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)

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2 responses »

  1. Fuck. That’s hilarious. And so true: “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.” I’m still laughing…

    Reply
  2. Ha ha ha. Is it bad that I’m like “meh, less laundry for me to do!”

    Reply

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