Bummer. I was so hoping to get some guesses on the last chapter...

March, 2012

I Can Please Only One Person Per Day.
Today Is Not Your Day.
Tomorrow Isn't Looking Good Either.

Elephants.
Thundering herd of elephants.
Or just thunder?
Maybe a train…?

But what the hell is a train doing in our upstairs hallway?
Or a thunderstorm, for that matter?
And would someone tell those damned elephants to knock it off?!

I dragged myself into a sitting position and scrabbled my hands through my hair. "Ducky—" Oh. Yeah. Ducky had been called out of town to help with a bi-coastal jurisdiction case; gone for a week. I tried not to hate him for the sun and surf of L.A. I opened the bedroom door—

—and almost got flattened.

Elephant? Thunder? Train?

None of the above. Toddler on a Big Wheel, racing up and down the hall in the Reston 500. How the hell did she get it up— "Hey!" I bellowed. Lexi skidded to a stop. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Lexi's eyes widened at the usually-I-control-it-better bad word. "Riding my trike," she said cautiously.

Kids can be so damned literal. I gritted my teeth. "Is that an outside toy?"

"Uh…"

I waited for a full minute. "The answer is, 'Yes, the trike is an outside toy.' Now. Is this—" I waved at the hallway. "—outside?"

"Uh…" Clearly she was going with 'no answer is better than a bad answer.'

"Not. It's not. Outside toys are for outside play for a reason. They're messy, like sidewalk chalk or bubbles. They're water toys, like Slip-n-Slide. Or they're riding toys, like Aunt Charlie's skates, Daddy's bicycle, your trike—" I looked pointedly at the offending toy. "Outside toys have to stay outside, in the garage. It's a safety issue and it's a damage issue." She looked at me blankly; I was going too fast. I pointed to the front wheel. "See the gravel?" She nodded. "That's stuck in the plastic from riding outside." I pointed to the floor. "See the holes and scratches?" She nodded again. "The gravel damaged the wood floor. Someone—namely, me!—will have to fix that!" I was trying not to get pissed, but I knew what work awaited me. "Plus, you had no business going outside without asking me at this unholy hour of the morning!"

"You were sweeping!"

"Exactly!"

"But I want to ride my trike!"

"And you need to ask permission for things like that and you know you need to ask!" I was in full 'mom stance'—hands on hips, feet planted firmly on the floor, hair on end, a five-pointed human star—and right about to go nova. I hadn't even had my coffee yet, dammit!

"Can I? Pway? With the trike?"

"Lexi, it's a quarter past freaking five in the morning! You may not play outside, period, at this hour! And, I'm sorry, but for breaking so many rules, that trike is off limits for the day."

Lexi burst into tears. "I sorry!" (She really was upset. She skipped a verb completely.)

"All criminals are sorry once they're caught," I muttered. "I'm glad to hear your apology, sweetie. Being sorry is one part. Not doing this ever again is another. But if you break rules, you get punished. A fitting punishment for this: no trike. For the rest of today." More tears and sniffles and pathetic noises. "Tomorrow." I stood firm. "You may have your trike back tomorrow." (Be glad Daddy isn't home. He's the one who refinished the floor last year. You wouldn't get this thing back 'til college.)

Since I was already up, I got dressed and marched the plastic tricycle back to the garage (all the while wondering how she had gotten it upstairs so silently) and got started on breakfast. Well, coffee, anyway. It was going to be a long day.

While Mother snored in the other room and Lexi played sullenly on the floor in the study (I had the feeling that the Mommy doll was being kidnapped by cannibals and stuffed in the stew pot), I went online for some tips on how to repair a wood floor within a week. It wasn't going to be that bad—but there were things I would much rather be doing.

Once Mother was up, I made breakfast for us all (to put a more pleasant spin on the morning, pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese and ham and "mashed browns" with onions) and loaded everyone into the van. The gardening staff at Home Depot all know her by sight; I could leave her to wander the aisles with a minimum of guilt, grab the supplies I needed to repair the floor while keeping Lexi with me as I did my mad dash, and probably only pay another sixty bucks for what Mother fell in love with. A babysitting bargain, compared to the times she's gotten away from me.

Another plus—the flowers and plants would keep Lexi and Mother occupied while I worked on the floor.

Through sheer necessity, I've become competent at building and repairing things. I can do things "well enough" that they pass muster at the store: I've built, dismantled, repaired and destroyed bookcases by the score; stripped carpet and laid linoleum; stripped linoleum and laid carpet; repaired plumbing and electrical problems; built perfectly plumb brick planters. But I have never done anything to a wood floor beyond maintaining the ones at my old house. Repairs never crossed my path.

I was smart enough to bring in pictures of the damage. The flooring expert clicked through the shots on my cell phone, saying, "No problem, no problem—oh."

'Oh' is a close cousin to 'uh-oh.' "How bad is 'oh?'" I asked grimly.

"These are pretty deep gouges, all across the hallway. This was either landing or takeoff point. You're looking at cutting out the boards, replacing—"

I closed my eyes and winced. I actually knew what he was talking about; Ducky—with Gibbs' 'assistance'—had done just that… last year. (Gibbs disdains electrical tools as a rule, but even he is willing to use a circular saw when the need arises.) The good news: we had enough bits and pieces left over from last year, neatly stored in the garage, so that I could get away with the wood on hand (I hoped).

The bad news: I was gonna need help.

I collected Mother (and shelled out another $82.73 in the garden center), loaded everyone and everything in the van and slogged my way home. Seeing the McAllister-Campbell transport vehicle in the driveway brightened my mood immensely.

"Wood floor? Ducky's wood floor?" Ev held up her hands to ward off evil spirits. "I'll help, but that's past my mad skills category. I can be a minion, but I need a fearless leader."

"I'll be the minion's minion," Lily volunteered.

I gave in to the inevitable and pulled out my cellphone. "Hi. Gibbs?"

Since it was to save the hide of his beloved Peanut, he promised to keep our dirty little secret. He also spent all Saturday afternoon getting the really damaged end of the hallway started. He had the able crew of Ev and Lily to help; I willingly took over the idiot-proof (allegedly) repair of the smaller scratches and gouges, while Charlie rode herd on Mother and Lexi in the garden. After dinner, he promised to be back the next morning, but warned that he'd only be able to come by after work the rest of the week—caseload permitting. I sent out "no crime vibes" and tried not to freak out over the idea of Ducky coming home to a hallway torn asunder.

I was up while it was still dark out; Gibbs arrived while the coffee was half done and the other reasonably responsible adults were still at the breakfast table, yawning. (He even walked in with a bag of fast food breakfast for the four of us. Unasked. Sweet.) Charlie and Lexi were camped out on the floor of Mother's room; coffee in hand, we had been sawing and hammering and sanding for three hours before they emerged. (Bless her butt; Charlie made breakfast for the three of them, too.)

Because the worst damage was at the far end of the hallway, Lexi still had access to her room—if she walked very carefully. Charlie escorted her—just in case. "I really appreciate you guys giving up your weekend like this," I sighed.

"Tomorrow is another day," she quoted in a die-away Southern belle voice.

"Is it tomorrow?" Lexi asked.

"I wish," I snorted. "If it were tomorrow, I'd be a lot further along."

"Oh." She scrunched up her forehead. "Wiw you show me how to pway Chinese jump rope?"

"Of course. I'm sure we can find something in the yard to stand in for a second person," Charlie said agreeably.

"Grandma could pway!" Lexi suggested as they picked their way into her room.

I shuddered at the vision of Victoria playing Chinese jump rope (and imagined trying to explain to my husband why his just-turned-104-year-old-mother was in traction), left Charlie to sort out that mess and returned to my filling and sanding and buffing.

By dinner, we weren't done, but optimistic. The hallway still looked like a do-it-yourself ad, but we had hopes of having the work done by Wednesday, the floor polished and waxed Thursday, the runners back in place Friday morning and Ducky none the wiser when he came home Saturday. As weeks go, I've had far more fun things planned.

I hated to admit it even in my own mind, but if Lexi and Mother hadn't been underfoot (despite Charlie's willing assistance), I would have been much further along by Monday morning. But life is what you deal with. Of course, the moment she walked in the kitchen and heard the synopsis of the weekend, Suzy scolded me for not calling her for backup. "I could have kept Victoria amused, entertained—or at least tied up."

"Suzy, you all but live here—and don't think we haven't been trying to figure out how to get you to do it for real. You give up a lot of your free time to help us out without our even asking, we don't want you to feel put upon—"

"Oh, shut up," she said cheerfully. "You're like a second family—even if I do get paid. Now—would it help if I bundled Victoria home for the week?"

Tempting. "No, with you here and Lexi in school… I'm just scared to death I'll screw this up," I said in an undertone. "Ducky doesn't get angry very often, but, man, he put blood, sweat and tears into refinishing that hallway. He will flip if he finds out what happened."

"I think he'd understand," Suzy said. "But, just the same—if you don't have to tell him, I see no reason to do so."

"Mother won't spill the beans. She's clueless about what's going on. And Lexi knows if she wants to make it to four, keeping her yap shut is a good idea."

The guilty party tumbled into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. "Morning… Mommy. Morning… Suzy," she got out around her yawns.

Suzy laughed ruefully. (She's got five kids and eight grandkids. She knows what trouble toddlers can be.) "So. What worlds do you plan to conquer today?"

Lexi looked puzzled. "Today?"

"It's Monday! Preschool! You're in… Miss Samantha's room, right?"

Lexi nodded. "It's not tomorrow?"

"Nope. Today's today, tomorrow's tomorrow, and "Yesterday" made the Beatles a fortune. I feel like having Cream of Wheat with raisins. Care to join me?" Suzy asked.

"Sure! Can I go get Grandma?"

"May I," I auto-corrected. I glanced at the clock. "Yeah. Gently."

If it had been something simple—say, we pulled up the carpet and discovered a hardwood floor with a neat row of tack holes in a row—I probably could have had the job done in two days. But I couldn't go three inches without finding a tiny bit of damage. It was like Old MacDonald's Farm—a scratch-scratch here, a scrape-scrape there; here, a pinhole, there, a gouge… I was being anal about matching the color variation just so and having it invisible to the naked eye.

I've proved just how replaceable I am by doing my part of running the store via computer on several occasions. But some things I have to do in person—including signing payroll checks. Nobody would get paid until Friday, but Miyoko would be in Thursday to do the actual payroll from the past two weeks; I could leave pre-signed checks, she'd fill in the blanks and imprint checks. It would probably be easiest to run in Tuesday or Wednesday, even if it would be an absurd amount of gas.

While working on the hallway that evening, Gibbs offered the services of a top-notch forger to save me the gas. "Tempting, tempting… but it would be nice for the owner of the business to drop in on said business once in a blue moon. I'll just run in tomorrow. Or Wednesday."

Lexi perked up. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, but you'll be in school. I promise—this Saturday we'll spend the whole day at the store."

"Not tomorrow?" She almost pouted.

"Saturday."

As Lexi trudged off to her room, Gibbs grinned. "Whole lotta parents would kill to have kids that into reading."

I snorted. "Whole lot easier if the parents read."

What with one thing and another, I didn't get to the store on Tuesday. I did, however, get stuck at the supermarket for three hours because I locked the keys in the van. I called Suzy, who volunteered to come over with the spare keys. Unfortunately, the spare keys were with Ev, who had borrowed the van last week and accidentally taken the keys home with her. So I had the manager put my groceries into the cooler while I waited for triple-A.

After close to an hour (past the 30-45 minute timeframe) I called back. "The driver couldn't find you."

"It's a Chevy cargo van with personalized plates. I'm smack-dab in front of Chop Shop Hair Salon. I'm pacing the sidewalk. He can't miss me!"

He did. Twice. Finally I got home, but it was so late, I had to throw things in the fridge and pantry, grab a late lunch and turn around to pick up Lexi from preschool. I grumbled about my morning on the drive home. "I have to go to Papyrus tomorrow, or the villagers will storm the castle."

"Hunh?"

I gave her a Cliff's Notes version of Frankenstein ("Oh, wike the scene in Beauty and the Beast!") and told her people want to get paid On Time. "If I don't sign their paychecks tomorrow, Miyo can't fill them in and Valerie can't hand them out on Friday."

"Will it ever be tomorrow?"

"God, I hope so," I muttered.

"Me, too," she sighed.

"I promise. Saturday. We'll go to the store Saturday. We'll take Grandma, too."

She perked up. "Geoff wiw wike that."

"Yep."

Gibbs was sure we'd be done by Wednesday night. I was starting to mainline Tums.

I beat the rush hour traffic to the store on Wednesday. Okay; I cheated. I took Suzy up on her offer to run Lexi to school. I signed checks, and whiled away the rush hour by working in the store. Shelving, pricing, looking at the stuff that had come in, thumbing through trade credit cards to see who had been by—

Damn, I was missing it. And it hadn't been that long.

I put up with the good-natured, "Thank god, we get paid!" from several voices, warned Geoff that his favorite helper would be there on Saturday, and headed back to Reston.

Gibbs was right. We were right on target. Suzy told me to stay in the groove, and she went to pick up Lexi. It took them a while to get back—Victoria insisted on going in to the school with Suzy, and everybody wanted to meet her. (A lot of the kids don't even have grandmothers—let alone a grandmother over a hundred. She was quite the celebrity.) Gibbs arrived right after they got home, and was escorted upstairs by Lexi, who was chattering away a mile a minute.

At her room, she stopped and cocked her head at me. "Is it Saturday?"

I laughed. "No, thank heavens. Today is Wednesday."

"Is it tomorrow?"

"Nope. Tomorrow is Thursday."

"Oh." Looking even more puzzled than before, she started to head downstairs, then stopped. "May I pway in my woft?" she asked very formally.

"Yes, you may," I said, equally formally. "Please change into your art clothes before you go outside."

She barreled into her room and came out minutes later in ratty cutoffs and an even rattier t-shirt. "Can Grandma pway, too?"

"May Grandma play. No, Grandma is taking her nap."

"May Suzy?"

"You may ask Suzy. But don't be pushy. She's here to help Grandma during the week, not be your slave."

It took until nine that night, but we finished. Gibbs swore that once it was polished, buffed, sealed, waxed and all the other Miss Congeniality treatments, Ducky would be none the wiser.

Yeah. Right. More Tums.

Knowing how well Mother interacts with tradesmen sometimes—pretty vilely—before Suzy left Wednesday, she suggested a day trip to the mall.

I was thrilled—and aghast. "The mall? The whole day at the mall?"

"The whole day at… a bookstore… at Lowe's—meaning a new gardening center… at a toy store, where she can get things for Lexi and Charlie… at that Mexican restaurant only she likes…"

And it would be cheaper than a lawsuit from Miles of Tiles Floor Care. "Sold."

The next morning, I had Lexi up and moving before she was conscious. "Floor repair guys will be here at eight, hustle, hustle," I said, none-too-gently plunking down waffles and sausage and sliced fruit.

"Is it tomorrow?" she asked with a whine in her voice that set my teeth right on edge.

"No," I snapped. I took a deep breath. "Sorry. No. It's today. And I'm really pushed for time, honey, so—sorry that I bit your head off. This morning is not a good morning. We have to get the floor finished today. Period. Okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled. She kept her eyes on her plate while I flew around the kitchen getting her snack ready and getting Mother's breakfast ready to cook the moment Suzy arrived. Suzy came in the kitchen door only fifteen minutes later; melon smile in one hand and lunchbox in the other, Lexi scooted past her and headed for the van, her mother seconds behind her. We did the world's fastest run to school, unload and return; Suzy, with Mother's lone credit card safely hidden in her purse, had her dressed and out the door only minutes before Miles of Tiles showed up.

The two young men admired our handiwork (probably grumbling inwardly that we hadn't called them), and laid down a base coat. They ran to a second job four blocks away, came back to do the next coat for us and kept up the switch off for several hours. They finished just before I had to go get Lexi, and left with the admonition not to set foot upstairs until at least 8pm—morning would be better. I knew the drill, and already had clothing for Lexi and myself downstairs.

Mother, of course, was thrilled that we were camping out with her. We didn't have to worry about Mother going upstairs—she needed assistance walking stairs—and I put a big reminder at the bottom of the stairs for Lexi (a chair with a 3 foot high piece of poster board reading NO!).

As she wandered in to where I was making a bed on the couch, Lexi asked, "Is it tomorrow yet?"

"No, but it will be soon," I sighed. "I am so done with this week—stick a fork in it."

"Soon?"

"Soon," I promised. Not soon enough.

I had chatted with Ducky every night, as had Lexi, and neither of us let on that there was anything wrong in paradise. So it was no surprise to get a call around ten o'clock.

"I was hoping to leave this afternoon, make it home tonight—"

Would it damage my marriage to say, 'Please, don't?' Yeah, probably would.

"But I did manage to get a seven a.m. flight. I'll be back well in time for dinner. What are we having?"

Cooked goose? "You choose."

"La-a-a-a-a-a-mb chops," he said, drawing out the word and making it sound absolutely salacious.

"With all the fixin's."

"With all the fixin's," he echoed.

He talked to Lexi for a bit, and I went to sleep structuring my next day like a NASA blast off.

"Okay. After I take you to school, the carpet runners will be back." Still not sure how, but Lexi had damaged one of the runners. Since it needed to go in for repair, I sent both of them in—it would definitely show up if only one of them got cleaned. I'll work on some of what we're having tonight—the baked apple chunks and ol' rotten potatoes can at least get started—" (Nothing like a toddler to change the names of food.) "And after I pick you up, we can pick up Daddy at the airport…"

Running here, running there. They brought the correct runners (Wouldn't it have been a hoot if they had brought the wrong order? No, it would not have been.), everything looked just as it had a week ago—maybe a little bit cleaner. Not a sin.

I picked up Lexi at school and snaked my way through traffic to the airport. Ducky sent me a text about ten minutes out of Dulles, Hanging out by the no parking zone, trying not to get arrested for solicitation. Yeah, that's my husband. Lightly warped around the edges.

"It's so good to be home!" he sang out when I pulled to the curb and jumped out to open the back doors to the van. That he was able to say this while under the narrow-eyed scrutiny of the cops tells me how fun the trip was. (Not.)

"Did you go to Disneywand?" Lexi asked before he even had his seatbelt buckled.

"No, dear, this was a working trip. But I'm sure we'll take a trip to California soon, and we can all visit Disneyland. Or perhaps Disneyworld."

"Coow!"

"So. What is my honey-do list for the weekend?" he teased.

"Nothing," I said archly. "As a matter of fact, you may sleep in, if you wish."

"Hah. There is a metric ton of paperwork awaiting my arrival at the Navy Yard."

"Well, tomorrow Lexi, Mother and I are going to the store for the entire day. You're on your own."

"Tomorrow?"

I glanced in the rearview mirror. "Yes, sweetie. Tomorrow."

I swerved a little as she burst into tears. Big tears. Loud sobs. I pulled off into the parking lot for Hertz while Ducky tried to calm her down. "Are you hurt? Are you feeling ill?"

"Lexi, Lexi, what is it?" I almost strangled myself trying to get over the console.

"I'm—never—gonna—ride—my—trike—again!" she wept. "It's—never—tomorrow!"

Lexi outed herself, Mommy wanted to crawl under the carpet from shame (I had totally forgotten about the inanimate cause of all our problems this week)—and Ducky was more upset by Lexi's tears than the damage to the floor. It didn't erase the need for a mild lecture later on—

—after we all went on a bike ride to the park.