"Hi, I'm just calling to confirm my appointment. I haven't heard from the office and I thought it was for Wednesday...." "Hold on ... I'll be right with you." Keys clicking in the background. "How do you spell your last name again? Oh, ... here it is. Your appointment is on Thursday, February 2nd at 9 am." "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" throws phone down in anger.
If you would have asked me last week I would have sworn under oath that my GI appointment was for Wednesday. A day where Seth is home and I could make the 40 minute trip to the doctor's office by myself - with no children. I was so sure that I scheduled this appointment for Wednesday (after having cancelled 2 previous appointments) that I wrote it on my wipe board calendar on my fridge. I live by that calendar. If its not on the calendar its not happening. Unfortunately, my calendar, my precious calendar lied to me. My appointment is for tomorrow, on Thursday, at 9 am. 9 am. That means I need to get everyone up, fed, dressed, and out the door by 8:15.
As my readers will remember I loathe being late. Chances are pretty good that I'm going to be late tomorrow. I can just see it now: I will spend the 40 minutes in the car obsessively checking the clock, while trying to soothe at least 2 crying children with my melodic voice. Baby K will be hungry (have to feed her when we get to the office) and E will be aggravated that she's "stuck" in her car seat. W will ask "what's happening?" and tell them both to be quiet. It's enough to make you want to bang your head against the steering wheel.
We won't even discuss what's it going to be like with three kids in the waiting room and then in the exam room. If they mutiny the odds of me surviving aren't good. I only have one hand with which to defend myself.
Panera better have Asiago bagels tomorrow morning. That's all I'm going to say.