I get to work.

Put in about 2 hours. Then I get a phone call.

It's from my 14 year old daughter , calling from the front office of her middle school.

She had arrived at school with one sneaker with her new orthopedic insert in it, and the other shoe with its original insole removed, but not replaced by her other orthopedic insert. Just flat. And she ran in gym that way the whole time. Can I stop by at lunch and bring her her other insole? It's laying on the couch at home. Yes.

Then work for another hour or so.

Then I receive an email from my 9 year old son's 3rd grade teacher. You know that notice that eveyrone in class was going to memorize a 10 line or greater poem. And my son told me he was working on it at school? Well he told his teacher he was working on it at home. And today was the due date.

And

Earlier this week she assigned him a handwriting assignement, he never completed it and turned it in. He never brought it home. He still needs to do it.

And

I never sent in the permission slip for the class trip to the state capital next week. I emailed her back, assured her we'd make him do his homework and since I'm back in the 'hood anyway at lunch can I stop by and fill out the permission slip? Yes, the front desk lady in the school will have it.

So,

at about 11:15 I actually leave the office for lunch, which just isn't done any more, now that we're supposed to be trying to work 48 hours a week. I drive home. I get out a new pad of those nature-scene checks my husband just ordered with "Time and Tide Melt the Snowman" written in gothic lettering on them, as if that were a biblical reference, when really it's from Doctor Who. I pick up my daughter's shoe insole laying right on the couch.

I drive to the elementary school. The front desk lady does have the permission slip. I fill it out and pay the $10 check it asks for, although I don't really know why a trip to the capital costs $10. It's right here in town.

I drive to my daughter's middle school, and give the front desk lady my daughter's insole, she agrees she can have it delivered to my daughter's class. It occurs to me that I just handed the overworked, underpaid front desk lady of my daughter's middle school something that has touched my daughter's foot. Maybe I should have put it in a plastic bag or something. And by then there was like 2 1/2 hours left in the school day anyway. And PE as over. Futile effort.

I drive back to work and try to eat a cup of microwaved clam chowder between customers on the phone. I become convinced that while I'd stopped by home, I had let the dog out the back door and had never let her back in before I left. Something my husband has been accusing me of a lot lately, just because it really is true. I really do do that.

I finally excuse myself, drive 15 minutes home only to see my dog is inside. I give her a treat so she won't wonder why I drove home for no reason and then just left again. Then I drive back to work for about another 3 hours. I put in an extra 1/2 hour to make up for my doggie amnesia incident. I'm grateful no one asked why I needed this emergency break. I'd have been embarrassed to explain that one.

When I do get home, my husband has read my forwarded emails from the teacher about my son's missing home work, and he has left work early, intercepted my son at home and was already at the kitchen table making him do it. Thank heavens for that, because I wasn't looking forward to it. My son weeps when he sees me, but I immediately have to take our daughter to guitar lessons. Good bye.

I put about 3 more rows on my husband's scarf, from the waiting room at the music store. Then drive her home again.

At dinner, my husband says that when I woke up, before him, this morning, I let the dog out into the back yard, and then left her there and went to work. Her barking at our back, sliding glass door woke him up, and he let her in.

Remember when I didn't have a car at all? Or kids? Or a job? I don't.

L.A.Fitness opened a new gym in my neighborhood, and an adult monthly membership is dirt cheap, (which maybe should have been my first clue) and it’s pay as you go, per month, so you don’t have to sign a one year obligation, as you do with so many other gyms. I’ve never been in a gym before besides that tragic 3 months at the Curves for Women near my son’s old day care, which we won’t go in to.

So when they opened I stopped by. I couldn’t help noticing it was a little like a prison, with one front desk, and an entirely visible floor full of gym equipment, and an entirely visible balcony full of treadmills and exercise bikes. But the staff they had were all busy and the told me at the front desk no one could show me around right now. So I just left.

Their web site said members get one free session with a personal trainer. So I figured that would be the guy who could show me what I should be doing. Mind you, I did notice that only one session is free, so I could guess from that that any further meetings with a personal trainer would be an additional fee. I just didn’t know how much.

So I schedule the session, show up, and a cute little 20-something boy greets me, has me fill out a questionnaire, and has me lean my back against a medicine ball, against the wall, while holding a basketball in my hands and doing deep knee bends, and does show me how two leg-muscle pieces of gym equipment work. He has to put them on the lowest weight for each one and we both agree I’m pretty weak. On my way in, someone at the front desk informed me I’d never been in, and that they needed my picture for my computer account, even though they took it last time when I came in and looked around. I told him so, but he said, no, I’d never been in. Nice.

So then Trainer Boy sits down like an Amway Salesman and shows me which personal training plans I can purchase. If he meets with me once a week for a hour, it costs as much as one hefty car payment. And if he meets with me 3 times a week, it costs the monthly amount of rent on my old apartment. No. I wasn’t counting on it anyway. I asked HIM if he could show me how the rest of this equipment works, but he just showed me one and that they all have pictures on them showing which muscle groups they’re for, and a cartoon drawing of someone using one so you can see how it’s done. The he sort of waived his arm towards different groups of exercise equipment and told me their names, like, “Those are for upper body,” and “Those are for glutes.”

So, I guess I’ll show up for some of the classes on their schedule, most of which are during work hours so I won’t be able to go to most of them. But that won’t be any time soon.

My thighs and part of my back are still so sore from just that, that I can still barely hobble around. And I’m wheezing because I hate to admit it, she’s a lovely, good natured cat, but I really do think I’m allergic to my hospitalized friend’s cat who has been with us for about 2 weeks now. If I’m as miserable 2 days from now as I am right now, I’m NOT running in the Mother’s Day 5-K race on Sunday. Which I was really looking forward to.