The tale no one really asked me to tell ... but I said I would. So here it is.

Yesterday’s Comedy of Errors

So, I promised a tale.  Here it is.

We start yesterday morning.  I arrived at the office at 7:30, as usual.  By the time The Boss got in and things really got rolling, we were getting lots of calls for our guy that works offsite, The Slow Talker.  He lives about 2 hours away, he’s VERY much a good ole country boy, and he usually checks in with me pretty early in the morning.  So, getting calls for him is rare.

The Boss tried calling, and only got voice mail, so he began to get pissed.  That’s one of his top pet peeves – not being available to take your calls.  So, I email and I try to call as well.  Nothing.  Finally, The Boss gives in and calls Slow Talker’s mother.  She’s ANCIENT.  She tells us he is in the hospital with a blood clot.  So now we are in ‘Oh Shit’ mode, scrambling to take care of his stuff because he is not just slacking, but really ill. 

Things have been super busy.  I totally forgot about that stupid follow up doctor’s appointment I had with the eye doctor. It was at 3:45, so I had to leave even earlier than I had planned.  With all the rain, we had a make-up baseball game to play, so that meant I was already going to have to leave by 4:30 to grab The Minion and make it to the ballpark on time.

My eye doctor is … thorough.  She’s all about a medical eye exam and not just a quick in and out.  They check all kinds of focusing and shit.  Tests.  So. Many. Tests.  My first appointment lasted over three hours.  And she’s a talker.  I am pretty much over it within ten minutes, but I do try to be nice because I know she’s just doing her very extensive job.  And both parents do have glaucoma, so I do have some things that need to be watched.

We all know about the whole off-center vase thing I endured (and if you don’t, you can go find the harrowing pic on FB, Twitter or Instagram).  I arrived at 3:30 for my 3:45 appointment.  I am the only person in waiting area.  

Still waiting at 4:10.  When I finally made it back there, I told them I had to leave in 20 minutes to make ball, and I even set my timer on my phone to go off so I didn’t get sidetracked.  They rushed through a quick pressure check and demonstrating these bullshit exercises I am supposed to do to get my eyes tracking and focusing and all that jazz the way they should.  

Whatever.  I got other shit to worry about.  I am 99.9% sure I will not be hitting the craft store for string and beads so that I can rig this deal to the door frame and practice focusing.  Broch String Exercise, my fat white ass. Not.Gonna.Happen.

I rush out, grab the kid, head to ball.  We (finally!) managed to get a game in without rain.  During the game, my phone buzzes for an email.  I have the joy of having my work email on my phone.  It was from Slow Talker responding to my morning messages.  He was in the hospital.  Heart attack.  Having a heart cath procedure done this morning, nervous about it.  Sorry he wasn’t able to call earlier.

I mean, damn.  He’s in the hospital, probably lucky to be alive (he had a stroke in 2011), and he’s sorry he couldn’t call.  I told him not to worry about it.  We had talked to his mom and it was all taken care of.

So I email The Boss to let him know.  And now we are at this weird place where he hasn’t been with us long, and do we keep him and hope he doesn’t croak, or cut him loose and look like assholes.  Because he’s not producing like we thought he would, and this remote working thing has been WAY more of a pain in the ass than anticipated.  Decisions, decisions. 

It went something like this:

QoE:  So, blood clot was really a heart attack.  Heart cath procedure in AM.  Apparently you picked one with one foot in the grave.  Nice.

The Boss:  I just hope his mom has the wherewithal to return our equipment if he croaks.

QoE:  Amen to that.  We can just send Coworker to get it.

The Boss:  I will enjoy hanging out with you in Hell.

QoE:  VIP section in Special Hell.

Now, in the middle of this little exchange, I get the official company email, with the subject line ‘Please Keep In Your Thoughts’:

“I wanted to let everyone know that Slow Talker, our newest addition to the company family, has suffered a heart attack and is in the hospital.  Our prayers go out to his family and friends as we all wish for a speedy recovery.  Thanks.  The Boss.”

I showed POF our back and forth, and then the official “please keep him in your thoughts” email that The Boss sent out to the company.  He was impressed by our ability to be terrible humans together while simultaneously presenting a dignified front.  It’s a skill.  We have it in spades.

Game over.  We rush to get home. As we are getting into the car, The Minion announces he has to pee.  There is no bathroom close by.  And we are in a hurry to get home since the guys are there waiting on POF to jam.  He says Hold It, and we take off.  I distract The Minion with talking about his day.

It was field trip day at Y Camp and they went to the bowling alley / family fun center.  They played laser tag.  He’s smitten.  In fact, I am pretty sure that his career choice has now become professional laser tag player.  He’s like the mini Barney Stinson of laser tag.  

We make it home.  He runs in, drops his ball bag, and runs back outside to see the guys.  Then he comes in and he’s doing the pee dance.  Instead of going to pee, he stands there, waiting for me.  Because apparently even though he’s 6 and has no problem tearing off to the bathroom alone at the ball park, when we are at home he needs an escort.  I told him to go.  Fussed at him to GO!  I was in the middle of starting dinner.  But no.  He waited too long.  And by the time he did make the mad dash, he was too late.  Peed all over his uniform, including his cleats, and the bathmat.  Fanfuckingtastic.

His punishment was to get thrown into the tub.  He’s on this weekly bath kick right now that’s killing me, so forcing him to bathe was killing two birds at this point and I was okay with that.  Extra bath, and he hated every second of it.  There were tears. Win-Win.  Then I had to do laundry to wash the pee clothes.  And take his cleats outside and spray them to try to solve the potential pee smell problem.  That combined with stinky boy feet would be too much to take.

Child clean.  Child fed.  Laundry done.  I throw POF’s gross work laundry in.  You know that it’s true love when you will pick up someone’s stinky, dirty, gross work socks that are still damp with sweat and take them to the washer.  I actually gag a little just thinking about it.  I love him.  I do.  Blergh.

I finally stop to eat my dinner (bacon and cheese grits. YUM), and naturally the kid wants to try it.  And loves it.  And proceeds to eat half of it.  And then asks for it for his lunch the next day.  Which is great.  He tried a new food and loved it.  I love that.  I just wish it wasn’t MY food.  I figure I will actually get to eat my entire meal on my own sometime after he goes to college.

Eventually, I was standing at the sink washing pans.  Because those fuckers seem to multiply when I turn my back.  I feel like I am ALWAYS washing a pot or pan.  So, I am scrubbing and The Minion comes into the kitchen.

Minion: Mama!  I know The S Word!

Me:  (mentally:   fuuuuuuuck.  Be cool.  Be cool.  BE COOL!) Yeah?  What’s The S Word?

Minion:  Shoot.

Me:  (mentally: thank you sweet baby Jesus! *heart rate returns to normal*) That’s right.  And we don’t use The S Word, do we?

Minion: No! (as he runs off)

And at that point, I was D-O-N-E.  At various points through this crazy day, I also negotiated the design and order of a birthday cake we need in a couple of weeks.  Spoke with my financial lady at the bank about some debt resolution shit. Cancelled POF’s dental appointment.  Talked to my sister-in-law about some family shit she needs help on. Spoke to my mom about some of our family shit that we need to deal with. And did my crazy busy job.  I was pooped.

Kid passes out.  POF comes in.  He’s frisky.  I’m tired.  He rubs my shoulders.  I deny his advances. He sulks.  We go to bed.  He wants to cuddle.  I want no part of it.  He sulks.  We sleep.

And here we are starting a brand new day.  The phones are quiet.  New Girl partied last night at a concert and hasn’t dragged her ass in yet – a first.  And I’ve had time to sit and write this.  So far, so good.  More ball tonight. Hopefully this time with less pee.