I need to know one thing

What day will it be when I look back on this and laugh?

I've been crazy busy this week.  Tuesday, we got the puppy neutered.  The Historian had to get up early to take him.  I took the Crafter with me to my math class.  After class we went home and I fixed lunch.  Then we went to the Crafter's theater class.  Then we had to go pick up the dog.  He was drugged out of his mind and was pretty much unconscious until bedtime when he perked up and wanted attention.  He cried most of the night.  I finally let him sleep beside my bed so I could sleep.

Wednesday, I taught my math class and raced home to get Wild Thing and take him to the dentist.  He had a good check-up.  They told me to floss more.  Then we met the Historian and the girls at a Mexican restaurant and had a nice lunch together.  The Historian took the kids to a park and I picked up a few groceries.  Everything was going so well.

Then the Crafter hit Wild Thing with her scooter and he fell on the sidewalk.  There was lots of screaming and blood.  He's going to have another scar on his head.  We get him cleaned up.  The Historian goes to work.  I head for home with the children.  Sweetie talks the whole way home about "blood on the playground" and our lack of band aids.  I'm worried about Wild Thing because he's unusually quiet.  We get home.  The puppy had peed on the couch.  I take care of that.  Wild Thing lays down in his bed (not normal).  The Crafter goes to keep him company.

A few minutes later I get the call  "Mama, I threw up".  Boy did he throw up.  Everything was coated--sheets, pillow, bedspread, stuffed animals, soaked through the mattress pad, and Wild Thing himself.  I put him in the tub and tell the Crafter to get the phone because I need to call the doctor and our neighbor.  She calls the neighbor before she gives me the phone.  So I go ahead and ask my friend if she'll be home in case Wild Thing needs to go to the doctor.  I call the doctor and talk a nurse.  Sweetie repeats over and over "Wild Thing threw up all over his bed."  The nurse doesn't think he needs to go in because he's now playing.  So as the load of dog-pee laundry finishes, I start on the puke laundry. Wild Thing sets up shop on the couch with a bucket beside him.  He dozes off and on.  I wake him every 5 minutes to make sure I can.  My very nice neighbor goes to the convenience store for ginger ale.  Wild Thing perks up and seems more himself, then he throws up in the bucket.

My mama calls. They finally figured out what is wrong.  The start of her illness most likely was a virus.  It had similar symptoms to one that was going around at the time.  The virus triggered rheumatoid arthritis.  We are all thankful that she doesn't have something life threatening, but she does have something life changing.  My great-grandmother suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, so we know what could happen down the road.  She is coming on Saturday for the Crafter's birthday.  Then my sister calls.  She is coming on Saturday for the Crafter's birthday.  The Historian has to work this weekend.

To top off the day, I took off my shoes.  I normally keep some sort of shoe/slipper on all of the time, but for some dumb reason, I took off my shoes.  Then the chair attacked my little toe.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I know that most people would say that I tripped on the chair, but I swear that chair broke my toe.  It's swollen and purple and painful and taped to the next toe.  So I'm hobbling around trying to walk the dog and getting ready to go teach math.

I think I need chocolate.