Sunday, 7:00pm: I'm at work, swamped, on hour #5 of a 7 hour shift (typically the number of hours I work in an entire week) on Labor Day weekend. A customer calls me all sorts of names and tells me repeatedly how stupid and awful I am. Then has the audacity to ask me what *my* problem was after I stopped being sweet in return. The man behind him took it all in, and apologized to me for this stranger's behavior. That's how bad it was. I thanked him, bit my lip to fight back tears, and managed to move on until my angel-on-earth GM asks me if I'm okay. I start bawling and can't stop for several minutes. Tip well and be nice, friends.
Monday, 1:00am: I realize that I am severely dehydrated; thanks to the excruciating leg cramps that have awoken me from my sleep. They continue for the next four hours, despite chugging water, using a massage gun, walking (read: hobbling), and a warm bath.
Monday, 5:00am: I get to sleep for the first time.
Monday, 7:00am: I am up for the day.
Monday, 4:00pm: After a trip to the park, board games, and day-off-from-school fun, I head back to work for another 5.5 hour shift; still scarred from last night's interaction and running on 2 hours of sleep. With a terrible headache and sore legs, I promise myself that I will go to bed as soon as I get home.
Monday, 10:00pm: Crawl into the sweet mercy of bed, thankful for a full night of slumber ahead.
Spoiler alert: This is where things turn for the worse.
Tuesday, 12:40am: I am awoken by a 70 pound dog jumping into bed while crying and dry heaving. Quickly remembering that she had not been interested in her dinner and went to bed with an upset tummy, I jumped out of bed and ushered her downstairs and outside. This is where I would spend the next 2+ hours cleaning up vomit, walking the yard with her while she ate grass, hand feeding her small bites, and running back and forth to the door.
2:30am: Cassie and I settle in downstairs; me on the couch and her on a blanket next to me on the floor.
5:00am: I have a nightmare about a PTA event that does not even happen for another 5 months. My brain knows that it was a dream, my eyeballs know that they want to go back to sleep, but my adrenaline tells me that it's pointless and I should get up to make school lunches and start the day.
8:30am: Drop the big kid off at school. He hops out happily and heads in. I park and get Little Britches out of his seat and ready to head into his classroom. He is silently sobbing, yawning, and telling me through broken breaths, "I just want you, mommy." His saint of a teacher navigates the handoff flawlessly, he holds her hand and calms as they head off to start their day together. I, on the other hand, make it 3 steps and start bawling. I am tired, I have too much on my plate at all times, and I just want to scoop up my baby and snuggle him all day.
9:00am: I return home, Ryan greets me, and asks me if I'm okay. Oh, Ryan. Optimistic Ryan. Sweet, sweet Ryan. Do you see the bags under my eyes? Yesterday's mascara running down my face? Messy bun from 4 days ago hanging on by a single bobby pin?! Things are going great. I'm winning at life right now. Appreciate you asking.
2:00pm: I arrive to preschool pickup, having not been able to nap and also somehow not able to complete anything on my to-do list at home. I get in line and notice that for the 4th consecutive day, my child is wearing a backup pair of shorts. He is making it to the toilet at school, but struggling mightily to keep the pee *contained* to the toilet. Bless these teachers.
3:45pm: Ryan and Clark walk in the door, and the rush begins to get kids fed, Clark changed and out the door for soccer practice, the dog fed, and Linc and I out the door to PTA.
5:40pm: I am getting rapid fire texts from Ryan about Clark being thisclose to being dragged off the soccer field and to the car due to his poor behavior.
5:50pm: Remember that my fantasy football draft starts at the exact moment that PTA should be ending. Get my team page pulled up and ready to go so I can be ready the second the meeting adjourns. Things are turning around. I feel in control and ready to go. Oh, Heidi. Optimistic Heidi. Dumb, dumb Heidi.
5:55pm: A friend I have been trying to recruit to PTA for two years appears as promised, to sit next to me and check things out.
6:00pm: Meeting begins.
6:45pm: I text our PTA babysitter to ask how things are going. She reports back that things are great and Linc is doing awesome.
6:47pm: She texts again that Lincoln has had an accident.
6:48pm: I shove my computer to my friend-who-is-finally-agreeing-to-her-first-PTA-meeting-ever, tell her I have to go, and ask her to take notes. I know that she was thinking that she had just been tricked into joining a cult and unwillingly became the cult secretary, but she jumped in without hesitation.
6:50pm: I have ran to the car for backup clothes, and sprinted back inside to grab Linc and get him cleaned up. We head to the nearest toilet, which is a student bathroom with the sink outside. I set him on the potty, take his clothes off of him, and grab some soapy paper towels to run back into the stall with and clean him up.
6:51pm: He shifts on the toilet, it automatically flushes, and he screams in terror.
6:52pm: I am trying to clean up a 4 year old on an adult-sized public toilet with soapy wet sandpaper posing as a paper towel. Note to self: Ask PTA to buy Bounty.
6:54pm: He is cleaned up, wet clothes (down to the socks) are in a pile on the floor, and I grab him off the toilet in a hurry to get back to the meeting. He screams, "I STILL WORKING" and I look down to see that he has explosive diarrhea. And I have pulled him off of the toilet. So now it's everywhere. On him, the toilet, the backup clothes, and the floor. Automatic flusher still going off every 4.5 seconds. So helpful to an overstimulated mom in a stressful situation with an upset toddler. And we're both covered in poop.
6:57pm: I track down the babysitter and give her instructions as though she has just been promoted to the head of the Secret Service. I need you to walk into the meeting, find Erica, and tell her I need a youth small shirt. Meeting. Erica. Youth Small Shirt. Return it to me, here, in this public bathroom stall that is now a crime scene. She deserves a raise.
6:59pm: She returns. I have gone through an entire roll of toilet paper, 6 trips to the sink outside, I've stolen a trash bag from the bottom of a trash can to put the biohazard clothing into, the automatic flusher has gone off 82 more times. PTA meeting is still happening upstairs. My phone dings that my fantasy football draft is starting.
7:00pm: Am I in Hell? Is this actual Satan-at-the-helm Hell? It feels like it might be Hell.
7:02pm: Lincoln is clothed in a diaper (that he hasn't worn in a year) that I dug out of the bottom of my car center console. I am pretty sure that only 1 side even has velcro on it. He's also wearing a shirt that just *barely* covers this sorry excuse for a diaper. No pants. No socks. I am holding his hand and running through the parking lot with a garbage bag flung over my shoulder like it is loot that I am robbing from a bank. Only instead of a large sum of money that could really turn this week around, it's 2 full outfits worth of soiled clothing.
7:05pm: I am texting every person I know in the PTA meeting, because the door has locked behind me. We are now stranded outside. Lincoln is in a shirt and a too-small diaper. I smell poop on one (both?) of us. My friend that I have invited to PTA for TWO YEARS has been completely abandoned by me and is typing away on my laptop, doing her damnedest to keep the pieces of my life duct taped together. Also, it's my turn to draft.
7:11pm: We have been let back in, the meeting has wrapped, I have apologized to and thanked my friend repeatedly, I dump ALL of my remaining responsibilities on my fellow board members, shove everything into a bag, and flee with a half-naked toddler. And it's my turn to draft again.
7:22pm: We arrive home, and Ryan asks how PTA went. Oh, Ryan. Sweet Ryan. Unsuspecting Ryan.
7:22pm: I am shouting orders as if we are in actual war. The front door is wide open. "LINCOLN AND I NEED A SHOWER! DOOR NEEDS SHUT. THERE'S POOP IN THE BAG. DO NOT OPEN THE BAG! GET TO THE TUB, LINC. IT'S BEDTIME. I NEED TO CHANGE CLOTHES, AND I THINK I HAVE 4 WIDE RECEIVERS AND NO RUNNING BACKS!!!"
Wednesday, 12:47am: Finished the PTA meeting notes, this blog post & a candy bar, abandoned all hope of winning this fantasy football league, and went to bed.
Y'all pray for me. And someone please trade me a running back!
