Wendell is a finance manager at our local Honda store. So his shift varies: Monday-Early; Tuesday-Off; Wednesday-Late; Thursday-Burn; Friday and Saturday alternate early and late.
Now Thursday's are the days I used to dread. "Burn" means working open to close. From 8:30 am until 8:00pm or so. (Tonight Wendell got in at 9:55pm so 8:00 is really theoretical.) It certainly makes for a very long day for me. But for some reason, Thursday's just haven't been that bad. It's Wednesday's that are terrible.
Just for an example, at 6:00pm I have dinner cooking, the baby is starting to fuss and Nathan's just informed me that he has a big lump on his leg. So I put him on a kitchen stool in his underwear to take a look. He has "seed warts" also called molluscum contagiosum or some such. They are a vicious fast spreading wart that, in order to kill, you must scoop the "seed" or the middle of the wart out before they get big. The big ones are the ones that continue the vicious spread. Anson had this when he was four so I've got all the tools I need. Unfortunately, Nathan has probably 40 on the insides of his thighs.
So I'm dealing with all this at dinner time when Wendell calls. Please remember to record American Idol and could you pause the BYU basketball game. (Or was it the other way round.) He's in a jovial mood half joking about stuff and I'm examining seed warts. Nathan's being really brave so I decide to scoop a few out. (The dermatologist gave me a special tool for this that's really sharp.) After I do this, I think, I'll go record the stuff on TV.
But I never think of it again until 9:55 pm when Wendell walked through the door.
In fact the evening got so out of hand that I called my mother at 8:45, when my kids are normally in bed and begged her to come help me. Nathan still had his piano to practice. Annika didn't have PJ's cause of a diaper issue this morning. Emma and Anson had just finished their homework and piano and the baby had to be fed again. Right now.
I had rounded up something for Annika by the time my mom got here. The baby was half fed and I was barking so many instructions to Emma and Anson that they couldn't even complete one task before I'd already asked them to do another.
My mom is a saint. She got the kids to bed, helped tidy my living room, loaded my dishwasher and wiped down my counter and stove. Then she left. I dished myself a half cup of my new favorite ice cream, Dreyer's Slow Churned Chocolate with Oreos, into a chocolate covered ice cream cone. I went down stairs and sat in the rocker-recliner with every intent to watch one of the many Oprah shows I've TIVO'd but haven't had time to watch. Then Wendell walked in.
When I realized my mistake, I apologize all over the place. Please don't hate me, I said. I forgot to record anything. Suffice it to say, Wendell was far from pleased. What I want to know is why all my Wednesday's seem to turn out like this? Hopefully Thursday is more promising.