“Lelaina, this thing is from 1988.”
“So, you’re, like, six years late.”
That is me. Not even metaphorically in a oh how I love Reality Bites and I wish I could make microwave brownies and end up with Ethan Hawke before he was gross and dirty and sleeping with nannies but back when he was the good kind of dirty and she used a day planner that was six years old.
I actually use a day planner that is probably eleven years old.
I know what you’re thinking, because it’s exactly what you should be thinking. “Alimartell! What on earth? You have an iPhone, do you not? And that lovely thing COMES with a calendar. Welcome to 2011, girlfriend.” Only you probably didn’t call me girlfriend, because that would just be weird.
And this is where I tell you and that while I love electronics and I’m even somewhat of an early adopter (yay Google+) I simply cannot bring myself to use an electronic calendar. Lord knows I have tried many times and have failed miserably each time. No. My method involves post-it notes, backs of receipts, and Chandler’s assignment notebooks from when I was in high school. (Stop doing the math. I realize I was not in high school eleven years ago. No really. Stop doing the math. You are making my head hurt. I’m old; get over it.)
So, because I cannot seem to keep my appointments in order, I do really professional things like miss dentist appointments. It’s brilliant really. I make an appointment six months in advance and then I write it down exactly nowhere and then I don’t answer my land line (obviously) and then miss my reminder call. It’s amazing I am standing upright, quite frankly.
There are things I just know, of course. On Mondays my son plays baseball. I don’t know when he has practice, when he has games, I just know that on Monday nights, his daddy swoops in because he has a working calendar (well, *someone* should). picks up Josh and all of his baseball accoutrements and they go off on their merry way. It’s all well and good until my lovely chef husband has to do very important things on a Monday night, such as giving a BBQ class to 65 people from his parents’ synagogue and I get a gchat reminder: PLEASE TAKE THE BOY TO BASEBALL PRACTICE. IT’S AT MARK SANTI PARK. 7PM. Easy enough.
So, off we went to baseball practice. This, friends, was super fun because Josh wanted me to watch him (surprise: it was a game and not a practice) and Isabella wanted to play – shoeless – in the park. My vision doesn’t allow me to be able to handle watching both of these things at one time, so we hung out at the park and watched Sir Joshua from a distance. This was actually working until I heard the nightmarish scream of this.
Mama, I need to poo now.
I suppose it was somewhat obnoxious of me to ask if she could hold it another hour until the game between the green team and the blue team had finished, but a lady can hope, right?
We visited that blue port-o-potty.
And, dudes, I have seen enough Jackass to know that port-o-potties? NOT AWESOME.
We bathed in Purell AND my Bath & Body Works lovely-smelling vanilla anti-bacterial gel that I never share with my children.
And then we prayed.
And now there are exactly 2 things on my agenda for today: A) Learn to use an electronic calendar and B) Procure a Hazmat suit.