Monday, January 10, 2011

Monday Mojo - or the whole pride goeth before a fall thing

And I was so going to brag about today and my speedy recovery. Miss Ellie and I dressed for the cold and did 35 minutes worth of shopping in approx 90 mins, not too shabby. Only since I'm so out of practice the cell phone stayed home and of course somebody was on death's door and needed me - why, oh why, oh why, wouldn't you pick up?

Answer: I'm a dingbat and forgot about phones and people needing me from time to time.
Then, after an hour's recoup with a hot rice bag tending my tummy, I ran down to pick up carpool. Only guess what, communication breakdown (spoiler: this is totally going to become a theme) and both of us showed up. I felt terrible, this was my first day back and I'd botched it already, again.

There was that lovely 30 minute interval of being invited into Vampire Ellie's Office (the bathroom) where she invited me to sit upon the only available seating in such offices, where-upon she opened her laptop (magnetix box) and proceeded to diagnose fix my broken pipes (bathrooms, being as they are, places of plumbing). She's such a clever girl, never breaks character while in vampire plumber mode.

But then hounded (well it didn't start out that way) the girls into finishing off their bits of homework. People took off in various directions and I thought, Perfect, now I can get into bed and rest.

Only Gotcha! Because instead I thought, What a perfect time to make chocolate chip cookies (the honest-to-goodness from scratch kind)!

It went actually pretty well, but it's also where I wore out my last reserves - of patience, of strength, of energy, of being actually vertical. Only I didn't realize the full extent of it until 7 PM. I do not do well making decisions on ANYTHING past one lump, or two (we're talking sugar here, don't worry too much) when my reserves are down.

And all of us could see it comin' and none of us seemed to have the sense to derail it, most of all - me. I persisted by overseeing the baking of the bacon (425, foil-lined cookie sheet, turn every 3-4 minutes until desired level of crispiness is attained), while Mr. O stepped in and fulfilled the rest of French Toast Monday. I don't know where any of us would be without him. He is the MAN. He really is.

I mean he only left for a haircut and some needed antibiotics and returned to mama's every last spring having been sprung. And so here it is, the deal: I will pace myself.

There are only so many things I seem to be able to do in a day, and clearly they are not the same number of things as 3 weeks ago. Please, self, to remember this. Or I'ma have to ground your butt clear into next Tuesday.

At least after this there are chocolate chip cookies.