I will never call my husband to tell him what a good day I'm having again. Yesterday I called him at work just because E. and I were both having a great morning. I started off the day by waking up early and getting some work done. It always feels good to start the day off productively. At breakfast E. and I talked a lot about colors and he was getting most of them right. My teaching efforts were not in vain! Then we went to the park to play and afterwards hit up a fun birthday play-date.
This was when I made my mistake. I called Dave and when he asked me what was up, I told him, "Nothing. I am just having a really good day." Then the rest of the day happened.
On the way home from the play-date, the car felt like it was rocking as if trying to get over a boat's wake (not what one usually feels when driving on pavement) and the stoplights started swaying. I later learned that the east coast had experienced one of the worst earthquakes since 1897.
When I entered my house I was accosted by a smell similar to rotten garbage, but potent enough to permeate our entire downstairs. I wondered what we could have had in our trash. Then, in the kitchen, I spied our dogs huddled to one side of their crate. The earthquake must have literally scared the poop out of them. Lovely.
To make matters worse, a few minutes later I accidentally dropped my cell phone in the toilet. I snatched it out as soon as I got over the momentary shock of did that really just happen?. However, it was not soon enough apparently. Despite my efforts to revive it (submerging it in rice, which is supposed to draw the water out, right?), it is fried.
Today isn't much better. Already this morning, I have gotten mooned by some punk skater kid. I really didn't want to see that.
I have learned my lesson; no more calling the husband to gloat about good days.