Tuesday, June 29, 2010


Tonight I thought I'd share a smattering of the WTF scenarios that are responsible for the ugly furrows currently raked across my forehead.

Second to last day of school:
The grandfather of a child who was continually picked up late throughout the year despite conversation after conversation about the importance of being on time, says to me at drop off that morning: "I sure hope I won't be late today." (read: "I'm probably going to be late today, so I hope that's okay. I know you've been put out before and that little "Johnny" gets anxious when all the other kids have left and there is still no grown up here to claim him, but my agenda is waaaaay more important than any of that crap.")
Guess that was my cue to assume role of stereotypical, submissive female and let him know it's fine if he needs to be late even though I have been clear about my boundaries. Yeeeaaah. Here's what, pig, unless you can produce wings from underneath that size XXL shirt, I suggest you synchronize your watch right now.
My response: "Me too!" Big smile. Blink. Blink. Your move, asshat...
He replies: "Ah, you don't have to be anywhere after this but home, anyways."
Me (still smiling, Stepford style): "Well, that's a pretty important place to me."
WTF??? My imagined response: "I sure hope I don't lose control of this foot and send it sailing into your droopy, shriveled up 'nads you conceited, self-involved fucktard. See you at 1:15!"

The Six Year Old:
He's watching television as I pass through with the Little Viking in my arms and I say: "First is J's bath and then you're up. 10 minutes - got it?"
He makes some slack-jawed zombie noise intended to acknowledge I have yammered some words in his direction. I reiterate and ask for eye contact as I repeat what I said. (Who knows if eye contact means the information went in - but it makes me feel better and less like leaving him in the yard over night covered in something to attract the coyotes.)
Next, from the bathroom, as the water is thundering in my ears and I am trying to wrestle a shirt off the Little Viking (who has two fistfuls of Matchbox cars he'll die before giving up), I hear him yell "Mom?!" from the living room where he has the television on super loud.
We do the obvious "What? I can't hear you!" followed by "I said..." once or twice before I scream for him to come to me so I can hear him. He continues to try and convey whatever he needs to from the living room and I snap (surprise!).
The actual conversation goes like this:

Me (screeching): "Are you stuck to something in there!?!?"
Six Y/O: "No..."
Me: "Then come into the bathroom for God's sake!" (less screechy, more yelling/exasperation)
Here's what he needed to know.
Six Y/O: "Is this the kind of gum I like?"
Folks, I kid you not, this child is holding a chewed up piece of gum on the end of a popsicle stick for me to examine...

The Little Viking:
The Little Viking refers to my cleavage as "backpack." I can't figure out how this association has come to be, especially because when I ask him to show me anyone else's backpack, he points behind them. At different times as I am schlepping him from one place to another, he requires that I carry a Matchbox car or a handful of Goldfish crackers in my bra... Kinda cute - no big deal. Until recently...
The other day it was hotter than a fuck and I made last minute plans to go over to a friend's to swim. I knew I had a small window of time before the Little Viking reached the screeching hour and could hear him winding up in the kitchen as I ran around the house collecting towels, suits, swimmy diapers etc. The Six Year-Old is a real gem. Drives me nuts for sure, but has a heart of gold. When I re-entered the kitchen, arms laden with pool paraphernalia I saw that he'd given his little brother a piece of cheese to snack on. A phone call and a 10 minute search for keys later, and I had them both in the car and we were on our way.
Within seconds I was aware of a hot car and vomit odor... Now, anyone who has seen the inside of my car would assume the offending odor was coming from an old sippy cup filled with chunky milk, or a few travel mugs sporting moldy coffee shrubberies beneath the lids. Hell, that's what I figured it was. However....
I may already be too late in saying "long story, short..." but as I stripped off my shirt to change into my suit, the source of the car vomit smell (which I only then registered had not stayed in the car) hit my foot. A 2"x 2" inch slab of good old, Kraft American cheese... Apparently he'd swapped out the cheese for the binky he'd put in there sometime earlier. I can't wait for winter and turtlenecks.

I turned 34 this year and am desperately trying to embrace my lines and wrinkles and get motivated to take better care of myself. I give way more money than I should to the people at Olay and Garnier. I wear a giant floppy (and very cute) sun hat and Jackie O. sunglasses to keep the crows feet and sun damage at bay, but I can't escape the lines on my forehead that are exercised daily as a result of my WTF face. I pray for a little bit of grace and am reminded of these lyrics written by the incomparable, Amy and Emily: "with every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face. We'll amuse ourselves one day - these memories we'll trace..."

1 comment:

  1. I would have kicked the guy. Yet another reason why I will never ever be a teacher. Some people's parents (or grandparents).