I went to bed last night optimistic about today. I really did. The plan was to get up, start a couple loads of laundry, do school (what little school we have on Fridays), run a couple of errands, attend our homeschool group meeting, come home, fix dinner, and relax. Oz was going to run one of my errands for me so I wouldn't have to drive clear across town (he'll be 2 miles from that particular errand, which is far closer than I would be with my planned schedule today), and I couldn't really foresee anything happening that would screw up my plans.
I forgot, however, the most important detail: I have children. Chaos machines. Engineers of things not going the way they should.
My first clue that the day was going to be shot to shit came when I looked out the front window at the curb and the trash can wasn't sitting there. Trash is supposedly Oz's job. Not that we have gender-specific job roles or anything, but he is the one who leaves the house each morning, and so taking the trash to the curb has been his job, more or less, for years. I used to be more understanding when he would forget, because at our old house, everyone was responsible for their own trash service. Some of our neighbors burned their trash; others used companies that didn't have pick-up on the same day we did; and all our neighbors were fairly spread out. It was easy to forget. Now there's no excuse. EVERYONE puts out their trash on Friday, and we live in a cul-de-sac. EVERYONE's trash cans are visible. Our neighbor's trash can actually goes right next to ours beside our basketball goal.
So I had to take out the trash. While I was having the kids empty the upstairs cans, I asked Doodlebug if he'd taken his medicine. "No," he said, "but I will. Oh, and Tom's out of worms."
I have asked the boy repeatedly to tell me when we're 2-3 days out from needing worms - or anything else, for that matter. And to be fair, he did tell me yesterday that he was almost out of worms, and that was one of the errands I had on my mental list to run today. I did, however, expect that I wouldn't HAVE to run that errand today if push came to shove and he lollygagged his way through school like he's done most of this week. Now I have no choice.
Then he went to take his medicine. He pulled out the container of Vyvanse, which we're giving him a low dose of right now because the Intuniv alone wasn't cutting the mustard, and no, I do not want to hear that diet changes will fix my kid because they won't, I've tried, and I don't need judgment from random trolls, anyway, and I noticed there wasn't much of a rattle.
"Doodlebug, how many of those do you have left?"
"Hm? Oh. Um. Two."
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's been taking it. He's retaining his math, and he's far less aggressive and far more focused when he's on it. And I'm glad I caught the problem before we went into the weekend and came out med-less on Monday. But... BUT! Vyvanse is a Schedule II drug, which means I have to go into the doctor's office and physically pick up the prescription each month. And his pediatrician's office is on the other side of town, miles away from any other errand I potentially had to run today.
On any other day, I would just toss going to homeschool group to the wind, run all the errands, and possibly take the kids to the park to run for a while, maybe let Doodlebug take his roller skates or something. However, I agreed to give a friend a ride home from group today, so I don't feel like I can bail.
I hate days like this. I hate when I think I have things planned out neatly and life interferes and gets things all messy. I realize this is a personal problem. But it's still irritating.
In other news, I called the pediatric ophthalmologist with an update on Doodlebug's eye today. It is both better and not better, and I'm not sure what will happen when the doctor gets into the office (he's in surgery this morning) and gets the report. The black line (Doodlebug's final description of the line was black with white edges) has faded to a medium-gray that is somewhat translucent, but he's getting occasional flashes around it now. He says the flashes aren't there all the time, and they're usually white but sometimes orange- or yellow-tinted. I don't even know what to make of all that. So I dumped on the poor ophthalmologist tech, and he said the doctor will probably give me a call later today. Lovely.