Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Naughty List

1. Home room mom who checked up on me the day of the class holiday party. It’s not that I mind her making sure I remembered to pick up the cookies. I mind her asking what kind of cookies I got, and then bringing two bags of cookies in case my cookies sucked. Also dressing as a hooker to attend the party. Really? Really with the fake tan, tight jeans, cleavage and big hair at the kindergarten party? MILF it out, girlfriend.

2. People who give cash to children rather than a present. I have no problem slipping a twenty to those hard-to-buy-for teenagers, but neither the one-year-old nor the five-year-old have a firm grasp on currency just yet.

3. Banana Republic Credit. I paid these a-holes in October, and they have yet to apply the payment to the credit card account. They took the money, mind you, it left my bank. They “can’t find the payment,” and thus keep adding late fees, finance charges, de-activating the card, and robo-calling us daily.

4. Me. I complained for months about a co-worker of mine for being an annoying hypochondriac until she found out all the pain she’d been suffering from was due to cancer. That’s right, cancer.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Northwest Arkansas Crime Report, December 3, 2008

9: 53 a.m. A caller at George’s Guard Shack, 1300 Kansas St., reported a theft.

Note to self: do not call George’s for security needs.

10:41 a.m. A caller with Urban Bleu Salon, 113 W. Elm St., reported graffiti.

Oh, the person that crossed out eu and wrote ue? That was me. I was correcting your pretentiousness.

11:55 a.m. A woman at Springdale Animal Services, 321 E. Randall Wobbe Lane reported a man stealing a dog pushed an employee to get out of the building.

I went to their website to find out why someone would steal a free dog. There’s actually a $40 adoption fee, so question answered. However, I find it curious that the pictures of the animals seeking adoption are all taken from outside their cages. I don’t care how cute the little furball is; it looks like it’s behind bars. Three weeks old and already doing time; that’s a badass kitten.

1:01 p.m. A man at 4181 N. Valley Lake Drive reported a screen torn off and plants disturbed.

Officer, arrest that wind.

3:51 p.m. A man at 809 S.E. G St. reported a man attempting to break into the house claimed to be part of an organization that took over the house.

This is what happens when you ignore those foreclosure notices.

8:05 p.m. A woman at 906 N.W. Princeton Square reported a woman entered her house and said she was at the wrong house.

It’s a hazard of living in a cookie-cutter housing development. The only difference in houses is the paint color, and Whisper of Buttermilk and Crème Fantasia look the same in the dark.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Post Postscript

Me: How did Paolo’s drop-off go today? Did you look for the missing library book?

Sam: I didn’t get a chance to talk to his teacher about the book because she had something to say to me. Apparently, yesterday at lunch Paolo would not sit down and stop shouting until they threatened to call his dad.

Me: Really? Our Paolo?

Sam: Yeah. So after I gave Paolo a talking-to while the teacher watched, I didn’t feel like bringing up the library book.

Me: Wow. I wonder why they threatened to call you. Why wouldn’t they say they were going to call me?

Sam: Because I’m the parent that walks him all the way to the classroom. You just drop him off at the front door like a stray dog.

Thursday OverThink #3, courtesy of SoftSoap

As of Monday, there is a new hand soap in the bathroom at work: Softsoap Black Raspberry and Vanilla. Hardly. It smells like cheap perfume on a decaying corpse. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal except the smell does not wash off. Damn you, Softsoap, clean my hands, do not scent them for hours and hours, especially with the fragrance of rot. Every time I brush back my hair or scratch my nose, I am accosted with perfumed death.

Also, it makes my hands cold as ice, numb to the wrist. What is it, mentholated? It is twenty-nine degrees outside and I’m washing my hands in liquid nitrogen. Christ Jesus, I can smell my frozen hands from the keyboard as I type. Kudos to the development team who came up with a product that turns my hands into a morgue. Next trip to the bathroom, I’m considering just rinsing my hands really well. Better yet, I will not drink anything all day long.

Softsoap, you have overthought hand washing.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008


Sam: I read your post this morning. That’s some heavy stuff.

Me: Yeah, it really came out of left field. Do you think I did the right thing?

Sam: No, of course not. The boy is five years old. You can’t just drop him off at the front door. Jesus, he’s in Kindergarten, not junior high.

Me: Oh, hell. I was trying not to hover. It’s not like I abandoned him in the parking lot; he only had to walk down the hallway.

Sam: Yeah, well, he left his take-home folder in his backpack instead of returning it to his teacher and his library book is missing. Just because he asks for something doesn’t mean he’s ready for it.

Me: Well, when you put it that way…

Sam: No more of this front door business.

Me: Alrighty then. So much for my moment.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

I guess a hug is out of the question.

This morning in the car, Paolo asked to walk to school by himself. He explained that he had seen other kids walking by themselves and wanted to do it himself, too. After all, he is in Kindergarten. But those are bigger kids walking without their parents, I protested. Not true, he replied. He has seen his good friend Lily on her own, and she’s in his class. I took a few deep breaths while his request for independence shaved little pieces off my heart. “How about I walk you to the front door, and you walk all the way to your classroom by yourself?” He agreed we had a deal.

As I escorted him to the building, I reminded him to hang up his coat and backpack and stow his lunchbox once he got to his room. He silently let me ramble on, for once not snapping that he KNOWS. It’s not that I thought for a moment he might get lost or forget any step of the routine he’s been performing since August. It’s just that I wanted to do it with him, no, FOR him. I like to see him seated, settled, safe before I walk away from him. Then I realized, those small gestures of mine, I’ve been making them for me. But letting go, this is what I’m doing for him.