So I Have a Blog

This morning when I left to get Emily to daycare I was running late. That's pretty normal for me. For us. We're not morning people here. So anyway, I get the text message that my ride was outside (my wonderful friend, who I'm not sure is comfortable with her name on the internetzzz. I haven't come up with a non-lame nickname yet, so for now, she remains "my friend") and I don't even have my shoes on yet. Emily's teeth haven't been brushed and her breakfast hasn't been made, and I'm pulling one leg in to my pants and yelling to Emily to please for the love of all things HOLY just get your BOOTS ON NOW and she was standing there, staring at me. With her hand on her hip.

So I get an oh-so-helpful reminder from my girlfriend, the morning person in the apartment, that hey, didn't your friend just text you and shouldn't you be outside? Huh? So I chop up some strawberries and throw in some blueberries and go shove Emily's feet in to her boots and grab my purse and throw my hair up in a bun and shove Emily's arms in to her coat and walk towards the door. I open the door and turn on my heel, tripping and hitting my elbow on a kitchen chair, because I forgot to kiss The Girlfriend goodbye. I kiss her, tell her to have a great day, thank her for putting up with my complete morning fail and go outside.

We get in the car and the seat belt wouldn't work. At all. It tok me an entire three minutes to get Emmy buckled in to her seat. Which is ridiculous. Do you know how long three ENTIRE minutes is? It's a long time to be standing with your ass hanging out of a backseat in eleven degree weather, especially when Emily is singing about how cool Hannah Montana is and how cool her Hannah Montana chapstick is and I don't even know how she learns about Hannah Montana and finally, the seat belt clips in and my hair falls out of the bun.

I walk to the front seat and we stop at the gas station so I can get newspapers (because I believe one hundred percent in supporting ACTUAL PAPER. I love the internet. In fact, I heart the internet. A lot. But. I am not looking forward to the purely digital age. At all.) We leave the gas station to get stuck at the fucking TRAIN. The Amtrak train. It sits there. Blocking two very major intersections in this small town, this town that sees fit to not provide ANY way around the train once you're pulled up to said train, and so we sit there. And sit. And sit some more. And Emily and my friend's son start talking about choo-choos and that choo-choos say "chhoooOOOO- CHOOOOOO!!!!!!!" And it's 6:24 in the morning and I've only had one cup of coffee and I wanted to throw them out the window. I call Amtrak. They sympathize, but don't do anything. We sit. I call work, hey, I might be a little late.

We get the kids to the daycare, driving behind an enormous truck snow blower thing, drop them off and rush to work, both of us late, and the person who opened for me put the money in backwards. Backwards. Did you read that? I'm a little OCD (except it's more like CDO, because I like it alphabetical) and I hate that. It didn't help that last night the closer forgot to turn the heat on and the computers weren't working, and it was 13 degrees in my makeshift office, and I was four minutes late (which is still eleven minutes early, but, like I said: CDO) and I was just so frustrated.

So I work. For two hours. When the daycare calls me all, hey, Emily threw up. Uh-huh, three times. Yeah. Can you come? We can't keep her. So I say, well, she's on a food strike. She didn't eat her dinner last night. Does she have a fever? No? Um, well... And they interupted me with Melissa, you need to come.

So I sigh. And it was a satisfying sigh. And I leave to go get her. Go to the store, buy some throwing-up essentials (you know, things to keep her hydrated, stuff like that) and go home. And I had a doctor's appointment in an hour. Fucking fuck, I forgot, and I have to go because I've waited a month and a half to get a new inhaler and I can't miss it. So I have to bring her. With me. To the doctor's office. I hate bringing kids where kids don't need to be.

The Girlfriend comes to pick me up and we go to the doctor. She gets mad because it takes over an hour and I'm shaking like a mad woman from the albuterol high I got from the nebulizer. I go home. She goes back to work. Emmy is, of course, COMPLETELY FINE.

I'm only at one pm. Needless to say, it was a long fucking day. Hi internet, my name is Melissa and I am a rambler.