Do Over?

Why the last 48 hours have sucked and I am formally requesting a do over from God:

Yesterday I got to work early enough to buy hot cocoa -- my ubermost fave thing to have in the morning. Go me. Good day projected.

Then, while working in a middle school, my most feared event [circa high school] occurred. I go home in order to partake in the bambino's school's Winter Gala (starring the infant rooms as snowflakes or snowmen or snowsomethings) and whilest changing my clothes, receive a phone call 35 mins before I'm to be at the school stating that my daughter has thrown up twice and needs to be picked up immediately. No Gala for me.

I arrive at Infant Room A, 20 minutes before showtime, and find all babies in their snowthing outfits (all white home-sent couture with black knit hats). For the first time EVER, Olivia does not get upset that I haven't picked her up as soon as I walked into the room. In fact, she is looking around at all the other Flakemen & smiling and babbling. She then makes eye contact with me and smiles more, as if to say, "Look, Mommy, we are going to put on a show!" She looked adorablely cute as a snowwhatever, and my heart broke. Although, I'm not sure it broke because she was missing out or because I was missing out and didn't have my blackberry [to take photo proof of her stunningness]. I vaguely remember Ms. Teacher saying something about messy, vomit-covered items but am so enamoured by my daughter's hugably cute Snowgirl outfit, I hear only the guilt-ridden, sadness of my inner-voice. And due to the 24 hour no-vomit policy of daycare, Liv can't go back until Friday.

We go home to meet Daddy and head to the doc's so that they can inevitably take our $15 and tell us that our child does not have a life-threatening illness. Fast forward one hour, and we are home having heard just that. On the plus side, I was able to schedule h1n1 shot #2. I start to sift through the two loads (hers and mine) of stained laundry that needs to be done. I discover what was once a white shirt that is currently coated in pea-green (guess what we had for lunch) vomit. My hand cramps from using the spray bottle of Dreft. After putting in the first load of laundry, I decide to head to the gym.

I stop feeling my arms & lose the ability to speak about 20 minutes into the hour-long endeavor called "Core Conditioning & Dance Aerobics." We do moves that remind me of The Chorus Line, and the fact that the instructor is wearing a midriff bearing top does nothing to dispute this. I dance my heart out... literally... but am pretty sure I didn't make the final cut because when I am finished I am too tired to speak to anyone. Silently, I congratulated myself on making it to class, and secretly, I sang "One" and imagined myself in sequins.

I get home and am greeted by the second pile of laundry and prepping for Liv's day with Mom Mom so Frank and I can both go to work and not lose anymore moula. I decide that God made Chinese food leftovers & half a Cherry Coke Zero for moments just like these. I block out the dance instructor's booming voice about squeezing muscles with the whirring of the microwave heating up my sesame chicken & rice.

Only one of our horribly stained loads of laundry came clean... Mommy will now be spending her treasured Christmas gift card on a new pair of khakis. Lovely.

I then spend most of the evening getting ready for today and not going to sleep until midnight, causing me to oversleep by 20 minutes. A precious 20 minutes when I need to leave exactly 30 minutes earlier than usual AND explain to Mom Mom how the schedule goes.

I leave my house at 6:50am, drive to Rebekah's house, and we proceed to travel the one and three-quarters hour to Harrisburg. I sit in a small room for 7 hours to hear people "instruct" me on how to do my job. I get home at 6pm, just in time to nurse Liv and put her to bed.

Do over, please?

Listen, are you going to have those TPS reports for us this afternoon? No.