A couple months ago, a therapist asked me to keep a log of everything I did for a week. It was, er, insightful. For day 3 of 90 Stories in 90 days, I'm being transparent about this day. In part, because I think people should be honest about what life really looks like. Yes, it varies widely from day to day. Here's a random sample of mine:
6 a.m.: Wake up. Realize I have to make some quick decisions for the morning. Conflicting doctor appointment, meeting, and school Mass. Found out night before Nate was serving as an altar boy, and after struggling with some troubling news also received night before, decide: Mass. Cleankitchenfromlastnight'sdinnerIwastootiredtopick up; shower; take son to school; discuss dog medicine with husband/the professor.
8 am.: Hobble into church with pink gerber daisies for Mary (hey, it's what Catholics do). Wearing pink dress and pink purse. Look like Tired Editor Barbie (no makeup), but dammit if I'm not happy I am going to dress happy. Meet parents. Watch sweet, uniformed kids and girls in flowered dressed bringing carnations and yard flowers wrapped in aluminum foil at the end to a statue of Mary, Queen of The Universe. Know instantaneously that this is going to be the best part of the day. Stay for part of Mass. Cry with the weight of the big issues on my mind: my family's health, my health, the present fatigue and pain. Hopeful at the sight of the kids and their aluminum foil covered flowers.
Call sister on way to work. Cry some more.
9:10: At work, puffy eyes, smile on. Send off emails before going to:
10 am meeting
1-1:45 pm: Edit stories. Answer emails. Talk to colleagues. Run out the door because I'm late to pick up Nate for orthodontist appointment. On the way, phone rings for conference call.
2:15: Participate in conference call while checking Nate out of school and also explaining to him not to be afraid about the metal appliance that will soon be implanted in his mouth. Give him children's Tylenol. Answer questions on the line. Get to orthodontist and make a beeline for the Flavia machine (This is what $5,000 or orthodontics pays for). Set up computer and send emails.
2:45: Dad arrives to pick Nate up for their Wednesday afternoon adventures. I am very thankful he is here. Write large check, run to my doctor down the road to get shot I had to reschedule from a.m. Wanted to skip that but trying to take care of myself dammit.
3: Drive back downtown for second time today. Edit more stories, plan last minute photo shoot and interview, edit more stories. Deadlines. Rinse and repeat.
5: Meet friend Jamie for a chai latte. Know I will have to work more at home tonight and tomorrow morning. Am keeping this quick coffee date because she's a friend I haven't seen in a year and every word out of her mouth is funny and insightful. No one can talk about pop culture an life changes and God all in the same breath better than her. We talk about her podcast and its crazy success and her cake pop business about how as we get older we don't really care about titles, or getting our worth from what we do. I eat a chocolate cookie and think that won't help my swimsuit look for California trip in a week. Whatever.
6:30: Head home. On drive talk with Cliff, one of my best friends from college. Another close friend calls at the same time. It's like being in college minus the dry erase boards and with discussions of 401s.
7: Home. Catch Dad in the driveway. He's dropped off Nate, along with two dozen pink roses "from Nate" and two video games for said child for his bravery at orthodontist. Thankful again. Son helps arrange flowers, which is an effective strategy in avoiding math homework.
Eat dinner prepared by the professor while we watch "The Goldbergs," the 80s throwback show we all love. Yeah, we eat in front of the TV.
8: Laptop out, start working again. Work until falling asleep, stopping to do the dishes, call Zappos to return a pair of shoes, Resume work until I fall asleep on couch. Go to sleep at an indeterminate time.