The week from Hell

Sometimes the universe conspires to tell me that not only can I not do it all, but sometimes I need to do nothing. At least that's how I chose to look at my last week's experiences which included 2 (minor) car accidents.

I should start with my agenda for the week. My husband was going out of town for a week, so I, in my infinite wisdom, did not make any allowances in my schedule for the extra work this would cause me. On the home-front, my duties included shopping for the week, making three healthy meals a day for me and the kids, doing the laundry, getting the kids to and from school and driving them to their after-school activities three of those days, homework supervision, bath supervision and reading to them before bed. On the film/professional front, my agenda included finishing fine-tuning the edit for the 2nd 40 minutes of my film, "In Montauk", supervising the edit of a short film I directed, reading and evaluating about 20 grants for a panel I'm on. Not much, right?

Sunday and Monday went along fine. I did shopping, laundry, got Celine to her ballet rehearsal (mostly) on time despite the space being right on the route for the New York City Marathon. I edited. I started on the grant applications. Tuesday it started to fall apart. Noah got sick. I wasn't feeling that great. Still, I managed to get a little work done, while still not totally neglecting Noah. Wednesday it all went to hell in a hand-basket. I got into a minor fender-bender on the way into the city to see how the edit was coming for "That's What She Told Me." Partially because I was distracted and tired and sick and wondering how I was going to do it all. Obviously, I wasn't. By Thursday, I felt so awful, I wasn't sure I could get out of bed. But get out of bed, I did, then drove the kids to school, took my car to the body shop (where I know them by name), got a rental car and then promptly passed out at home until I left to pick up the kids. Friday I still felt like I had the flu, called my doctor and begged for a prescription for what had turned into a major sinus infection without having to go in. The house was a mess. Michael was coming home. The sink was full of dishes. Did I really want him to come home to a house that looked like a tornado and a hurricane had simultaneously demolished our living space? Plus, despite wanting him to feel guilty about leaving me to such a terrible week, I didn't want him to think that I couldn't handle it. So, in the hour before he came home, I roused myself and attacked the house like a whirling dervish until it was clean (enough). He came home and I breathed a sigh of relief. But, a day too soon as it turns out.

My big plan for Saturday was to make a dent in all the work I still needed to do while the kids were at an all day birthday party. I was medicated, feeling better and ready to face the world. Maybe Michael and I could sneak away to a romantic lunch. Alas, it was not meant to be. On the way home from dropping the kids off at their party, we were side-swiped by a giant truck while sitting at a light. I'm not sure where he thought he was going, considering that the lane he was moving into had oncoming traffic which included a NYC bus. Two hours later, the phone number to call for a police report number in hand, we went on a romantic shopping excursion to Trader Joe's. Then tea. Then picked up the kids. When the truck first hit us, I burst into tears, thinking, "It's all too much." And it was. But from the distance of a day later, I think it's really another wake-up call to slow down a little, don't try to do everything at once and do what Michael does whenever I go out of town for a week to work on a shoot - take the week off.