The calendar says it's Tuesday, but I've had a Monday. I spent most of the long weekend buried in my manuscript -- 23 pages (I lost track of word count, but it was big.). I mentioned yesterday that coming out of it was like waking up from a really intense dream. Today I got smacked in the face with reality.
My alarm seemed more obnoxious than usual. Yesterday, I popped out of bed early and went right to my laptop. Today, the same hour seemed ungodly. Why would anyone get up so early? I staggered into the shower and washed my hair in a daze. A moment later, I realized I had shampoo in my hand again. I know the instructions say lather, rinse, repeat, but I usually only lather and rinse once. Not wanting to waste the shampoo, I lathered and rinsed again, ignoring the fact that lathering and rinsing clean hair is probably still a waste. I was trying to get my brain in gear, mentally running through my first hour lesson plan, when I realized I had the shampoo in my hand AGAIN. I lived the hair-washing version of Groundhog's Day.
Finally, I managed to escape the shower. I should have realized the kind of day it was when my boys woke up easier than I did. Anyone who lives with teenage boys knows you need necromancy skills to wake them up. They sleep like the dead. Except for today. Younger son had a birthday today and a football game after school, so he was up and at 'em. Older son, well I don't know why older son got right up, but he did. I seemed to be the only one in slow motion.
I managed to get through the morning okay, but then at lunch time, I discovered that I had not in fact grabbed the leftover grilled Italian sausage. I had actually grabbed the leftover onions and peppers. I had a bun and onions and peppers. Mmmmmmmm
The piece de resistance was the panicked phone call I received from young son after school. He was on a bus halfway to the freshman football game and realized he left his cleats in the locker room. I run to the custodian and talk her out of her master key. Doesn't work. I run to the Principal's office, praying he's still there. He is, and thankfully, his key works. I frantically search the row of lockers for my son's. (Side note: high school football locker rooms are disgusting.)
Once I have the cleats, I have to get them to my son before his coach realizes he doesn't have them. The game is set to start in 40 minutes and driving at a reasonable speed it will take at least 30 minutes to get there. As a bonus, I'm on empty, so I have to stop for gas. I hit the road and drive a smidge past reasonable for exactly 5 minutes when the heavens open. The interstate looks like a lake, and traffic slows to a crawl. I grab my phone and call my friend who is certainly already there.
"Is it raining there? Have they started warm-ups yet? Is my kid barefooted?"
"I have no idea. There's been a bad accident. The highway is a parking lot."
Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be on this Tuesday-Monday. I call another friend who directs me off the highway and on to a back road. It's now 5 minutes until gametime and I'm sure my son is toast. I generally believe in letting kids live with the consequences of their mistakes, but the idea of my son not getting to play on his birthday is too much. I'm almost in tears at this point.
I finally arrive, and miracle of miracles, the players are all still in the locker rooms. The refs saw lightning and made them go inside until it cleared. I found a kid who had come out of the locker room for something, and I used him to smuggle my son's cleats inside. He had snagged a 4th string player's shoes, and the coach caught them switching back...of course. Luckily, my kid is usually responsible, and the coach forgave him. Turns out he was a game captain today. Can you imagine him going out for the coin toss with no shoes?
I sat in the stands, exhausted. The skies cleared, and we played football. All's well that ends well. We won. My son made a couple of pretty good plays, and more importantly, didn't have to sit the bench on his birthday. And I enjoyed the game with really clean hair.