When the simplest things go wrong

Sometimes I wonder if I am cursed as it seems even the simplest things go wrong for me. Take for example, the last 36 hours…

I am the tennis centre working and I get some unfortunate news about one of the boys’ tennis coaches which requires my contemplation. Whilst I am contemplating, I get an email from my publicist which is good news but requires my immediate attention. My brain is busy whirring over these two issues so when I get home at about 8.30 pm I discover I have left my handbag at the tennis centre. I ring the tennis centre and luckily they are able to locate it but I am not sure if all the contents are all there. I decide because I’ve only “lost” it for an hour and it was in the same place I left it that I’m going to trust to luck and honesty that all my essentials are still in my bag and collect it the next day as I’ve already done 5 hours driving and I’m knackered.

Initial trauma over, I go back to dealing with the publicist enquiry. At 11.30 pm I go to bed. I get up early the next morning, do a little more work and then attempt to get the boys off to school on the bus at 8am. I am exceptionally pleased with myself that after visiting my MP a place on the school bus has miraculously appeared for Master Jacob so I don’t have to do the school run and can press on with my work earlier than usual. So the usual frantic pre-school checks begin. I tell Master Jacob to take money from his own wallet as he has overnight school trip and my handbag is still an hour away. I see him take it out of his wallet. Great. Master Ben
packs his PE kit. Great. They both get out the door (late) but they don’t come back.
Great.

I am free! I sit down to continue my work and…

The phone rings. I hear Master Ben’s voice. The phone cuts off. It rings again. Garbled teenage talk. I try to make sense of it but I’d have more luck deciphering the Enigma code. The phone cuts off again. My anxiety starts to rise. I decide to ring back. Master Ben answers. There’s more teenage garble and phone interference. I finally work out (whilst my blood pressure is rising) that he has left his PE kit
on the sofa and Master Jacob has forgotten his money. By this time I am shouting:

WHO HAS LEFT WHAT? WHERE? WHEN DO YOU NEED IT?

The phone cuts off again.

So far I have deduced that Master Ben doesn’t need his kit till lunchtime. However, then I realise that Master Jacob will need his money before he sets off on his trip at 9.00am and it is already 8.35am. We live approximately 12 mins by car from school travelling at 60 mph for approximately 10 of those minutes. In normal hours. At rush hour that journey can easily take 35 minutes.

I am about to spontaneously combust. The side effect of this near and very vocal combustion is that Mr T, who is off work, decides he will get up and see what is going on. In the interests of road safety, I give him the football kit and extra money from Jacob’s wallet (as I have no idea where Master Jacob has left the original money) and send Mr T off to school.

I decide to chill for five minutes before resuming work. I make a cup of tea and check up on the listing of my children’s story Fantasia on the professional review service NetGalley which I have been told will go live that morning. I follow the link the administrator has sent me to its page and see it listed. The cover looks great and has already got 8 “likes”. I read through the blurb I’d sent just to check all it as it should be. It reads fine. However, when I get to the bit that says “Advance Praise” I read this:

Advance Praise

“I don’t have any reviews for this book, Kellie. However, I’ve seen some traditional publishers just pick out general praise for the author in these circumstances So I’ve done that. If you can beat ’em join them!”

Yep.The admin has just copied and pasted. So everyone knows that the following three (awesome) comments I have listed have been selected by myself.

F***

Eventually I decide that my 8 “likes” are either sympathy votes or a reward for supreme navel gazing. I contemplate a) murder b) spontaneous combustion (again) c) toast heavily laden with butter

I opt for c). Only because I haven’t got a shotgun.

Mr T comes home. I ask him whether Jacob has any idea where he left his money as I still can’t find it.

Mr T informs me that Master Ben was just joking about that. Master Jacob had his money all the time!

I butter some more toast.

* * * * * *

So today is a new day. I have my handbag safe (complete with contents). Master Ben has gone to school. Master Jacob is still on his trip. Master Sam and Mr T are still in bed. All is quiet. I have just made my tea and checked my netgalley listing to see if the adminstrator has acted on the email I sent her regarding the faux-pas.

She hasn’t.

I am going to butter some more toast.

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