My time doesn't march like most other people's time. It has its own special pace, well, I can't call it a pace because that implies some kind of rhythm. Mine has none. I'm pretty sure the drummer quit a long time ago and took his sticks with him. Part of that is being married to an emergency professional whose schedule is willy-nilly no matter what he says. Part of that is just the condition of being me. But Fridays are truly a mixed bag.
Some Fridays are a gift. Husband stays home with Lokisdottir. I grab CoyoteCurls from school, head to ballet, talk WAY too much to patient people--I don't get out much, and I certainly don't get a lot of grownup time without stopping every few seconds to correct LokisDottir, so my head kind've explodes with words. Then she and I have a nice conversation on our way home. I feel rested, relaxed, and am always glad for the alone time with CoyoteCurls. And grownups.
Then there are Those Fridays. Today was a Those Friday. It required a whole lot or retrograde, alignments and a host of astrological metaphors that I'm too tired to make up right now because OMG Ballet...which...I will get to in a second.Or six.
We left the house at 10am. We got home around 9pm. In all that time was furniture shopping (subsequent arguing over space and placement), Costco, grocery, library, and a school Valentine's Day thing that parents were invited to--the kind that if you don't show, your daughter cries and you are certain her world has just ended--OMG Ballet and finally some function a the YMCA that I'm sure I'll remember once the memories resurface.
Most of my day was about "Wow, your hair is really blue!" which was actually kinda fun. It started a great conversation with CoyoteCurl's teacher, and I really appreciated that. Somewhere along the way I volunteered to cook French food for class. I should look in to that sometime. The sales people at the furniture stores had no clue what to do with me though. Women with bright blue hair must not buy expensive furniture very often, but I was fine with taking the lead, because what I want isn't cheap. It's just what I want (which is not a sofa, but chairs wide enough to cuddle. The current wing backs are nice, and I can fit with the girls, but that's about it. I burned the sofa a long time ago. Dog pee. Enough said).
And then there was OMG Ballet. I was so looking forward to my little spot on the floor, but as we pulled in, the giant banner reminded me it was "PARENT PARTICIPATION WEEK". So did CoyoteCurls. I sent husband off with Lokisdottir in hopes she would nap, which she did, but which also meant I was the parent to participate. So I did. And I didn't make it across the floor once before an old injury put me on my bum (short version: ACL repair, hamstring graft, never regained full use of that leg). But gosh darnit, I was gonna participate. So as soon as that particular exercise was over, and my hamstring was out of spasm, I was at the barre. And gosh darn it, I was gonna DO THIS RIGHT!
Now, I've done a lot of pushing myself to extremes in my life. My cycling days, my weight lifting days, karate, full contact, armored combat--single and melee--I've run a half marathon, the forest fire fighting. Basically, I've been an athlete all my life, and it hasn't always been nonviolent. I've only ever had cracked ribs, and that ACL...though I've dislocated every joint that isn't a fixed joint.
My seven year old's ballet class kicked my butt. And it was the crowning jewel of this particular That Friday. And it why I don't really remember much about the Y.
But hopefully the next That Friday will be as far away as Easter, because they always fall near holidays. So I have time to prepare. Or forget, which is more likely.
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