Sleep did not come easy last night and neither did morning.
I'm happy to be sitting here, at last, in my quiet house with no one but snoring pugs to witness my foolishness. The morning was not ready for me, nor I for it. I'll tell you why.
It all started yesterday with a post I submitted to the Yeah Write open grid. You know...my usual punny, ha ha, societal observations. This one quite unintentionally straddled the line of controversy and I tried to make damn sure I was clear about where I stood. After asking a few people, I think I was...but on the interwebs you never know for sure.
A few things happened. First, I think I got the definition of a "man date" completely and diametrically wrong. Next, my observation is one that doesn't appear to be shared as commonly as I would have thought. Not a big deal. They can't all be universal gems. I also apparently made a case related to a photo in Crate & Barrel that I was completely off the mark about. Not only did one observant reader give me the heads up about this post on Buzzfeed, but a good friend of mine who is a model, had first hand knowledge of the casting call for the photos I was referring to.
As Homer Simpson would say, "Doh."
And finally, I thought that this same good friend might have been offended by what I'd written. Turns out, thank Goddess, he wasn't. It was a case of me misunderstanding that he might have misunderstood. Yikes.
So I asked Yeah Write to delete my post just in case there was any further misunderstanding. Today I realize it probably wasn't such a big deal. But better safe than sorry, ya know? Because there's no way I'd ever put the funny ahead of someone's feelings. Unless you're Kim Kardashian and then it's on, bitch!
So I tossed and turned last night thinking I'd committed my first act of Blog Assholery in under a year of residency in the blogosphere.
Waking up was hard to do and I muddled my way through the morning routine. And I would've gotten away with it too...had it not been for that meddling substitute bus driver.
Yes. My foot dragging 6yo was mid sentence into a rant about wanting to eat Coco Puffs and watch Sponge Bob when I saw it out of the corner of my eye through the living room window. The yellow tube-like vehicle...the flashing lights. I think I shouted in slow mo..."Nooooo!!!"...my kid's eyes widening with a startled deer in the headlights fear as I grabbed his coat and dove for the door.
No cigar, folks. Why didn't she wait a few seconds? Why didn't she beep? She always beeps! And more importantly - why was she early?? My kid informs me they've had a sub for the last few days. Great.
I bundle the kid up, throw on a coat, grab the keys and my phone and head out the door. Kev took the Jeep to a meeting. I've got the truck. The noisy, barely running, heatless, big ass truck that it takes me nearly five minutes to maneuver out of the driveway almost taking out half of our landscaping and a fence.
We arrive at the school no worse for wear. I realize that in my haste to get here, I am still wearing my flannel pajama bottoms, a shoddy looking hoodie, Birkenstocks with no socks, a parka and a case of the bad hair days. This didn't phase me at home, as I witnessed my mother taking this same drive of shame in a housecoat, scuffs and winter coat many times. Too many times.
But here's the thing; she never had to get out of the car.
I parked as close as I could. We got out and hurried toward the door lest anyone should see me in my state of SAHM-ness. A well dressed business Dad holds the door for me. Head down, I thank him. I am met at the door with "You're too early. School starts at 9." Really? I can't drop him off? He can't go to his home room? His teacher is dropped by helicopter at 8:59? She's not in there grading papers or straightening crayons or some shit? Really? "Are you going to wait with him?" Uh...no. 'Cause I'm in my pajamas.
Walk of shame back to the truck. Fifteen minutes of sitting in a cold truck enduring the cajoling of a 6yo. "Mom! You're too early and you're in your pajamas. hahaha" Yeah. Funny, kid.
We get out and head for the door when some guy tells me I'm blocking the bus lane.
"I'll be like...two seconds."
"You'll block the buses. You have to move over here."
"Over here" is a longer walk of shame past every parent in this well appointed town who had the presence of mind as well as the good sense to put some freaking clothes on before leaving the house.
Oh yeah...and I might have lost my sense of humor by then. I might have shouted something to the effect that I was only going to be two seconds and thanks for being the good samaritan. And I may have called him "Dude".
"Mom. That's Mr. S, not Dude."
"Okay, hon. Thanks."
Mother of the Year.
Drive of shame followed by longer walk of shame.
Oh! And this is my favorite part. As the busses started rolling in, "Hey mom! There's my bus!" Cool! But that's not my favorite part. My favorite part is that the infamous Mr. S is the crossing guard who I must stand next to for a painful eternity as we wait for the busses to pass. All three hundred of them. How much can a person avert their eyes anyway? A lot, it turns out. I averted more than I ever dreamed I could avert. Sure a simple apology would've sufficed, but in front of a group of mothers and one kid who wanted to regale me with a recounting of yesterday's game of dinosaur on the playground? Not a chance. And oh yes I did run into people I knew. All dressed and wearing make up and looking cheerful and great and...awake.
Today's breakfast consists of humble pie. But at least now I'm eating it alone. Except for the guy on the news. And he sees me in my PJs every morning. So we're good.