I have been awake since about 3 and up since 3:30. That’s never a good start for a day.
T.R. forgot to set his alarm last night, even though I reminded him. New Legos will do that to a person. Because I am trying to be a merciful person, I woke him. I had ulterior motives as well. Cricket needs to walk in the mornings or else she is unbearably energetic for the rest of the day; for once, I am working at allocating the responsibility in a regular and understandable way rather than hoping desperately that spontaneous helpfulness will erupt and so the kids are in charge of walking her on Thursdays and Fridays.
T.R. got distracted, again, by those same Legos. (He got this set from his grandparents and it came slightly after his birthday.) I sincerely hope that he did in fact brush his teeth this morning, but I know he didn’t make his bed or deal with his dirty clothes. He could tell I was NOT HAPPY with him. I was proud of myself for not yielding to the temptation to yell at him.
I was even less happy when, as we were trying to get out the door, later than usual, due to Cricket’s walk and the general disorganization of the troops, Cricket burst out the door and decided it was a great time to play keep-away with us. Thankfully, she didn’t take off entirely, but it was a dicey few minutes as we worked to surround her and capture the speedy little booger.
On the way home from dropping the kids at school, I got stuck in traffic. It is ironic that a person who dislikes driving as much as I do needs to drive as much as I do. No matter what I try to do to entertain and distract myself, I get out of the car tense. It did not help that I needed to go to the bathroom.
Now the challenge is to trick myself into doing some work. It would be easy to write off the rest of the day as a loss, grab the book I am reading (the seventh in the Malazan series by Steven Erikson), and hunker down to a nice long pity party with lots of fantasy gore and intrigue for company.
And maybe I will. I just want to sneak in a page or so of work on the new novel and maybe type up some of the stuff for T.’s Christmas story. It’s a question of letting my “monkey mind” go off and worry over all the things I should be doing while the rest of me just does what is next.
Just a page. Then I can mope all I want.