The daily show

6:30: Wake up; make lunches for Children Two and Three; put dogs in yard and make sure they don’t run away; feed and water dogs; clean up dishes from bedroom, living room, and dining room that the wife and her moving party left before they departed at the crack of dawn.

7:30: Leave with kids for school; ask kids if they have their lunches and get firm affirmatives.

7:45: Drop kids off at school; silently grumble that the wife left me a van with an empty gas tank.

8:05: Make it home; discover Child Two’s lunch box in the middle of the floor.

8:15: Heat up some leftover coffee and two pancakes left over from the weekend; read the paper; finish reading some online threads I started last night.

9:15: Start this diary; wonder why I’m so exhausted; remember that I only fell asleep around 3:30 because of this cold and a nice, crackly coating of insomnia; wonder whether to take a nap or bring Child Two’s snacks to her (it’s a hot-lunch day at school so she won’t starve, she’ll just miss out on a granola bar and an apple, pretty much).

9:20: Offer to take a novice hockey player to our game this evening; remember that part of Child Two’s lunch is “Mishlo’ach Manot“, a Purim tradition of gifts of food and she’d be disappointed to not take part; put pants back on, get in car, and drive the lunch box to the school.

9:35: Start filling the car with gas at 115.4 cents per liter; stop filling when I notice that the price has dropped to 114.4 cents down the street; drop off lunch box.

10:00: Get back home; start grading assignments.

10:45: Wonder if drawing cartoons of drunks on my students’ report is appropriate; decide it’s too late to worry about that.

11:30: Watch trailer for “Jewno” and marvel that J.K. Simmons willingly took part in a spoof of his own movie.

11:45: Learn that the Montrealer who died in a Florida car accident caused by a car that drove the wrong way on a highway was the father of one of Child One’s classmates.

11:54: A machine from Primus calls about an urgent matter concerning our account.

12:05: Eyes glaze over while assessing a less than stellar Web page assignment. Time for a Coke Zero. Why do they even still make Diet Coke?

12:06: And maybe it’s time for some leftover pizza, too.

12:40: Back to work, starting with two pieces of e-mail from Alex.

1:35: Alex needs some research done immediately, so I set aside my grading to work on that.

2:11: Done. I have an hour left before I need to leave to pick up the two children from school. Child Three has a playoff game at 6:00, halfway across town. Their school only finishes at 4:00. Given traffic, I will pick the kids up and head east directly. We’ll stop for fast food on the way.

2:40: Hockey equipment gathered and lines set; dogs put out in yard and collected. That leaves just enough time for a shower. My work is done here, for now.

7:41: Return home, vanquished. The Jaguars beat us 3-1. Each team had about four shots. Child Three played hard as a forward. There are more practices, but that’s it for games. Surprisingly, no dog poop in evidence.

7:42: Notice that the door to the chinchilla cage is open. Either it fell open or, as I suspect happened, our dog guest clawed or bit it open. I have no idea where the two chinchillas are. They may be inside the guest dog, although I see no loose fur or blood.

8:11: Locate August, the wilier of the two escapees; put the guest dog in the basement.

8:19: Catch August because he ran into the downstairs bathroom. I hypnotize him with a green towel and snatch him from the lip of he bathtub. In the past, he’s taken hours to recapture.

8:25: We catch the second fugitive, June. She ran into the vestibule where Child Two cornered her.

8:29: Get Child Three some ice cream. It’s his bedtime, but I had no chance to get this for him earlier. We picked up MacDonald’s for supper on the way to the game.

8:33: Learn that Arthur C. Clarke has died.

8:45: Put Child Three to bed; help Child Two analyze a story in for Hebrew class.

8:59: Put Child Two to bed; watch rest of Habs game.

10:17: Write a response to a fellow writer who’s suffering a crisis of confidence.

11:24: Done kicking that writer’s ass – and I think, my own – it’s time for bed. Oh, goodie! I might get seven hours of sleep out of this.

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