Tuesday, 7:30 PM
I couldn't get my husband out of the house fast enough. He was going to be gone until Thursday afternoon. The next day, Wednesday, the kids had after-school activities until 4:30. I would be alone in my house ALL DAY.
A silly, giddy grin spread across my face as I planned out what was surely going to be the best work day I had had in a long time. I cut the strips for a small child's quilt. I took pictures of a work in progress so I could post to the blog, and cut batting and backing for a new piece. I might have giggled. And maybe danced.
Wednesday, 10:30 AM
The children were at school. I had walked 2.5 miles, showered, and read the news. I started winding a bobbin so I could get to work.
The phone rang. I was not planning to answer it, I just wanted to make sure it wasn't a school nurse calling to tell me to come retrieve a sick or injured child. Anyone else could leave a message.
Anyone else except for my 83-year-old mother-in-law, Ms.G, that is. I always answer the phone when she calls because she is 83.
She had a doctor's appointment that my husband and I did not have on our schedule. In 25 minutes. It was going to take me an hour to get her there under ideal conditions. With my husband out of town, it was going to be up to me to get her there. I asked her to call the doctor's office and tell them what the problem was. I finished winding my bobbin and selected some music to work by while I waited for her to call me back, because I was sure they would just reschedule for another day.
But no. They said to come on in later and they would work her in. My day was imploding. Rational Me tried reminding myself that I was fortunate to be in a position to go help her, and that she has been a wonderful MIL, but Derailed Me wasn't trying to hear that.
That is how my perfect day became a 7-hour odyssey through DC on a rainy winter day. I picked up Ms.G, took her to the doctor, and waited around for a couple of hours hoping they would get to her before I had to go get my daughter from school. A foolish hope, really, because this had become One of Those Days. Thwarted and muttering, I drove an hour round-trip to get my daughter, drop her at home, and return to the doctor's office to collect Ms.G.
When I finally got home, I could not bear to even turn on the light in my studio. Even so, I could hear the taunts of my carefully prepared fabrics. I closed the door.
We had waffles for dinner that night.
I was looking forward to my husband's return.