Saturday, June 28, 2008

The Day (# 63) Just Gets Better and Better, and it's not even 9 a.m. yet

The phone rings just before 8 a.m., as I am contemplating (with the melodious sound of vacuuming fictional scabies-eggs by Jack and Tim in the background) whether:
* I really, truly need to launder every piece of bedding for a third straight weekend? (answer: yes);
* Tim might be able to go visit the recreational program we've been waiting to start since January as part of his intake assessment...I had tentatively deferred it during our ER antics of yesterday but was reconsidering since I'd be with him anyway? (answer: maybe);
* I might take Charlie and Jamie fishing at Miramar with the Scout Pack, figuring that Charlie would enjoy and Jamie couldn't look worse? (answer: why not); and
* Jamie's doctor appointment could occur about 2-ish and still leave me time to hit the pharmacy and Little Caesar's for movie night chow before my sitter's departure time of 4:30 p.m.? (answer: probably).

Okay: RING-RING, RING-RING.
As I picked up the caller-ID phone number made it to my cortex...it's my sitter, due to arrive in T-minus (blissfully) 35-minutes.

Woefully, said sitter went from her 2-6 p.m. shift of yesterday to World Curry restaurant and proceeded, thereafter, to encounter digestive turmoil. So much so that the entire 8-hour shift for today was summarily cancelled (i.e., no help for 72-hours).

More than the sheer self-pity for having no assistance today, I am frustrated with the turn-on-the-dime rescheduling (er, reshuffling and cancelling) and having to deal with Autism/Seizure Teenager, who had just reviewed and approved the Plan of the Day with me, in excruciating and written detail.

Soooo, back to the excruciating and written detail for a revised Plan of the Day -- third iteration -- including shrieking, tantrumming, and hitting (him aggressor, me recipient).

Revision looks a LOT less fun for the crablets and the Queen:

No fishing.
Substitute copious laundering tasks and soaking in Aveeno oatmeal for Jamie.

No CCC Kids.
Substitute lunch at home and lots of sympathetic itchiness by the Queen.

A doctor's appointment for Jamie.
With escorts Charlie and Tim to "keep it real" for the unlucky pediatrician who has our 1:35 p.m. slot. (Jack is going to be a "groupie", his word, for Sam's All-Star game so at least my entourage is reduced by one mouth).

If we survive the appointment and pharmacy, then a drive-thru reward.
If we don't survive, then we will come straight home with much weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and banging of heads.

Little Caesar's pizza/crazy bread fetching with my trio of "helpers" in preparation for Pizza & Movie Night "with Capri Sun and Goldfish crackers" (Tim's definition of movie night) with Patty Kiki's boys (in a feeble beginning effort to repay her with a "date-night" for the 3-hours of Charlie-shriekapaloosa from yesterday). If, in fact, Jamie's diagnosis is leprosy or similarly repulsive and plague-qualifying condition, then we probably will have to revise the Plan of the Day yet once more with feeling. (A Feeling of Utter Resignation, that is).

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