I'm sitting on my ass cruising blogs, kind of like the guy playing violin on the Titanic as the ship sinks. So much to do that I've hit my saturation point and gone into shut down mode. It's how I roll. The more I need to get done and the closer the deadline looms, BAM, I pull the covers over my head.
Case in point: portions of my house are in complete shambles. We've been painting baseboards and doors (and by "we" I mean Tim, because painting? uck). Normally shambles doesn't bother me too much when it is controlled chaos, like painting projects or room relocation. There's just going to be a level of crazy until the project is done. The flaw in this zen-like approach to housekeeping hits a snag though when faced with the fact that I have 30 GUESTS coming TOMORROW EVENING for a Viva Las Vegas Casino Night fundraiser for Carlie's school.
Wait to the last minute much?
Projects for the day: clean bathrooms, sweep/mop/vacuum floors, deep clean the kitchen.
Projects for tomorrow: assemble blackjack tables, set up poker tables, stock the bars and help with food prep (thank God I have a friend doing the bulk of the food prep).
Yesterday was Take Your Child To Work Day. I'm a court reporter, and most of the attorneys I know, along with their clients, would be less than amenable to having a 10-year-old sit in on their private legal proceedings. Tim is a child and family therapist. Again, not exactly a job conducive to having your child sit in at work while a family comes in to spill their guts.
So we found a good compromise. I took Carlie to the Clackamas County Juvenile Center. We got to visit the courtroom where family court and juvenile drug court is held. She got to meet the judge, who could not have been more fun and gracious. She got to see the holding rooms where kids are detained, got a demo of how kids are put into leg shackles if they're dangerous and she got to meet lots of people that work with her dad (the family therapist for the juvenile drug court program).
After the court tour, we went out to lunch and trekked home. Carlie got her homework done and then I took her to the soccer kick around. (The kick around is a practice with coaches to prepare for try-outs.) It was for ages 10-13. She appeared to be the only 10 year old there this time. Everyone else was definitely bigger and looked older, more mature, more experienced.
The coaches work with what they've got, and apparently they had a good group of more experienced girls and decided to really push them. I don't know because I was sitting in my car on the other side of the building proofreading, not watching the practice. An hour and a half later, when practice ended, I was walking to the car with Carlie and she started to cry.
After a bit of tearful I don't want to talk about it drama, a bath and dinner, the crux of the heartbreak was that (1) the coach yelled (at everyone, not Carlie specifically) and the other girls don't want to be her friend.
Someone's little hormones are kicked into overdrive lately. Lord help us all.
On today's agenda, drill team practice with Carlie after school. Guess who's coaching the pompom squad, again? I don't know how I end up with these oddball volunteer jobs. But, hey, one more excuse to not clean bathrooms, right? I'm also hosting a little three-woman birthday celebration tonight for a girlfriend where we'll be watching this week's episode of Rescue Me.
Have I mentioned how much more productive I would be if I weren't addicted to television? Oy.
UPDATE: It is almost noon and I am just now putting down the computer and turning off the TV. I am defective.