But she had the mask off her mouth and around her chin, so I'm back to "crazy bitch".

A customer came in today wearing a surgical mask. I have to admit, my first reaction was, "Boy, she is one crazy bitch." So then I kinda beat myself up for being a judgmental asshole. "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she is sick and doesn't want to infect us." And that thought led to, "Fuck. What a selfish bitch! Why would she even come into public if beyotch is contagious?" (Yes, I swear this much, even in my own head.) And then I thought about my friend in high school whose father was battling cancer and could not go out in public without a mask for fear of the tiniest contamination from a simple cold, and people treated him like some sort of leper. And then I felt like shit again.

This is my constant internal monologue.

She's a fortune teller this year. Gee, thanks, magic 8-ball!

Emily had a Halloween party at school- at night, sans parents, a first. When I went in to pick her up, I walked in just ahead of a teen girl and her (I assume) boyfriend. Just as I was about to greet Emily, said teenage girl shouted, "Emily!" Instead of responding, Emily just glared at her. Obviously not giving a damn that Emily did not reply, she walked away, saying to her boyfriend, "That's the girl who always..." I didn't catch the rest. (Thank god?)

So I get Emily into the car and start quizzing her:

Me: Who was that teenager?
Emily: Brooke.
Me: And what did you always do?
Emily: Chased her.
Me: What? Why? And why didn't you say hello?
Emily: Because she's evil.

Yeah. So that ended that part of the conversation. I asked her what she did at the party. She ate and danced and did nothing. And then:

Emily: Oh, and limo.
Me, struggling to figure out what the hell that could possibly relate to- after all "Follow the Leader" is now called "Train". And no, I didn't yell at her to call it the right damn name or nothing at all. No, I didn't. You can't prove it: Limo? What is that?
Emily: Oh. Uhm, limBO.

And that ended the entire conversation because I couldn't take anymore.

A banana was not one of the things to go into the lunchbox.

This morning, Connor was putting his lunch... bits? containers? food stuffs?... into his lunchbox. "And to think," he said, "that I only have this *indicates lunchbox* because of cheating."

I gave him a glare. "At bible camp." Yes, bible camp. I know. Long, boring story, don't ask.

"Yeah," he said, then he smirked. "I'm going to hell." And off he flounced.

I? Stood there with my mouth hanging open. There's not much of a response for that- mostly because I'm sure he got the attitude (and, yes, okay, the phrase, too) from me.

Six Word Saturday

Cate

44 hours with no schedule! Woo!

Oh, wait. Here's my wine!

So, my kid. The oldest one. He turned twelve recently. Twelve. What the hell? I'm not sure how all that happened, but it did. My friend, Cassie, passed along birthday greetings:

Flutterby: your kid!
had a birthday
happy birthday to your kid!
me: didn't we already talk about his birthday?
Flutterby: we talked about that he was going to have one!
and then i forgot
me: oh
okay!
Flutterby: and i don't wanna lose my place as favorite online flutterby/cassie
me: happy it's-been-12-years-and-you-still-haven't-lost-the-weight to me!
Flutterby: woohoo!

It's been a very long and a very short dozen years. I was reminded of just how long the journey has been when a customer came in today, close to tears. It seems that she had just had to ditch the grocery store because her two year old terror angel had refused to sit in the cart. She was, at that moment, still in desperate need of food because the cupboards were bare- all young-mother-hubbard-esque. And also he refused to get dressed for twenty minutes this morning- what she was waiting on him for, I don't know.

Poor woman was at the end of her rope. I did not ask where the kid was, at this point, or why he couldn't be wherever the hell he was now while she ran to the grocery store. I also did not point out that the terrible-twos are far outawfuled by the terrible-threes. (No one ever mentions this to first-time parents of two year olds because we're all afraid they might decide to just cut their losses now.)

Talking the woman off the edge made me grateful to be past those early stages, but it also reminded me... oh shit, y'all, I'm about to have a teenage boy. I am so screwed- where's my wine?

I Told You So From the Beginning

At soccer today, one of the opposing team kicked the ball right into the crowd, hitting the mother of a teammate of Connor's.
This teammate, in turn, yelled, "Hey! You nailed my mom!"
At which point my mind went in the completely wrong direction.
And this is why- soccer mom I am not.

Six Word Saturday

Cate

Icky day. We'll go ice skating!