My feet are moving as if I am still shifting the Jetta into second and third gears. My hands feel as if they are permanently in the 10 and 2 steering wheel position.
This was one of those weeks when I appeared to be living in my car. All I needed was the sleeping bag and requisit dog. Instead I had children. Children, a Bob the Builder lunch box, and snack wrappers.
Mothers everywhere know that once children become old enough to have interests and needs, we are the ones who have to get them to the places that care for such. And when that happens, we proceed down the highway to automotive intertia that only seems to get worse as they get older.
This week, I provided Wolf with his daily to/from schlep across town to school, took Bear to preschool, went back across town to get Wolf from school for three appointments to care for his mental and dental health, transported him to taekwondo class, took Bear for his first dental appointment, dragged Wolf by his ears to his dentist appointment, and managed to remember my own dental rendezvous whereby I sucked their nitrous tank dry looking to relieve my twisted brain cells from all this driving and navigating.
I am proud to say that I only broke down once, in Wolf's therapist's office. But I figure that since she gets paid to watch people break down, that one was a freebee.
I would like to say that tomorrow I have no place to go. But the dog keeps throwing up on my carpet. And one of us needs to see the vet.