Made his lunch. Put it on doorknob so he would remember it.
Stripped bed. Put sheets in laundry.
Showed Mike the dog’s paw. It was bloody. She broke a nail yesterday, right at the base. We agreed she should go to the vet.
Called vet, made appointment for later.
Said goodbye to Mike.
Took MJ to Eagle Rock Trader Joe’s. Decided, on the way, that I will buy no more sweets there. I will bake my own. This should save us some money. Plus it will taste better. Unfortunate that I cannot bake dark-chocolate-covered peanut butter cups with sea salt. But probably just as well.
Drove home. Unpacked groceries.
Brought in garbage bins.
Sat down to look up shortbread recipe in “Moosewood Cookbook.” Weirdly, they had only recipes for cake. Do vegetarians eschew cookies? Pondered this.
Noticed Mike’s lunch sitting on the dining room table. Sighed.
Drove with MJ to Mike’s work. Dropped lunch.
Drove to Atwater for music class. Sang and swayed. Reacted calmly when MJ threw a drum across the room.
Drove home. Read MJ: “Medical Heroes,” a book about a doctor, a nurse, and a veterinarian. She is very excited about vet appointment.
Put her down for nap.
Started to make a turkey and cheese sandwich. The words “nap, nap, nap” drummed somnolently in my head. Promised myself I would nap, nap, nap. As soon as I’d eaten.
Realized my bed was still stripped and that the sheets were in the washing machine.
Stopped making sandwich. Went and hung sheets to dry. Dropped a pillowcase — twice — in a pile of sawdust located, conveniently, right under the clothesline.
Finished making sandwich. Ate it while staring glassily at the computer. Read review of new Ford Focus Electric car. Wished for what I could not have.
Made her an almond butter and jelly sandwich. She spurned it. Warned her this was the only food she would get until dinner. I have decided to cut back on snacks.
Played “seashore” in the utility room while simultaneously scanning and e-mailing forms to mortgage broker for possible refinancing.
Took linens off of line and put on bed. Left three still-damp shirts for later.
Got MJ ready to go to the park and then the “dog doctor.” Asked her again if she wanted sandwich. No. Fine. The French don’t do snacks. I am as good as them.
Began to get in car with dog, child, diaper bag, and a large bottle of olive oil I bought two weeks ago. It “contains some vegetable oil.” Also the cap is broken. I am going to return it to “India Sweet and Spices,” where I bought it. (It’s right next door to the vet.)
Greeted a friend who drove up unexpectedly. He was in the neighborhood. He brought us some organic eggs.
Put the eggs in my car.
Went to the park. The clover was blooming, the entire place infested with bees. I could not enjoy myself for fear someone would get stung. No one did. A matter of time.
Drove to vet’s office.
Parked out front. Left eggs in car. Took olive oil to India Sweet and Spices. Exchanged for another bottle that isn’t a “blend.”
Put oil in car. A thousand degrees in there. Took out the eggs.
Brought eggs, dog, and daughter into vet’s office. Received the fish eye from all three receptionists. Why are there so many of them? Also, am I the first person ever to bring perishables in here?
Brought Mina in see the vet. During the exam he “reminded” me that MJ should wash her hands every single time she touches the dog. “There are itty bitty buggies on Mina that can make babies very sick.” Great. More hand washing. We should just move in to the sink.
Paid vet bill. $250! For a broken toe nail! And a poop test. (More about those itty bitties.) And an antibiotic shot that no one mentioned would cost a hundred and nine dollars but is “so much easier than dealing with pills.” I hate all vets. They are car salesmen with medical degrees. And no I will not be bringing my dog in for “dental” anytime soon. Seriously? A “fluoride foam treatment?” I don’t even get that.
Drove home in a state of financial torpor. We are hemorrhaging money. Why isn’t there a shot for that? Reminded myself to pawn my old engagement ring this week. Also, my first wedding dress might be worth something.
Told MJ again no snacks. It was getting late. Drove faster.
Raced into house holding dog leash, keening MJ, eggs, olive oil, and stool sample kit. On way in grabbed remainder of laundry off of line. Dumped all on table. Attempted to calm daughter. “Mama is making you such a fast dinner! Fast fast yummy yummy!!”
Samurai-chopped chicken breasts, tomatoes and feta cheese. Told myself I really wasn’t the worst. Mother. Ever.
Served MJ an arugula Greek salad, grilled chicken, quinoa. Ate with her even though I felt sick. Apparently I am risking my child’s future relationship with food if I don’t do this. I can’t handle any more guilt.
Ran bath. MJ — her mood vastly improved — asked me to get in. I did. She asked me if my stomach was “a swimming pool.” Pondered how to take this.
Brushed MJ’s teeth. Put on her PJs. Read her two books. Neither were “Medical Heroes.” Thank God.
Put her to bed.
Put dishes in dishwasher. Ran it on “Super Hygienic Wash.” Regretted, briefly, the sixteen gallons of water this would cost.
Wrapped up the rest of the salad for Mike. Used aluminum foil, as we are out of plastic wrap.
Called him to say we needed more. He told me he would get it, but wouldn’t be home for dinner.
Tried not to despair that the salad will be ruined.
Made a cup of tea.
Picked up from floor, among other things, books, toys, cloth napkins, arugula, dog leash, bird puzzle, clothing, shoes, and a person-shaped cookie cutter.
Decided it was too hot to bake.
Watched Game of Thrones illegally while eating my last TJ’s chocolate chip cookie sandwich.