didn't want to give him too much advance warning. You know, give him time to run away or something.
So yeah, he was wigging. But seemed to be handling himself well. And he continued to do so, right up til the point we walked into the Little Room, the one with the tray full of tubes and vials and needles and the big trash bin that says "SHARPS only" and the chair with its evil-looking armrests and rubber strap.
I have to admit, I had a moment of being pleasantly surprised by humanity this morning. We got to the lab right at 8am. At 8:07, a very harried-looking woman rushed in, walked back to the reception area, threw down her purse and keys, pulled on a lab coat, and started rubbing her forehead. It appeared she had been out partaking until a wee hour and had started her Friday on a horribly sour note. Please don't let it be her, I thought. Please don't let it be her, please don't, please please please.
You see where this is going, don't you?
To my complete surprise and delight, she was awesome. She was very cool with Bob where so many phlebotomists in the past have been abrupt, brusque, even harsh with him. She kept him from losing his shit, even though when it was all over, we were momentarily afraid he might pass the hell out. (He didn't.)
And then we went to IHOP. Because what better way to soothe a kid's fears over a blood draw than pancakes? Or in Bob's case, stuffed French toast. Which I gained six pounds just ordering.
After breakfast, I stopped at the pharmacy to drop off one of his prescriptions (which I just noticed this morning he was out of). Then I took him to school, where he had (of course) just missed the last bell, so I had to go in and sign him in. Since I was in no hurry, I stopped at FiveBucks and got my iced skim latte. Then hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work I went. I clocked in at 10:01.
At noon, I clocked out for lunch and went to the fabric store. I like shopping for fabric. I don't like going to the fabric store. Simply put, I don't fit in there. I have a day job. I'm under 60. I'm under 300 pounds. I wear makeup and I don't wear sweats unless I'm at the gym. I'm not Amish and I feel strongly that the ladies at the cutting table could cut a helluva lot more fabric if they would stop the fucking chit chat and do their damn job. I ended up wasting 45 minutes and giving up on trying to purchase a few yards of some really cute hippo-printed flannel because I didn't want to waste another 20 minutes of my life waiting for some stupid old bitch to get sixteen different cuts of the same dog-print fleece. Really, lady? Really? Just get the yardage and take the shit home and cut it yourself!
I spent the afternoon drafting a couple of foreclosure pleadings I have no experience with (this should be a real education when I get them back) and finally it was time to go home. Picked up Bob, came home, fed the kids, got Bob shipped off to db's for the weekend, hit the gym, kicked some ass, picked up Chinese, negated all my gym efforts with kung pao chicken, showered...
...and here I am, trying to figure out how to cram my to-do list into tomorrow.
Kill me. Please.
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