Dirty Laundry

I recently (meaning 5 minutes ago) made my 100th trip to our local middle school this year at 9 o’clock in the morning because (you guessed it!) SOMEONE FORGOT SOMETHING!!!!

As I was photographed, fingerprinted, drug tested, background checked, strip searched, hooked up to a lie detector (where I sobbingly finally admitted to that one time I copied Becky O’Connell’s french homework) and buzzed into Fort Knox … I mean the school … I noticed the pile of forgotten items that other moms schlepped to school for their kids that morning.  At least I’m not the only one, I thought.  The wildly unpleasant secretary asked me if they were a bag of gym clothes.  (Look, I don’t blame her for being miserable … middle school secretary??  That’s easily the 7th level of hell)

“No,” I answered with my most charming, ‘I get it’ smile, “this is her track stuff.”  She nudged her head towards the pile, blatantly ignoring my attempt at camaraderie and muttered “leave it” without ever having her eyes leave the pile of intensely fascinating, I’m sure, paperwork she was leafing through.

Nope.  Just her track stuff. But that made me think.

Not her gym stuff.  Her track stuff.

When was the last time I had seen her gym clothes? And then …

DEAR GOD.

When was the last time I had seen the BOY’S gym clothes?????

Have I seen them since September??, when I sent them to school with him in a clean, blue drawstring bag that I’m guessing has attempted suicide 20 times over by now (strangulation I would assume) … and planned my death in as many horrific ways as a bag can imagine.  And let’s face it, that’s a lot.

SWEET JESUS ON A CRACKER!!!

I don’t think I’ve washed the boy’s gym clothes ALL YEAR.

Holy. Shit.

The scariest part about this whole story, though?  I got that pit in my stomach, the one where you are on the verge of vomiting, for about 2 minutes and then it passed.  Two minutes.  I have officially become THAT mom … where I basically say, “oh well.”

And by the way, that 2 minutes started out as days.  DAYS.  It has dwindled down to 2 minutes … what will it be in a couple months????

I don’t know if this is a lesson in letting go or my desent into hell, but some stuff doesn’t even have the 2 minutes.

Noticing your kid is wearing two different socks at the bus stop?  Please.  Happens all the time.

Your kid gets a mohawk haircut by his grandma right before picture day (and he FLIPS at the mere mention of removing it)?  HA!  Relax … that’s happened more than once here.

Your kids’ clothes don’t fit?  Wait.  Are they supposed to?  Cause we haven’t had a piece of clothing fit properly in this house since they were born.

You take a second to really think about the last time you physically saw your kid brush his teeth and can’t come up with anything?  Come on.  That’s what dentists are for!

You get stabbed in bed by your kid’s talon toenails that haven’t been cut in months?  How else are you supposed to know they need cut??

You figure out your kid hasn’t brought home his filthy, dirty gym clothes all year?  Shit.  I’m just happy I remembered to send them in to school in September.

Sometimes things just have to be good enough.  Perfect is exhausting.

(Now pardon me while I go email the gym teacher my apologies … “letting go” is a lot harder than it looks)

People are Assholes (Not you, of course)

 

I truly honestly strive to always see the best in people sometimes …, ok, occasionally … fine!, rarely.  I try really hard to assume that people are mean or cruel or horrendous because, well, they had a toddler kicking them in bed all night or someone they know just died or they had a terrible childhood or they found out Bethany Frankel’s talk show got cancelled … or worse, they found out Two Broke Girls is coming back next year … wtf, I don’t get it?!?! … or whatever.

And I’m not talking about stupid people.  That’s a whole different category of person.  I kind of feel bad for them more than anything … although they do annoy the shit out of me.  But the random lady I speak to regarding my health insurance can’t help that she’s a nitwit.  Yes, it requires a lot more work for me in the end … usually 26 more phones calls (which really is upper management’s goal, right?  So you’ll give up.  Stop calling and just pay the bill? … but they don’t know us, do they? … they don’t know us!!!!!)

Anyway …

I tried establishing this compassionate look towards people when my mom and I were in the car once and some high end luxury car went flying by at the speed of light, narrowly killing everyone in it’s wake.  My jaw dropped and I was ready to flip when she said, “Maybe his wife’s in labor and he’s rushing to the hospital.”  And just like that, I switched (ok, fine … I attempted to).  She was right.  How many times had I made mistakes for stupid reasons.  I was going to be better.  More understanding.  Assuming the best in people.

But, god dammit, people make it really hard.

And as I’ve gotten older, I’m starting to, initially reluctantly, now wholeheartedly, develop the adage that people really are assholes (not you, of course).

It’s getting increasingly more difficult for me not to scream “FUCKER!” out my car window … in the parking lot … of our elementary school … with 30 kids looking on.

You’re going to cut me off in the school drop off line???  What asshole does that?  My “maybe someone is dying or in need of help or whatever other bullshit I’ve tried to make up over the years” is becoming an increasingly ineffectual argument.

Or how about when we were in DC with the kids (and trust me, I’m not blaming DC … everyone knows in Philly this would have ended a LOT worse) … we decided to pick a beautiful weekend day and bike around the city to see the cherry blossoms.  Well, you would have thought we had the Queen Mum’s carriage, an entire entourage of horses and were blocking every intersection throughout the entire city the way cars treated us.

My favorite was when we went to cross an intersection, perfectly legally, while traffic was at a DEAD STOP and the guy in the car we crossed in front of laid on his horn (while my 8 year old was crossing … yeah, you heard that right) and then did an over-the-top ‘wtf’ arm gesture out the window.

I began dripping with kindness because, really, sarcasm is my weapon of choice.  I did these exaggerated smiles and waves … chirping out in a sickeningly sweet voice, “thank you!!  thank you so much!!  you’re so kind to let us cross this intersection while you are at a dead stop!!  soooo thoughtful!! so VERY kind!!! Thank goodness for people like you in the world!!!”

Guy wasn’t quite getting it.  He turned to me at one point and said, in a clearly confused state (apropos for him), “these people in the cars are being mean and you’re being so nice to them!”

“Kill ’em with kindness!” I trilled in a creepy voice.  He must have seen the smoke coming from my ears because he hopped back on his bike and hauled ass.

And lastly, we were at the park the other day riding bikes (maybe we should stop riding bikes?) and I noticed a haphazardly knotted, clear bag full of dog shit in the MIDDLE of the path.  Not the little terrier kind either.  The Bernese Mountain dog kind.  I swerved, barely missing squishing my tire through the voluminous bag of feces and almost colliding with my daughter.

Honestly, though, one bag of turds I could have handled.  We’ve all been there … although I can honestly say I would never leave a bag in the dead center of the path … certainly on my enemy’s front porch, but NEVER in the middle of a path.  But then it was bag after bag … after bag after bag … after bag.  People just dropping them in the middle of the path.  WHAT?!  It was like we were on a 2 mile poop obstacle course, avoiding bags of excrement in pure terror, wondering which one of us would fall and land right on one (inevitably being referred to as the “turd” of the family from then on out).

Who does that?!

Assholes.  Assholes do that.

But at the end of the day, there’s nothing worse than the unintentional asshole.  You know, the one that doesn’t realize she needs to tip the doorman, puts off sending thank-you notes until it’s far too late, and forgets your birthday.

I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about her.  Just heard about her.

*hides behind couch*

 

I Need Your Help PLEASE!!!! (it’s not really that big a deal)

Ok, so I recently pulled open my blog account and realized something startling (yep, I’m going with ‘startling’).  I may have more TITLES for blog posts than ACTUAL blog posts.  Apparently I love to come up with titles and then never actually write the posts.  That is really so the opposite of me and how I function on a daily basis.*  Maybe that’s why I said ‘startling’.**

So I need your help!  Here are a list of some of the titles I’ve come up with.  Let me know which ones you want to see as actual posts (ya know, with content and pictures and curse words).  And for you overachievers out there, just don’t … DON’T say “all of them!” with 30 exclamation points.  You know who you are.  I need specific requests or I’ll never get anything written again and do the world a wonderful service.

Here they are …

1. People Are Assholes (Not you, of course)

2. Broken Braces, Lime Green Diarrhea, and Bill Clinton

3. Acceptance vs. ACCEPTANCE vs. acceptance?

4. I May Have a Stress Eating Problem … MAY!

5. There’s a Two Liter Bottle of Soda On My Countertop and Other Ways I Shame Myself

6. Environmental Guilt Trip

7. Clean Up Your Dog Sh*t!

So VOTE!!  Tell me what sounds interesting or wildly funny or mildly amusing or sounds like it would be a piece of shit that no one in their right mind would want to read … or just lie to me.  I’m good with whatever.  I’m headed to a blog conference in June and I’ve got to at least pretend I have some level of competence with this thing.

Thanks in advance!!!

(But seriously, thank you. I know you have much better things to do with your time.  You’re the best!!  I mean that.  Truly the best.  The best of the best of the best.  We need to get together more.  I feel like I never see you.  Can you meet for coffee next week?  No?  Ok.  How about a romantic candlelit dinner?  Too far?  Ok, but thank you.  Really.  I love you.  Ugh!  That was definitely too far.  Fuck.)

*It is, actually, exactly how I function, hence my lists and lists of “things to be done today” that pile up with nary a thing crossed off.

**Startling=Not startling at all