The past few weeks have been rather hectic. My campus is conducting two searches in two disciplines, and I'm on the search committee. This means reading through CVs and letters of recommendation to find at least 6 candidates per discipline. After we get approval, we bring 3 to campus. Each of those candidates comes on a different day to give a public presentation (a sample lecture), have a 1-hour interview with the committee (plus other interviews with the dean and the department chair), a campus tour, a community tour, and dinner with members of the committee.
Monday was the last of 5 interviews for the second discipline. The decision was to be made today at a meeting for which candidate we would offer the position. I was supposed to be there, but guess what? Nothing ever goes according to the gorram plan!
As I was enjoying my coffee, Thing Two (who was supposed to be watching Sesame Street with Thing One) went into the bathroom and got hold of a razor that had been sitting on the sink. I heard "Ow!" and he came in holding his thumb. Yep, sliced it open.
Not too deep, but he bled like a stuck pig. I had to wrestle him for control of his hand, leaving a trail of bloody kleenex down the hallway. Finally got a band-aid on him, and cleaned the blood off us both.
By that point, we were running late. Did I mention that 4" of wet snow fell overnight and the roads were frakking awful? No? How about the fact that I was so fried, I left my purse on the breezeway floor?
Barely got Thing One to her school before the bell rang. Got Thing Two to daycare, where he clung to me with the ferocity of a baby spider monkey. Pried him loose (feeling like crap for doing so--all I wanted to do was take him home) and left.
Campus. Office hour with a cup of tea and the last of my fruit + cereal bars, since I didn't have money to stop at the grocery store to replenish my office pantry.
10:29 am: Heading out the door to class, where we are finishing the second half of The Searchers. Cellphone rings. It's daycare.
"Hi. I'm calling because we can't get [Thing Two] to keep a band-aid on, and state law prohibits kids with open wounds at daycare."
"OK. I'll be right there to pick him up." [In case you're wondering about Hubby: At this point in the morning, he's already on his way to Illinois for the yearly sales meeting. Won't be back until Thursday evening.]
So much for the gorram plan for the day, which included discussion and prep for the midterm in one class, and peer review and discussion of Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food in the other.
Get the movie started, collect papers, apologize to my class for bagging out again (this makes 3 times this semester--weather for the first two). Run copies for the afternoon section of my composition class, send out an email begging someone to hand them out for me. Stuff the handouts in a folder and prop it up on my doorsill. Bolt for daycare.
He's crying and saying "Owie! Owie" when I get there, and resumes his baby spider monkey clinging.
We go to the elementary school to pick up Thing One, who is a bit annoyed that we've interrupted her day.
Come home, eat PB+J, take nap. Answer student emails. Which brings us to now.
The Things are watching Ponyo and I am about to get into our course management software to try to figure a few things out.
It hasn't been a completely terrible day, but once again I'm left wondering why these things happen when Hubby is out of town.
The Joys of Working Parenthood.
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