My eight-year-old daughter’s in her first real play this weekend (Best Little Christmas Pageant Ever, truthfully a wonderfully funny little play directed by my very uber-talented friend Lauren--girlfriend, I'm very impressed), so rehearsals have been running every night for a couple of hours. At first it was great; I got lots of reading and blogging done while waiting in the auditorium. But then I started to notice how all the laundry and dishes are piling up. And the homework. And the stuff on the floors. And the bills. Ack.
Then yesterday, I take my three-year-old son to the doctor because I think he has pink eye but it turns out to be ear infections in both ears. Poor guy. While I’m at the doctor, I get a call from my daughter’s school, where she’s needing to be picked up due to a headache (she’s sadly picked up my habit of burning the candle at both ends, that one). She was much better by the time the curtain rose (her play opened last night, and she did absolutely wonderfully, my little drama queen did), but I was a zombie, barely able to stand much less hold a decent conversation. I'm amazed we made it home (where my husband was tending our sick one) in one piece.
I’m crossing my fingers we make it through the day and my daughter’s final performance tonight (it's my turn to tend the sick one and my husband's to enjoy the play).
I’ve never been so glad to see Friday in all my life.
(Image: wet pipin by m a t t i e u at flickr; Some rights reserved.)