I couldn’t help it, I promised her a pony and a Hogwart’s letter.

Yesterday was not my favorite day.

Yesterday I took Gracie-girl to the orthopedist to follow-up on the buckle break in her wrist, the one that happened during our Thanksgiving Week Massacre. It was A Day from start to finish. (Well, actually the night ended up okay. Spoiler alert.) The day started with me bolting upright in bed, remembering, with cold panic seeping into my stomach, that I was supposed to have stopped this weekend and gotten copies of her films from the emergency clinic. Which I forgot to do during the other 800 things I had going on. Whoops. That meant I’d need to leave work an hour earlier to stop by the clinic and get copies before our appointment. I was already leaving work an hour-and-a-half before the appointment because I had to drive across town to get the girls from school, allow a ridiculous amount of time for the school to dismiss the girls, find them, and summon them to the office (last time it took 30 minutes. Wish I was lying.), and then drive across town again to the doctor’s office.

But we managed to accomplish all of that with plenty of time to spare. I filled out more new patient paperwork than I would have if I had applied for a mortgage, and then we finally made it in to see the orthopedist. Whom I adored! He took new films of Gracie’s wrist after I explained that she had fallen on it again since the original x-rays, and a few minutes later he brought in printouts showing me that while she had a small buckle break and hairline fracture originally, the second fall on her wrist had made the buckle break larger and the hairline fracture had snapped clean across. No wonder Gracie’s wrist hurt so much!

This is when the awful started. The orthopedist let Gracie choose between getting a shot into the bone at the break to numb her arm before he manipulated the break into place, or he could just set the bone without it. He explained that either option would hurt, but the choice was hers. I loved how compassionate he was, and how he recognized that Gracie is a ten-year-old, yes, but one who speaks well for herself and is used to a fair amount of independence. Gracie started crying, not really liking either choice, but eventually decided on the numbing agent. The nurse and I held Gracie down because the shot – it hurt. Gracie screamed more than once, although she tried to hold them in. And good gracious, I don’t blame her. The wonderful, wonderful nurse and I got her calmed down while we waited for the numbing agent to take hold, and then it was time for the cast. That’s when I about died.

The ortho had explained that he had to pull and pop, but I was under the impression that the numbing agent would dull most of it. Or maybe it had and I really, really don’t want to know how bad my daughter would have screamed without it. Because she screamed. Loudly. She didn’t even try to hold them in. I’m sure the entire office, the entire floor, heard her. It was all I could do to sit in the chair and keep a steady stream of encouragements going once the worst was over. I actually turned to Bee at one point and forbid her from breaking any bones. Because nope. Not doing that again.

After her arm was set and x-rays had shown that the bone was set correctly, Gracie had happily turned toward wondering how we should all sign her cast. (I knew she was feeling better if her dictatorial side was coming out.) I snapped a pic of her fancy new cast:

And dropped her off at her dad’s for dinner, since he’ll be out of town the rest of the week. All it took to boost Gracie’s spirits was to tuck a sharpie into her backpack to take to school. Not that she forgot any of the hundreds of promises I made when she was being set in stone.

Me, on the other hand, my nerves were pretty frayed still. So it took a bit more to set me right again – Christmas portraits! Stepmom had posted quite a few to Facebook, and you guys, they are stunning! It was lovely timing and just what I needed to finish the day smiling.

So there you have it. My daughter is a couple ponies richer, and I have extracted a promise from my girls to look out for all wayward bags of library books from here on out. I’m holding them to it.

Looks I’m going to have to open a sweatshop. Anyone want a job?

Do you know what I did this weekend? I shopped. I shopped this weekend in stores and I shopped this weekend online. Which isn’t really different from the last few weeks when I have been haunting various online locations, looking for what should be two sodding easy items to find: white long-sleeved polos (that do not cost more than an arm or one leg) and red cardigan sweaters to go with the girls’ Christmas outfits. People – they are not to be found.

When a major metropolitan area has had a school uniform policy in place for over five years, you wouldn’t think it would be so hard to find long sleeve shirts in accordance with said policy. Gracie’s shirts from last year still fit – barely. But if the girl so much as grows another half inch, Houston we might have a problem. So I’ve been searching in all of the usual places for long-sleeved polos to put under the Christmas tree. Probably not what Gracie’s looking for from Santa, but it’s something she needs, it’s something that can wait until after Christmas, and why not pass it off as a present if I have to buy it? There will be plenty of other fun ones to cheer her up.

Where was I? Oh yes. So I looked at Target – no school uniform clothes in the store. At all. Which I think is ridiculous considering their big community involvement project is that a certain percentage of Target credit card sales go towards local schools. So I checked online – they had short-sleeved shirts and pants and skirts, but absolutely no long-sleeved shirts. I checked Old Navy and they were ridiculously priced. Kohl’s wanted $15 a jersey, and I haven’t been able to find them anywhere else.

I finally saw some online at Walmart, so I decided things had reached critical mass: I was gonna have to walk into the actual store. I decided to go early Sunday morning, when everyone is usually either in church or sleeping. And I found some – if my child is the jolly green giant. I tell you what, I don’t know what’s gotten into George (the uniform shirt company, not some random dude), but they must think every child is either part Gumby or a center forward for the Celtics. Bee’s uniform shirts that I bought for Gracie two years ago? Made by George and have normal proportions. The uniform shirts in the store? Are designed to cover the bums of every hoodlum who wears his or her jeans belted around their knees. I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING! So: hilarious universe watching me trying to clothe my child: 6. Me: 0.

And then there is sudden shortage of red cardigan sweaters. I tried Target and Target.com: nothing. I tried Old Navy on Saturday. I found four sweaters and a pair of corduroys for me (and maybe some Christmas presents for the wee little ones), but the only red cardigan they had tacky faded red bows on all the buttons. No way my 7 1/2 year old is going to want to wear that. (Thank. God.) Children’s Place, Justice, Gymboree, Gap Kids…. nothing. Then I tried the department stores: J.C. Penney, Macy’s, Sears… OH! SEARS HAS ONE! It’s nothing fancy, just a plain, simple red button-up cardigan. Whatevs – Christmas portraits are Saturday – I’ll take it! So I drove out to Sears (what – you thought I was actually at all of those stores when I could online browse? You so silly!)….and Sears wasn’t open for another hour. What kind of department store doesn’t open before noon during Christmas shopping season?! Jesus wept. And so did I.

So! Now I have plans to force feed my childrens chicken nuggets as quickly as they can eat them and whip on out to Sears tonight. As for school uniforms…either belly shirts are going to soon become quite appropriate, or else Imma have to open a sweatshop in the back yard. Just doing my own little part to help the economy, you understand.