It’s the middle of the week, and it’s been 24 hours since my last post. No, I’m not sick. Just busy. And rather out of things to say. The March doldrums are in full swing. That, and this week I’m suffering from the Princess Must Scream syndrome. (I have to give FULL CREDIT to Lysa TerKeurst for coining that phrase.) Just ask my husband. He’s a gem to put up with me. Truly. You have NO idea. But really, it’s his own fault. He knew what he was getting into. My hapless children, on the other hand, did not choose their lot in life. Please send up a prayer for them today.
Yesterday was one of those days that I spent barely surviving. Besides the fact that every little thing was getting on my very last nerve, I also had a dental cleaning scheduled for 7pm that I was dreading. I always schedule my dentist appointments at night so I can go unfettered by whining children. The way I look at it, a trip to the dentist is torture akin to a Jack Bauer interrogation, and the last thing I need is to add children to the mix.
But the unfortunate result of scheduling my appointments at night is that I have an entire day to dread the event. Which is exactly what I did all day yesterday. I considered about three or thirty times calling the office and rescheduling. Because why do today what I can put off until tomorrow? But I knew that doctor offices generally frown on cancellations the day of the appointment, and if nothing else, I am a people pleaser. And besides, I couldn’t think of a particularly good reason to cancel anyway.
Finally at 5:00 I decided that I ought to make something of myself, even if it was just to spend an hour laying in a pleather chair with my mouth propped open, trying to focus on the Food Network show du jour (or du hour — anyone know French?) while the dental hygienist uses all manner of sharp metal instruments to inflict injury and trauma on my poor neglected gums.
So I ran upstairs and washed my hair and threw on some makeup, but I stopped short at changing my clothes. I figure if I have to endure the torment and indignity of a dental cleaning, I might as well be as comfortable as possible in my cozy sweats.
I came back down and started preparing dinner, all the while bemoaning the fact that I would have to rush through my salmon and mashed potatoes and broccoli (one of my all-time favorite meals) in order to put myself through the abuse that awaited me in the dental chair. My husband came home and rounded up the kids and set the table while I put the finishing touches on our meal. As I was plating the salmon, the phone rang. It was the dental office.
Suddenly there was a glimmer of hope. What were they calling for, an hour before my appointment? Could it be that they needed to reschedule? I crossed imaginary fingers as I said, “Hello?”
Karen wanted to know if I could possibly come closer to 6:30 than 7:00.
Um, no, I live a half hour away and I am just putting dinner on the table. I’m pushing it to get there at 7. BUT. If Karen wants to go home early and reschedule for another time, it won’t break MY heart.
Oh yes I did! That is EXACTLY what I said.
She laughed and said that that wasn’t necessary, but I ASSURED her that I didn’t mind IN THE LEAST, so we rescheduled for NEXT Tuesday at 7:00, and I told her to tell Karen to enjoy her evening. She assured me that Karen would be delighted with this turn of events.
With that I hung up the phone and told my husband to pour a glass of wine! I wasn’t going out after all. Everyone rejoiced that mommy was staying home. Which was really quite surprisingly, considering the Princess Must Scream syndrome we are all enduring this week. You’d think they would be thrilled to get rid of me for a couple of hours.
Despite that, we happily sat down and enjoyed a leisurely dinner — probably the only 30 minutes all day that there was no squabbling or whining or complaining.
But you all know what this means. I escaped my fate last night, but now I have to live that whole day again next week. Such is the life of a procrastinator.