6:49 a.m. Wake up again. Uh oh. Fly out of bed. Wake Dylan. Get in the shower. Eat breakfast. Tell Dylan to get his shoes on. Tell Dylan to get his coat on. Tell Dylan to get his backpack on. Ask myself why we have to tell him to do the same thing. Every. Single. Day.
7:28 a.m. Walk Dylan to bus stop, barely making it. Kiss him. Give him a noogie and put him on bus.
8:15 a.m. Vacuum the house. Clean some bathrooms. Change sheets on boys beds. Stop in between chores to entertain Logan who makes three messes for every one mess I clean up.
10:45 a.m. Realize Logan is no longer in basement with me (where I am attempting to vacuum up an entire graveyard of hideous spider crickets that invade our basement and die down there, shriveled into crispy nasty corpses, some of which are too big to fit up my vacuum hose). Go upstairs to family room to find him.
10:46 a.m. Where it has apparently snowed. Logan has taken a large piece of white stryrofoam and has smashed it into a katrillion tiny static-y foam balls all over the family room. The family room that I just spent all morning cleaning. There are teeny white foam balls everywhere. Including all over Logan. And the coffee table. The carpet. The couch. The dog. So full of static they can't be brushed off by hand.
10:50 a.m. Turn on vacuum cleaner again and vacuum off my son, the coffee table, under the coffee table, the carpet, the couch and myself. Have you ever had to vacuum yourself or your child? I didn't think so.
11:20 a.m. Make early lunch for Logan, Andrew (who is working at home) and me. Early lunch because I have to leave soon for doctors appointment. A double doctors appointment where I am having some follow up done from my annual check up with my midwife last week. Pelvic sonogram and mammogram just to check some things out.
12:20 p.m. Peel out of garage to head to doctors office. Cell phone rings, its a friend regarding our high school happy hour event tomorrow night. Rings again, its someone from the restaurant where happy hour is taking place. Rings again, another friend.
12:44 p.m. Walk into appointment. Receptionist asks me for the form my doctor gave me to bring to my appointment.
12:45 p.m. Blank Face. SHIT. I forgot the forms at home. Can I just call my other doctor and have them fax another form over? Of course not. They close at noon on Fridays. Can I just have Andrew fax a copy over? Call him, can't get fax machine to work.
12:50 Receptionist informs me I'll have to reschedule, they can not perform a procedure without the doctors order.
12:52 Back in car to drive home, get the order form for mammogram which is scheduled for 1:45. Maybe all is not lost... I can make it back in time for that part. Maybe they can fit in the pelvic afterwards if someone cancels.
12:53 Cell phone rings some more. Fly down the road to get home, pick up forms.
1:15 Grab forms from Andrew's hand, get back in car, still on cell phone, fly back down the road back to doctors office.
1:40 Arrive for mammogram. Get undressed. Wasn't supposed to wear deoderant today. SHIT. Wipe it off.
1:50 Have boobs flattened into giant flesh pancakes inside the horrific machine that clearly, only a man could have invented. The woman says "I apologize ahead of time if I hurt you, it’s not personal" as she hits the button and man-handles my voluptuous girls onto the machine platform and compresses them into crepes.
2:20 Get re-dressed. Beg them to fit me in for the pelvic sono so I don't have to reschedule. "I'll have to see......", she says. "You might have to wait a while." Fine.
2:45 Undressed again, in gown (why do they even put ties on them, they never match up or make any sense?) in waiting room. Thank goodness for Blackberry and Real Simple magazine. Not allowed to go pee, bladder has to be full for pelvic. Its been over three hours since I've peed.
3:15 Still waiting.
3:30 Still waiting. Crossing legs. Must pee soon.
3:45 "Okay, follow me." ....... fast foward to giant electronic
4:22 Run to bathroom. Pee about 3 bladders full.
So that was my day. But at least I'm healthy, and I'm thankful for that.
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