Friday evening: I attended a pet expo with the kid. We collected a lot of junk. A lot of the booths had "spin the wheel" games and of course my daughter had to spin every one (usually a buck a spin). She won everything from a stencil to a throw pillow. Since I knew a lot of people there (friends from various rescues), I had to stop several times to run my mouth. Every time I turned around, the kid had something new in her hand or in her mouth (candy giveaways). She may or may not have stolen a plastic chick full of dog treats. I never did figure out where it came from.
Friday night, just before midnight: I got up to use the facilities, and slammed my foot into the step stool in the bathroom. The stool (which is actually a heavy, wooden, two-step affair) has been in that bathroom since last July, but I guess my foot forgot. When I got up the next morning, my toe hurt but did not appear to be broken. I decided to go to Weight Watchers and then to the gym, but figured I'd do a lighter work-out than usual. As I walked briskly on the treadmill, all I could hear in my head was a staccato "ow ow ow ow ow" with every step. My toe proceeded to turn various shades of red and purple as the day wore on. You have no idea how much you use and need all five toes until one of them goes out of commission, let me tell you.
Saturday morning: After completing my session at the gym, I headed to Target to do secret stuff in preparation for the Ectr Bune's arrival. I then hid the goods in the trunk of P's car. I'll almost be disappointed to see Easter come and go, because then I lose a bit of leverage with the kid. ("Do you want me to call him right now? Do you?") When I returned home, I quickly realized how big a mistake I'd made that morning when I'd told P, "When the kid gets up, you can just let her pick something to wear." (Normally I lay out an outfit for her.) What I came home to: Punky Brewster. Naturally, both P and A thought she looked just fine and could not comprehend what I was talking about. Skirt on sideways, top that didn't match the skirt, leggings, tennis shoes, and a headband that matched nothing. This was no fashion misdemeanor - it was a full-on felony.
Saturday afternoon: P took Nyquil (yes, the nighttime stuff. yes, in the middle of the day) and fell into a coma on the couch. I took the kid to see a local comedy troupe - I have friends who are in it. They were having a special event and raffle to benefit two local charities that serve families stricken by cancer. I go to this event every year, but have never won anything. The highlight of the event was when my daughter bent her Sprite-filled straw backward, and then let it go, so that Sprite was catapulted into the air and rained down on the man in front of us. He couldn't figure out where it came from, but I made her apologize to him anyway. He had Sprite all over the back of his shirt and his neck. For the next ten minutes, I was transfixed by a gigantic bead of Sprite that held its place firmly on the back of the man's closely-shorn scalp.
Saturday at around 4:40 p.m.: Used the facilities (without maiming my toe this time) and noted that I'd been wearing my drawers inside out all day.
Saturday evening: P and I went on a date. We dropped the kid off with a babysitter and then began the ever-popular "I dunno - where do YOU want to eat?" debate. We finally decided to try a Mexican place we hadn't been to before. The food was so-so, but the prices were very reasonable. After dinner, we went to see Hot Tub Time Machine. Yes, the humor was sophomoric and there were far too many penis/sperm jokes, but I thought it was funny nonetheless. John Cusack still makes me swoon (the combination of dark hair and dark eyes . . . me like). After the movie we stopped for a drink. We would have stayed for a second, but then we remembered that we are parents. The vaguely responsible kind.
Sunday morning: My toe was now well on its way to purple. I took the kid to church with me. We had a very interesting speaker who covered a weighty topic indeed: science and religion. Oh, and I got a text message from my friend Nancy informing me that I did indeed win something in the raffle! I won a basket full of dog treats and toys. That may be only the third prize I recall winning in my 40 years on the planet.
Sunday afternoon: I invited one of A's friends over for a play date. She'd been asking to have this friend over since September, so I finally decided to issue the invitation. Telling her "but you see that kid every day at school!" wasn't proving very effective anymore. All I heard for three hours was . . . actually, I have no idea what they were saying. I heard a lot of screaming. Once the play date entered its third hour, the girls were bursting into tears at random intervals. So, the party was over and the friend was escorted home.
Then I was met with the aftermath. You know the pink aisle at the toy store where they stick all the Barbies and other girlie stuff? It looked like that aisle threw up in my daughter's bedroom. I gave her multiple chances to clean up the room, threatened to call the Easter bunny, and finally cleaned up most of it myself. There were a few small trinkets left over, so I gave her one last chance to clean them up and when she didn't, I tossed them in the wastebasket. A threw her body over the wastebasket, broke into sobs, and started yelling, "Why? Why?" over and over - just like that scene from Mommie Dearest where Joan Crawford screams at Christina for having a wire hanger in her closet and Christina sobs those same words to herself. Much drama.
Oh, Ectr Bune, is it bedtime yet?