Saturday 11:20 am: After my second wrong turn, we arrive at the landfill. Some guy who was too lazy to stand up and greet me like he should have meanders over to our car and asks either "have you paid yet" or "have you weighed yet." No one is quite sure, assumedly, the interrogator himself. I'm directed to a weigh station, who then directs me to another dump spot. Who then argues with me about whether I should have paid or not. He takes six dollars and sends me back to the first place. When the lazy guy comes back, I shove a receipt in his face and start throwing sofas, tables, and cardboard into a truck.
Saturday, 11:45 am, I am more sore than ever.
Saturday, 3:00pm, I hurt even worse, but I'm back at the old house for a walk-through with the landlord, who isn't the most friendly, which you'd think would be a prerequisite for someone who does clown make-up for a living. We have to wait half an hour for the carpet cleaners to finish.
Saturday, 10pm, I have reassembled the entertainment center, using duct tape, marshmellow sauce, paperclips, and hair pins. It looks pretty good. I pass out from pain and exhaustion.
Sunday, 7:15pm, I haul my crying 5 year old home. She has wet her pants. The day has gone mostly uneventfully, other than not being able to sit through a boring testimony meeting, and not being able to sleep either because I hurt in muscles I didn't know existed. I am grateful to be leaving my in-laws' home because Grandma (not the kids, but grandma) has some sort of OCD thing where she MUST HIT THE FRICKING BALLOON THAT PLAYS MUSIC EVER THREE MINUTES. I am glad only that I haven't murdered her before her family yet.
Sunday, 9:00pm, my 7 year old, who has convinced herself that she's scared of thunder enters my bedroom and cries and argues till the power goes out, at which poitn she leaps into my arms. When the power flickers back on, and the other girls arrive (note that they were fine until the power was back ON). They all sit in my bed and make far too much noise till I finally flip out and haul them all back to their beds. If they're giggling, they're not scared enough to interrupt my sleep.
Monday, 6:30 am. I can't find tupperware for my lunch. This angers me. I finally shove it in a plastic bag and leave.
Monday, 6:45am: the car won't start. I take the van to haul out the trash I promised my father-in-law I'd help with and borrow gas, hoping that's what it is.
Monday, 7:05am: I discover that the car wouldn't start because it's been in "DRIVE" for the last 36 hours. I am grateful our parking lot does not slope.
Monday, 8:00am. I reach the office, only to discover I have no idea where my keys are. No one is there and no one arrives for 50 minutes. I sit in the hallway and nearly pass out from exhaustion. Finally, I return home to search out keys.
monday, 10:10am. I have still not found my keys, but someone is in the office by now. I drive to Arlington for the SECOND TIME and borrow the spare keys. I head back down to put the guest parking pass on my rear-view mirror. The mirror breaks off. I cuss and head back upstairs to whine to TWG about my weekend.