I had a major presentation this week at work. I realized the pair of black pants that I needed to wear was in the laundry because I had gone straight from work to Joshua's baseball game... so those suckers were filthy. I opened the laundry room door and was bowled over with smoke and a burning smell. My head sometimes screws with me so I went to ask Al if he smelled the smell and he said yes. But. That's all he did- he just kept washing dishes. I bolted back in the kitchen to ask him to come LOOK at the smelly smoke coming out of the laundry room.
Yep. Something was hosed up with the dryer and it wasn't going to be running any time soon. Now I needed some place that would have pants for me. It was 8pm. We were out of juice boxes and milk too so the emergency store trip wasn't too out of line with the needs of the moment. But seriously- this was a mammoth sized presentation to the most senior of any level of anyone I've ever pitched to and I didn't want to be screwing this up. But knowing my life events are typically stamped with some degree of nonsense, a burning dryer was minimal and something I could work around.
I got pants. I presented. Issues averted.
But then I was at Joshua's baseball game and late, late into a long game, he was waiting for his turn to bat and turned around holding up a bloody, bloody hand. Not a little bit of blood, but a-what-the-hell amount. I started screeching for him to come to me- he was furthest away in the dug out amongst a pile of boys who were just done with sitting still. I was definitely worried about his hand but- it was also crossing my mind that he needed to keep his hand 30 feet from his white jersey shirt because he still had a game tomorrow morning and I still don't have a dryer... my priorities were a touch idiotic but it had been a long week.
It turns out he had a tiny skin rip that was aggravated by screwing around with a mitt for 5 innings. But he also simultaneously had a freak bloody nose that was adding to the blood output volume.
It was so ridiculous. But again another close call for the week.
This morning took the cake however. Noah was begging me to get up and get him breakfast but then decided he needed to watch at least one Caillou cartoon before heading downstairs. I grabbed my blackberry while he was watching and I was deciding if I had any pants to wear (I have a dryer now... just need to execute the laundry part...). There was a 6:40am missed call... from my mom.
I had to be out of close calls for the week. I already imagined what it was- she was locked in her bathroom again or she was feeling strange and was on the verge of a heart attack and wanted me to tell her what to do from 2000 miles away and I missed the call or she was laying in a gutter and made a single, miserable call to her daughter for help and I missed it.
I sit up hardly breathing and dial as fast as I can on the blasted phone trying not to alarm Noah from his Caillou watching pose. And then somebody answers that doesn't sound like my mom so I start deciding that I'm right, she is hurt and a friend of hers has her phone while they are evaluating her in the ER. I'm hoping that she has chosen to go to Genesys instead of Hurley and I am already estimating flight costs... And then... she says something else making it clear that THIS IS my mother, she's just on a walk up a hill and is out of breath.
And she had dialed the wrong number. Which is a problem when it is an East Coast vs. West Coast thing because the time zone blows everything to hell and will strike a vast amount of confusion from unsuspecting daughters.
Yet another close call is averted.
Not sure if I should just beg for the shoe to drop that feels like it is dropping or if I should be glad it's Sunday and that means that karma is starting over and I'm done with close calls for a good long while...
However. As I SIT HERE TYPING, I'm smelling a burning smell.
-Sheryl
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