Thursday, September 9, 2010

I'm Just Sorry

Dear Earth,

I'd like to apologize...for -- well, everything. I'm pretty sure my brilliant antics over the past two weeks have disrupted the orbital rotation of the planet or something. Not that I'm important, by any means, but there is just only so much futzing one can do with Karma and the cosmos and all that before everything is just -- wrong.

So, if you got up this morning and one of your IHPs were full-on MoonBat Spitting Cherries crazy. My fault.

Or, if you burned the toast which set off the smoke alarm and you opened the door to let out the smoke and the dog ran off and now you have a houseful of crying children? Yeah, that's me too.

We have the only job on the planet from which we 1) cannot be fired; and, coincidentally, 2) from which, occasionally, we (fine...ME) would like to be fired. OK, us and that guy in Greek Mythology who had to scoop poop out of the stables for all eternity. It's a close call. Some days, I'll take the poop.

Let's review the recent events that require my apology, genuflection, and possibly, a Mrs. Field's cookie basket to rectify:
  • To my sister Bianca, You've called several times, texted and e-mailed. I'd like to say I've reciprocated but, because of your genetically freakish height, you can't get cell reception at that altitude. The truth is I just suck most of the time and I'm sure I'll call you when I need something urgently, like I always do. Having a little sister is super, isn't it? Oh, and I also owe you twelve dollars. Which sorta makes you a bookie, which would sorta make me a book-ER, which, frankly, is a WAY better starting letter than the one Lydia uses. Maybe I'll hold onto that dozen for a few weeks more. Just so I can tell Lydia to shut her yap.
  • To my colleague Bob -- and, peripherally, to the four spit-shined, dress-blue, high-n-tight Army men who walked past us on the sidewalk the other day. It was like our very own parade. We totally stopped talking just to take in the majesty. It didn't mean I needed to elbow nudge you when we were twenty feet away from them and say "Ohmygod, do you see them?" You're GAY. You saw them 8 blocks ago. I'm subtle.
  • To Lefty's new teacher, I have issues. I don't like to be hugged and I don't know how to keep my mouth shut most of the time. And, you may very well know that Lefty had ELEVEN teachers last year because of sickness bad management a rip in the time/space continuum stupidityvariety of obstacles that left us in Substitute Teacher Hell. It probably didn't mean that I needed to introduce myself and then say, "You have no plans of getting married, pregnant, sick or otherwise be absent for the whole year, right?" and then actually wait for an answer. This is one of those occasions in life where Lydia needs a flux capacitor to arrive just as I'm about to make a jackhole of myself and slap me with a sandwich. Where were you, Lydia? Where? Were? You? Oh, and even though I was the second mom in your classroom, you said the slot were filled for Room Mom. Probably a safe move on your part. Though, now that I think about it, if I had said nothing and just hugged you, that would have been strange too. Right? 
  • To the very nice, non-litigious man at the Coffee Shop, I'm not sure which was more astounding. My ability to find the one teensy drop of water on the floor with my heel that set me flying to the ground, or your insane Edward Cullenish super speed and strength that enabled you to suddenly appear and catch me before I went splat...and yet, sadly, a split second after I threw my hands out for something to grab on to, which meant I let go of my huge HUGE cup of coffee. Which went all over you. And your suit. On. Your. Way. To. An. Interview. I know I completely assaulted you with about ten thousand napkins. And, I'm pretty sure I was sputtering about buying you a new suit or a corvette or something. You couldn't have been nicer. Or, more eager to get away from me. I've now resorted to hoping your wife reads this blog so I can maybe send you a Cookie Basket. So, ummm, didja get the job? Fingers crossed. Yea you. I'll be going away now. Forever.
  • To Lefty, Yes, I know you didn't want to give me a kiss goodbye on your first day. Which is why I planted a huge one on your forehead when I was wearing lipstick. And, no, none of your teachers told you because you looked so cute. And, I'm not sure why your friends didn't. Maybe you should be mad at them. Or, actually, didn't you go to the bathroom all day? Which means you should have needed to wash your hands, yes? And, isn't there a mirror in front of that sink? Did you not look at yourself? In which case you would have seen said offending kiss? There's a lesson here, my son: One, kiss your mom. Two, smack your friends. Three, umm, hello. Look. In. The. Mirror. You are my child after all... 
  • To Blue Sharpie on my desk, I left you uncapped on the classified section yesterday. You basically hemorrhaged out all over my notes. And leeched into my desk. And now you're all dried out and there's nothing I can do. I've put your cap back on, but I think I need to give up on the idea of resurrection. You are just a pen after all. Though I will commend you for your "If I'm going down, you're all coming down with me" mentality. All those notes I took at the birthday party? Gone. Which is why I loved you the best. I've moved on to Green, but it's just not the same. Farewell, my friend. *sigh*
  • To McLovin, I know I've essentially stolen your favorite shirt. And that I shouldn't say "Hey! Don't wear my shirt!" when you appropriate it back. It's not like you're gonna stretch it out or anything. I mean, I wear it like it's a dress. When I convince myself that wearing that shirt, my glasses and my hair up in a tangle on a Sunday morning makes me look like an intellectual/Tina Fey/naughty librarian rather than a blind crossdressing escapee from the Nervous Hospital. In plaid.
  • To Barry Manilow, SugarLand, Lady Gaga and Carrie Underwood (among others), I regularly take your lovely works and vocally disembowel them all over the inside of my car. There isn't any gift basket on earth that can make up for that torturous cacophony of geriatric-cats-trying-to-play-bagpipes-while-caught-in-a-harp that I can produce with nothing but my very own vocal cords. 
  • To my children, I was simply trying something new. I thought chicken baked with broccoli rice au gratin and extra broccoli might be good. I didn't know that broccoli turned brown and hard when overcooked. I was more expecting mushy. And, thank you Lefty, for pointing out that it looked like a plate of dead tiny trees and that it tasted like feet. I myself don't know what feet taste like, so I'll take your word for it. And, I also appreciate all three of you reminding me of the perils of Baked Broccoli for every dinner since. For the record, I've been spitting in your meals. I'll be sure to be super sorry about that too. Right about the first of Never.
As for today, I can just it coming already. When the IHPs get home from school, they'll beckon me downstairs to a playroom that has been suddenly converted into a Holly Hobby Office and they'll all three be on one side, wearing ties or something, and Lefty, being the Judge and all, will say "Kate. Sit down, please." [Editor's Note: Yes, when he's serious, he'll call me by my first name. I'm pretty sure I didn't know my own mother's name until I was like 22 or something. It's still unnerving to hear, but super handy when he gets lost at Target and I suddenly hear over the loudspeaker: "Kate, we have Lefty in the Front Office. He's not scared. He'd simply like you to speed it up a bit. (pause) And, umm, he's requesting that you buy more Sharpies." -Kate]

And suddenly I'm in Performance Review Hell and they're consulting with each other about things upon which I can improve. Like the laundry maybe being folded instead of just heaped on their beds...and a little variety in the lunches would be appreciated, can't you think of anything besides cheese sticks and go-gurts? Charlie's mom MAKES little fruit cups, y'know?

I promise. I'll do better. Starting now tomorrow next week. This one's already shot. Mostly because I already have fruit cup lessons scheduled for tomorrow. Super. Thank you, Charlie's mom. I'll be right over. Just as soon as I find that dog.
xoxo Kate

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Popular Posts