Nov 23, 2010

It's My Show

Do you know who really bother me?  Victims.  People who just whine, whine, whine.  Pointing out all the rotten things that have happened to them.  I think they are getting some perverse pleasure out of identifying and categorizing themselves in such an important role.  Victims are always the star of the show, you know.

So here's my show and I'm the star.  Just one of those days and I feel like whining.  I woke up tired but that's usual.  Did carpool for the junior high and got the kids to school on time.  This was paramount because I'd been kindly chewed out last week for getting the kids to school late by another mom.  Well deserved, mind you, but right on the heels of having a bad work day.  Came home, got ready for work, took the kindergartner to school and had 30 minutes before I had to leave.  The house was in shambles.  There were three loads of laundry to fold and more to wash and dry.  I climbed back into bed and slept for 45 minutes.

Got to work and kept watching my back.  It's just one of those school years where I don't know what's coming.  It feeds on itself, of course.  An Event, a bad attitude, hard feelings, and my attitude needs to adjust but the hard feelings by all parties still exists.  I shut up and paste on a smile.

12:10 and my cell phone rings.  It's the elementary school.  The 10 year old was throwing up yesterday so I'm pretty sure he's started again.  I answer it, prepared for that information.  It's the secretary.  Nobody picked up the kindergartner at 11:45.  It's a 22 minute drive to the school without traffic.  I start making panicky calls to family.  12:22 and I'm stumped.  Concede defeat in bosses' office with the promise I'll be back in an hour when telephone rings.  Mom and Dad were eating at the senior center and playing Bingo.  They won a chocolate Costco sheet cake.  Guess what cake I'm getting for my birthday.  They will pick up the boy.  Call school to tell them someone will be there in 10 minutes.  Secretary informs me that a panicked woman (my sister) just called to inform her she'd gotten held up at the doctor's office but she'd be right there to pick up my son.  They all converged at the same time in the parking lot.

Harassment training at 2:00.  Finally something interesting and helpful.  Get to training and find disappointment.  It isn't how to effectively harass but what constitutes harassment.  Did you know that you're not supposed to harass?  Telephone call in the middle of the meeting.  It's my sister calling to apologize.  I whisper that now's not a good time.  Hang up.  Telephone rings again.  It's my 13 year old daughter.  The 10 year old brother is hogging the ipod.  I don't care.  I hang up.

Leave harassment training needing a Diet Coke.  Coke machine is out of Diet Coke.  Other Coke machine is also out of Diet Coke and it eats my quarters.

Call 13 year old daughter to find out more about the spat.  She's in tears.  There was a fight that involved ganging up on her and she got locked out of the house.  Return sister's call.  She's not home right now.  Abby, the 10 year old isn't either.  It's just Tyson (age 7) and Caleb (age 4).  Bradan's coming over but he's not there yet.  He's going to be the babysitter.  Caleb told me all this then asked, "Who is this, anyway?"  Mental note to talk to my sister.

Find a Diet Coke, nice and cold by stealing from a teacher with a refrigerator in his office.  Bless him.  Get a hold of sister who offers me the consolation prize for forgetting my son.  I am the first person to know the sex of her baby due in April.  It's a boy.

Drive home and find my house is not any cleaner than when I left it.  In fact, someone has been doing art projects all over the table and counter.  Everybody wants to tell me whose fault the incident involving the ipod is.  I don't care.  I'm sending it back tomorrow.

I have a new flat tire.  This is the second one since I got my new van, 10 days ago.  Did I mention the rock chip?  The spilled chocolate milk?  It's so flat I can't even drive it to get the flat repaired.  Husband comes home.  We can't find the pump.

During dinner I asked my kindergartner how school was, fishing for any trauma from being left in the office for an hour.  He shrugs his shoulders and says it was good then his face lights up and he informs me that his Aunt Jene is going to have FOUR children and she's going to have a boy.

I didn't even get to keep the consolation prize.  I don't want to be the star.

8 comments:

Amy said...

What a day! and you wrote it up so well! I could picture everything perfectly.

Don't you wish you were allowed to harass someone from time to time? Especially if they really deserved it?

Jaci said...

Everyone likes a good victim story. Everyone loves to cry for the woman on Oprah and mutter, "Poor thing."

And I also hate people who relish in their victim role. But complaining when you've had a hard day? That's a different story.

Let it out, honey. Oprah isn't here, so it's okay.

Keep Your Sunny Side Up said...

Oh my, oh my, do you sometimes feel like Mrs. Gumby?

Elaine Shandra said...

The harassment video was amazing! I especially liked how loud the children were in the background. Did you know that I got to see it twice? How lucky am I? I even, almost, got to see it three times! Thanks for the book by the way, it's rather creepy!

June Freaking Cleaver said...

And here I was, ready to blog about how BORING my life is...

I even dressed in my 'victim attire' - too-tight shoes, pants with a waistband that prevents me from taking deep breaths AND highlights my muffin top, and a hooodie that is in major need of laundering.

Now you've gone and ruined it for me.

Thanks. I hope you're happy.

Actually, I hope tomorrow is brighter and better, and that Thanksgiving is an occasion that helps you recall how happy you are to be living with your lovely, well-behaved children.

EmptyNester said...

With a day like that, who can blame you? Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving! You deserve at least that!

CountessLaurie said...

Um, where is my comment that I left yesterday??? Did it get deleted?


Hmph...

Anonymous said...

nice post. thanks.