Monday, January 16, 2012
Just hours earlier, as I stood in the elevator at work, seeing a colleague had jogged my memory of this appointment and I thanked said colleague.
But somehow in the course of the ensuing day the appointment file in my brain went missing.
I often tell D'Arcy I can't keep up with the pace. I'm juggling too many 'balls' and one of them is bound to fall.
I began Saturday doing what I typically do on Saturday: I make a list. My list included things like: Fill out Ontario Disability Support Program application online; set up appointment to look at My Voice device with Ben; get Ben to do Kumon and homework and me to exercise; write thank yous; go grocery shopping; go to mall to buy Ben some track pants and take to cleaners to be shortened; call Motion Specialties back about the bath bench; e-mail school board about the letter that arrived stating Ben hadn't been admitted to receive OT services through CCAC because the wrong form was sent (yes, someone put a stamp on a letter and snail-mailed me this information!); go to Cherry Beach; read Ben a chapter of Harry Potter; get Ben to use new WordQ software we have on iPad; e-mail teacher about his progress in Kumon.
I was so exhausted after reading my list that I had to turn on the fireplace and collapse under a throw on our couch for a couple of hours (and hope everything would go away).
There are items that have dropped off the to-do list in the last few months. Not because they've been accomplished, but because I can't even 'go there' at the moment. Things like a four-hour meeting to find out if Ben qualifies for developmental services as an adult; picking up his new hearing aid which had to be fixed in a busy part of town where you can't park (he's wearing his old pair); getting after an agency that was supposed to provide us with a behaviour consult; and coming up with co-op work ideas for next year.
I'm sure everyone reading this can relate with their own list of 'to-dos,' many of which are largely wishful thinking. "If I just write it down, somehow I'll get one step closer to it," I tell myself.
When Ben drives away in the cab in the morning I feel like D'Arcy and I have run a mini-marathon. Meds? Check. Leg in brace and stretched? Check. Glasses cleaned? Check. Hearing aids in? Check. Lunch? Check. Sticky-notes to communicate with educational assistant in agenda? Check. Any number of supplies Ben may need at school? Check.
The one day it snowed last week we realized as Ben was about to go out the door that his boots had been sitting on our porch and were full of wet snow. No check on the boots. Hope the shoes don't get wet.