Gah, Or My "I Love Lucy" Episode

It has just been one of those days, seriously. So I have a lovely afternoon yesterday frock and shoe shopping up in the city, whoop. Come home to tired but not entirely fractious daughters, cheerfully get them ready for bed. Littlest one goes down without a fight, bigger one eats about two bites of her dinner and then quietly but voluminously throws up on herself. Right. So we get that dealt with, and she seems much happier without that in her stomach. Into bed, chop chop, etc. Debate sending her to school today, particularly after she has a rather fragmented night (and thus, so do I) -- at 7 I realize she is still asleep and think, oh sod it, I'll just let her stay home today, especially if there is a dodgy tummy involved. Peabo awakens at 7:15, so I trudge in to feed her. Now, because I'm not thinking I need to rush around for school, I am letting Peebs nurse in slow motion as she is wont to do at times. Finally get her off, realize Bean is happily and noisily awake, so think, well, school might work. Go to check the time (because naturally I had forgotten to put my watch back on), it's 7:45.

Fark. Farkfarkfarkfarkityfark. Somehow manage to get Bean dressed and a reasonable facsimile of breakfast shoved into her maw, Peabo dressed and at least a handful of Cheerios into hers, myself into something sort of resembling clothes, and out the door by 8 am. Oh, and I'm trying to get out the door a bit earlier today because we're going to have Bean picked up by her teachers at the front of the school with the bus kids, rather than me parking at the back and trekking everyone in. Right. Well, that may or may not be happening, but I am driving ever so faintly maniacally. Except. I'm halfway down the hill when I remember one of the dogs is supposed to be at the vet for a day long dental folderol. At 8 am. Fark. Farkfarkfarkfarkityfark.

Wheel the car around, drive just that much more maniacally back home, collect said dog, trying to call the vet the entire way, finally get through and say "I'M DRIVING AS FAST AS I, THOUGH MAYBE NOT THE LAWS OF CALIFORNIA, CAN MANAGE". Drop the dog off, and yes, leave the kids in the car (windows DOWN), kids screaming by the time I am done. Drive at a similar speed to school (having called ahead to say, yeah, um, don't wait for us to meet the buses), drop off the Bean, Peabo and I head home. Am thinking, ok, today might just settle down. Well, it did, on some level, but then about 11:30, Peebs is up playing and decides to yet again stand in her little rocking chair. Now, this is a rather low slung chair, and exceedingly stable as far as rockers go. Still, it's a chair, and she's trying to stand on the seat and look over the back of it. I had moved her down a few times already, and this time I was in the midst of saying "What did Mama say about sta..." as she pitched, ass over teakettle, over the back of the chair and landed on her head. It was one of those molasses moments for me, and lightning fast moments for her. Scoop her up, check pupils, check neck, don't need to verify much that she is screaming her head off, so that's a good thing, and try to distract and/or jolly. So that works, but it was definitely one of those "huh. So this is what I did not have to deal with first time around. This is but the first of many, no?" We trek to the store for dinner fixings, pick up Bean, and head back home, blah blah. End up having to go back out to get tooth dog at 4:15, but not awful, dog is fine, albeit tired, I manage to get dinner made while both kids play in the playpen...yeah, I know, but it keeps Peabo happy when she feels as though she hasn't been caged solo...dinner down the respective hatches, sort of, downstairs and bedtime is slogged through. Well, not really slogged, it was fine, but by the end of a run around day I was just dying for some quiet and no somersaults over the back of chairs.

And then. I'm trying to put away the sour cream from tonight's faux-urritos and with a great deal of aplomb, drop it on the kitchen floor, spreading white goo in a terrific spatter pattern -- dare I say even artistically. The non-surgery dog was in there like a shot, 'helping'. Actually he started eating the remainder of the sour cream out of the container as I was trying to wipe up the spilled stuff through my gut wrenching howls of laughter. I had only had one glass of wine, you know -- it should not have been this funny. However, on the tail of everything else that had gone on today, it caused doubled-over, forehead on the floor, tears running down my cheeks mirth. Better than sobbing uncontrollably, I suppose.

At any rate, I'm particularly glad today is nearly over, and I plan on being very, very, very careful in the remaining 45 minutes or so before I go to bed. I will attempt to not concuss my ownself on the bedside table.