God has a sense of humor. I love Calvin and Hobbes so he gave me a son just like Calvin. Yesterday was a perfect example.
Being a Monday (following a Sunday where I had a serious discussion with my husband about schedules, etc.) I had mapped out my day, determined to stick to my schedule and get back on track after last week pretty much being a wash.
My son is not a morning person. Thus, I write in the morning. Usually, about a half hour before I’m ready to call it quits, he begins to rouse from his catatonic state. Now, at this point, he’s been awake and out of bed for about 3 hours. But he hasn’t really been functioning. Which is to my advantage.
So yesterday morning, I’ve almost hit my word count, need about 300 more words, when he comes in. “Mom. I’m hungry.”
“Finish your breakfast on the table.”
He comes back two minutes later, jam smeared on the cutest little cheeks. “I want a snack.”
“Give me fifteen minutes. I’m almost done.” I’m in the middle of a scene. I know where I’m going. It’s flowing. I don’t want to be interrupted.
He goes off and does something. I don’t know what. I’ve got 40 words left. With my mom ears I hear him climb on the kitchen counter. “Get down.”
“I’m making a sandwich.”
Great. “Get down. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I hear the sound of the toaster lever plunging, followed shortly after by the scent of smoke. I’m out of my chair and around the corner. Smoke is billowing out of the kitchen. I mutter a few non-CBA approved words. My son is climbing off the counter, rubbing his eyes. “I was making a sandwich.”
Smoke’s pouring out of the toaster but no flames. I unplug it and carry it out back, tossing it on the patio. Now the house is filled with the acrid scent of burnt toast. I hate burnt toast. I can see smoke swirling around the rooms, heading toward the ceiling. All I need is the smoke detectors to go off.
I start opening windows and turn on the ceiling fan. I go to open the patio door when I notice the toast is no longer in the toaster. The dumb dog has eaten all four pieces of charcoaled bread, probably burning his doggie lips in the process. I’m surprised he didn’t eat the toaster.
I finished my word count, then we went to Sonic for lunch. At this point, my schedule’s only off by about half an hour.
That was okay until about 1:30 when my e-mail went down. Again. I wait a couple hours, trying all my various trouble shooting techniques on the different computers in our house. Nothing. Finally I call Cox. They can’t figure it out either. Great. I love being a conundrum. After about an hour they finally figure it out and I get back my e-mail and my lifeline to the world outside my house.
Of course by this time I’ve forgotten to start dinner and the whole afternoon and evening schedule is shot.
Ah well. There’s always tomorrow.
Um, that’d be today.