Working Mom Blues and The Case of The Squirmy Scuba Boy

As the clock ticked on this morning, it sounded as if it was nagging me. I drug myself out of bed, taking care not to wake the sleeping baby who was taking up residence in the center of our bed. Though I had gotten up a decent time, I couldn't seem to cook breakfast, get myself and the kids ready and have a nice dish ready for the church pot luck in the allotted time. As the time drew near to leave I began to panic. Despite my ever going vivid imagination, I couldn't think of one good (and fast) dish to bring. Just as my husband was reasoning with me that we could just come home afterward, the light bulb went on. A happy, smiling tossed salad danced through my brain.
The thing about pot lucks is that I always eat too much. If I'd thought reasonably and ahead, I could have loaded my plate with the salad I brought and then added a few little spoons of stuff. But No, all that church service as I paced the back of the room with my baby, I was thinking carbs. I couldn't wait to pile my plate full of high fat, cardiac arch nemesis type food. Oh the agony! As I sat smiling and visiting with "the new family" over my fat laden plate, I couldn't help but contemplate the dessert table. My good friend, Sister Good Cook, brought her famous Trifle dessert. Despite having started a sugar fast, I made the corporate decision that I would have to make an exception "just this once". After all, Sister Good Cook's trifle dessert doesn't come around all that often. For some odd reason, an extra lot of the dessert seemed to come off the spoon onto my plate. Possibly this is because I put the spoon back into the dish several times and back onto my plate several times. It may have been that Sister Good Cook's serving spoon had hypnotic effects. Yes, I think it may possibly have been that Sister Good Cook's serving spoon was inherently evil. At any rate, next thing I knew, I was back visiting with "the new family" shoveling down more food that I didn't want to be eating. I often wonder what comes over me when I get in the line at a pot luck. I wish I was more like my oldest son who takes the baby and goes off to visit. The idea of eating at a pot luck disgusts him. He waits till he gets home and finds some left overs. He is thinking "gross! germs!" While I am thinking "mmm......oh mmmmm".
Upon returning home thoroughly disgusted with myself, I commenced to nap with my Moonbeam. As I slept, I may have dreamed that a trifle cake was chasing me around the church. I tried to get away, but the spoon used its hypnotic effects on me and I was cornered between the front row and the podium. As the trifle dessert neared, it began coughing up bacteria and fungus. Each pretty layer had different kinds of bugs crawling around their respective layers. Just as it was about to consume me, I turned to see that the bowl of chili was planning to fight it for me. Yes, it also was calling dibbs and wanted to consume me! I also may not have dreamed this.
At any rate, I made time for a quick run before getting ready for work. As I was walking out the door, I asked Super Catman if he wanted to ride his bike along with me. He was laying on the floor, squirming, with a plastic tote belted to his back. He had a blanket over his head and there was a fringe from the blanket in his mouth. I asked him what he was doing. "Isn't it obvious?!" He was scuba diving. The plastic tote on his back was the oxygen tank. The blanket was the water. The fringe in his mouth was the oxygen mouth piece. He was at the bottom of the sea and couldn't be bothered with such a trivial detail as a bike ride. It occurred to me that he comes by his imagination honestly.
As I ran out of my drive way, a car I didn't recognize drove by. Soon my imagination was running faster than I was. I was involved in a drive by shooting, witness protection and the mafia all in a matter of seconds. Then my unusual neighbor was being surrounded by undercover police. What made matters worse, on the way to work, traffic was stopped because of a rolled tanker truck that nobody could locate. Of course, there went my imagination again. It's a good thing that nobody, especially patients can't see inside my head. Really, its quite entertaining in there. Not necessarily textbook type material as one would hope, more like a spy novel.