Where late and early converge

I cannot remember what I wrote here last.  Something about a spilled Super Big Gulp?  If so, that means the last time I wrote something was Monday night.

On Tuesday, I was an unofficial chaperone for a first-grade field trip to a Children’s Museum.  The beauty of being an unofficial chaperone is that you aren’t allowed to ride on the bus and that you aren’t officially in charge of anyone but yourself.  And if you are 44 years old, you are pretty easy to be in charge of.  You also get to ride in your husband’s red Cadillac, the one with seat warmers.

String together the Children’s Museum trip with work and suddenly, Tuesday has turned into Wednesday.

Oh!  Today was Wednesday, wasn’t it?  I took my daughter to school, came home, told myself that a thirty minute nap would be just the thing and an hour and  a half later, dragged myself out of bed and into the shower.  I rushed to the grocery store for a few essential items and returned home behind a string of cars which all seemed determined to drive under the speed limit.  What is wrong with people who drive under the speed limit?  Do they conspire to make me late?

I work split shifts and while a split shift has many benefits–okay, some benefits–it does make me feel as if I work all afternoon and all night, too.  In between shifts, I have enough time to clean up the kitchen, make a mess in the kitchen and sometimes, read a little.  At least soccer/football practice has ended for the year, so I no longer have to shuttle children to various fields.  Tonight, I barely had time to read my current novel, a Jodi Picoult book which makes me feel like I’m watching a magician work–how does she do it?  It looks impossible and impossibly easy at the same time.

My sister stopped by tonight, so we chatted for awhile.  Then I dragged her to the primary school so I could pick up the boxes and boxes of cookie dough I ordered from the school fundraiser.  I will either have enough cookie dough to last me for a year or I will become very very very fat from eating too many cookies.

Before I knew it, it was time to work again.

Now it’s so late that it’s early.

And I’m going to bed.