Today

5:45 a.m. -- Wake up! Heart beating like a crazy woman, nightdress around my waist. Fricking iPhone default alarm is on - holy crap that's loud!

5:46 a.m. -- Lisa's out of town. I don't have to be up at this hour to go for a run. Mo-fo. Back to bed. Back to bed. Yeah, no.

6:10 a.m. -- Thing 1. Up and adam. Did-I-Know-That-Bobbafet-Can-Be-Sticky-Taped-To-My-Legos? LOOK MOMMY! God I wish I hadn't taken Ambien.

6:45 a.m. -- Okay, time for a shower. Shit, no razors. I could bite the hair on my legs off with more efficiency. Add to mental list for Target.

7:15 a.m. -- Kids are not reading chapter book with La Gringa, they are watching American Gladiators. I'm pissed. And fixated. My hair dries all whacked while screaming at the top of my lungs for Jeff (who lost).

8 a.m. -- Thing 1 cannot be consoled. Jeff, his favorite Gladiator challenger lost. He's sobbing, he's pointing out that he came from behind, that he lost his balance, that life isn't fair. At first I laugh, and later, find myself holding him tightly, rocking him, telling him Jeff the American Gladiator challenger is a winner in his heart. Thing 1 doesn't buy it. He wants Wheaties for Breakfast. Breakfast of Champions, which obviously poor Jeff isn't.

8:15 a.m. -- Go to get dressed while La Gringa makes breakfast (the only work day I get the early bird special). I didn't pick up the dry cleaning. Fucking dry cleaners, never open when I need them. Don't they know I work for a living? Backup outfit isn't bad. Add a gold belt, looking better.

8:40 a.m. -- Go flying out of the house barking orders at La Gringa to pass onto the babysitter. As I race out the door, I realize Thing 2's hair isn't brushed. She's blowing it out of her eyes with her bottom lip. Crap.

8:45 a.m. -- Head to Monsieur Beans for a coffee and remember I'm cash-less until payday tomorrow. Scrounge for cash in the car. Lotto! Run into some kind retired folks that I've known a few years back when I was retired (and not searching for change). I feel like an asshole as I have to cut them off talking about their bananabread recipe so I can hit the road and make it to San Francisco by 10 a.m.

8:46 a.m. -- I have to pee and I need a bottle of water. I go back into the coffee shop and run into a Twitter pal. Not exactly a great time to Tweetup. Bought the water. Forgot to pee. Crap, I have to pee all the way to San Francisco.

9:12 a.m. -- Nearly crash my car trying to Tweet and Drive. I'm an asshole.

9:30 a.m. -- Narrowly escape a double speed trap on 280. I was Tweeting, speeding *and* listening to Pontus 08 on XM radio, which alone, is a carwreck.

10 a.m. -- No parking on 15th Street in San Francisco. I guess I'll have to pay for parking. Oh shit, no cash. ARGH! I finally find parking by wriggling in between a smartcar and an old SUV. I nearly hit a sleeping homeless guy in my parking space. I guess they have more sympathy for homeless people in the big city than in our Willow Glen suburb. I felt slightly disappointed that I didn't tag the strung-out dude.

10:30 a.m. -- Staff meeting. Oh god, the days of staff meetings... somehow I feel happy that this client is super smart and even happier than I, unlike them, am not in PR. God help me. PR seems satanic to me. The online community old schooler in me wants to puke all over them -- but business is business and I'm learning from them how the system works from another angle.

11:30 a.m. -- Move my car. Fast, before the parking gods take my car away. Go to the ATM, say prayers. Sixty bucks pops out. There is a god. His name is ATM.

12:30 p.m. -- It's Wednesday! It's Bread Day! I absolutely plow my face into a turkey sandwich, savoring every.single.white.flour.gluten.carb. Whew. Sweating, I crinkle the evidence of my bread fix and start ticking down the next six days, 23 hours until we can meet again.

1 p.m. -- The client's client comes in. I'm frustrated. I'd love to tell you why, but I know enough to know that even this blog isn't private and I'll leave it at that. The *best* part of the meeting for me was the 125 lb. dog St. Bernard sleeping and farting on my feet. No allergies here...nope, not me. The hives are from something I must have eaten....

2:48 p.m. -- Touch the home button on my iPhone for the 100th time in two hours. I absolutely *must* leave by 3 to make it to San Jose by 4 to pick up the kids.

2:48 p.m. -- (multi-tasking meeting, checking time, wheezing and holding breath from farting dog) Thinking I hope the kids didn't drown at camp today.

2:58 p.m. -- Excuse myself from said meeting. Bolt to my shared desk. Throw everything in a bag and make a break for the door, praying my car has not been towed for overstaying my welcome in a parking space.

3 p.m. -- Low Fuel light come on. Actually, had been on, but just noticed that it meant business.

3:58 p.m. -- Arrive at camp to find children slightly sunburned but happy -- and alive.

3:59 p.m. -- Kids start crying. They don't want me to pick them up from camp. They want grandma and tell me to go away and find someone better to pick them up. I need a cocktail.

4:12 p.m. -- Pull up to home as housekeeper and gardeners are there at the same time. I have no hope. I bribe kids with CPK.

4:30 p.m. -- Mac'n'Cheese ordered, I'm nearly in tears that CPK has a new kids menu/activity booklet. God bless the person who distributes those things.

5:30 p.m. -- Kids catch me eating their dessert and tell me I shouldn't eat any more sweets and treat because it will make me fat. What do they know? Amateurs. Finally, La Gringa shows up. Life is looking up.

6:15 p.m. -- Mom calls. Work calls. Work calls again. I put an outgoing message on my phone saying that I'm not answering my phone until tomorrow. That ought to do it. Not. Distant cousin calls. Work calls again. I wish cell phones could be ripped out of the wall. The drama would be fun right about now.

6:45 p.m. -- Things insist on "Football Party Mix" from a $1 bin at Diddams party store. We all scream out “Whoomp! There It Is!" all the way home, windows down, blasting the bass cholo-style, thumping our hearts out... life ain't bad.

7:23 p.m. -- Kidlets in bed. No work tonight. Tomorrow's another day in the life of a working mama.What a fucking wild ride.

Goodnight.