...if I could only figure out where to get the welfare, and where to find time to be lazy!
6:30am - "Want spaghetti, Mommy!"
6:35am - Watching water boil for spaghetti, because I would make her a steak at 6:30am if I thought she would eat it, no matter that I've never cooked steak before because I'm vegetarian
8:50am - "No! I do it!" Just as I thought we might be on time to school just one time...
9:00am - Zula (which is our longest running alias to date) finally has her shoes on correctly so we can get out the door for school, which starts at 9:00am
10:00am - In line at post office mailing customer order from my home business, as well as treats and letter to sponsored child in Ethiopia, and trying to decide whether to hit the bank (no, not like that) or grocery store or gas station next, and in what order to best conserve travel time and gas before 11:45 preschool pick up--and all these types of errands must be done during preschool hours because banks, stores, or anywhere with lines... or anywhere I may need to pause or think or speak are not suitable environments for Zula
10:02am - Receive voicemail from school regarding "gak" and "don't worry, it will probably come out of her hair okay"
10:10am - I return the call to teacher's cell, but no answer. Decide not to pursue: no blood reported, and she must be conscious since I could hear her in the background shrieking, "NOOOOOO!!! ZULA! My name is ZULA!!!" Because she heard the teacher use her real, given name over the phone in the message to me.
11:44am - Accomplished all the errands. Waiting outside classroom door, wondering what I'm in for, what will emerge, since almost no day goes by without incident (yesterday she came out shrieking because teacher was talking about how they will all attend St. Pat's parade next week, and Zula doesn't know what 1 minute or 1 day or 1 week means, and wanted to go NOW! The day before that she came out shrieking because she had just pooped her pants. And the day before that she ran out covered in blue paint and wearing a princess dress).
11:45am - The classroom door opens and Zula runs out with a big pile of green goo on her head. Not just a little streak or two, but a huge SPLAT. It appeared to be wet and slimy but was actually quite dry to the touch, nicely and firmly cemented to her head. She did not seem to mind at all.
12:00pm - Supposed to be home for lunch before 1pm music appreciation hour with Miss Mindi (a local music teacher I trade services with: I'm making her website, helping with marketing communications and such--in exchange for her taking my kid off my hands for one hour per week--I mean, enriching her development with music and dance ) but instead we are hunched over faucet, soaking head with warm water, and combing, combing, combing, etc.
12:30pm - Pleased with "gak" removal process. Not bad, except for a greasy residue. Now for some leftover breakfast spaghetti, and cheese puffs
12:45pm - After another painstaking shoe ordeal, then run--and I mean literally RUN, because Zula does not ever just walk; everything is full speed, with boundless, reckless energy--out to the car and slide as if to home plate right through the mud in the driveway...
12:50pm - Bound into car seat, and the wet wipes getting a work out cleaning mud from pants and shoes
1:00ish pm - Leave Zula with Miss Mindi, after explaining the latest name is Zula. Last week it was "Zula Cat in the Hat."
1:05pm - On the phone with health provider arguing over bill--another thing I can't do in Zula's presence: be on the phone!
1:15pm - Post office again to get garbage bill out
1:20pm - "What the hell do I do now???" 40 minutes to spare. No more errands. No money to shop.
1:30pm - At the library. Looking for something interesting in the dvd section. (I don't have patience or humor for much tv. ) End up with film documenting lives of 4 families with autistic child. On the way out the door I remember I've been interested in learning more about the Reverend Billy Graham lately, so quick u-turn back to the catalog, bring up search results, locate book in record time, self-checkout, out the door..
2:00pm - Pick up Zula without incident.
2:05pm - Break the news to Zula that we have to "go see the doctor really quick."
"The doctor wants to play with you." Zula says, meaning "me" but she always mixes up the pronouns. She thinks the doctor wants to play with her. Unfortunately this is not the case. It will be a nurse. A mean ol' Nurse Ratched, stabbing her with a flu booster.
2:35pm - Check in at nurse treatment at the clinic
3:00pm - Still waiting. There are no toys or kid books in sight. There is a Smithsonian magazine on a kiddie table. Zula has reluctantly been perusing it, only to be completely fascinated by one pictorial. To my horror, it was a pictorial of the following: space shuttle Challenger explosion, assassination of JFK, and 9/11 towers burning. No matter what distraction I offered she kept insisting to know, "What's that?"
"Um, smoke and fire."
"Well, it looks like those people are riding in a car..."
"And that's, uh, more smoke and fire."
My efforts like, "What about this nice green lizard? Oh, look, he's a gecko. He wants to sell you car insurance," were all ignored.
She was fixated on the smoke, announcing, "Smoke's getting the people! Smoke's getting the people!" And making her stuffed kitty run from the magazine pictorial screaming, "AAAAAAAAA! Smoke's getting the people!"
I didn't even need to look around. It was a crowded waiting area. And I know what "the looks" look like by now.
3:10pm - Still not looking at "the looks" as Zula and her kitty have finally gotten bored play-acting with the pictorial of some of the most horrific events in modern times, and are now marching circles around everything in sight, spinning and falling down, and displaying downward dog yoga positions to the rest of the waiting room.
3:15pm - Thank God, it was our turn.
3:20pm - Without any regard to Zula's age, autism, or just general decency, nurse Ratched did a drive-by with that syringe. In and out. Over and done. Wham bam. Get out. OH, and without regard to Zula's freakish strength for such a slight little thing. I was supposed to hold her in the hog tie position, but even bound, her head is a weapon. Clocked me right in the cheek. Again. Same spot where she always seems to get me so that I look like a battered wife.
3:45pm - HOME.
3:45pm - 5:30pm - Snacks for dinner (since we already had dinner twice today, technically), jigsaw puzzles (her latest craze), play "gonna get you" (race around the house to burn off whatever's left), and then bathtime, bedtime rituals, etc.
7pm - Zula in bed. ASLEEP almost instantly.
7:15pm - Happy dance. I put away another day.
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