When I was rushing out of the house this morning to bring my
daughter to school, I walked into the door as I was opening it. The door hit me
square in the nose. The pain was shocking, and lingered, tingling to my teeth.
I was behind schedule, just enough, where I might be able to manage being on
time. I rubbed my nose, like a certain bewitched witch, and bustled us toward
the car.
I ‘d say I am distracted today because I have a lot on my mind.
Spending time deep in thought really gets me nowhere, except a bunch of physical
pain. After my son was born and the consequential sleep deprivation, I was
making a smoothie and as I packed the spinach down, I unknowingly turned the
blender on. I instantly jumped from my daze, and withdrew my hand. Luckily, my
hand did not get mangled, but my index finger was deeply sliced in three
different places. Shortly after, I stupidly did a similar thing with the
garbage disposal; as I pushed food down the drain, I flipped on the disposal. When
the blade skimmed the tip of my finger, I pulled my hand back quickly. After these
wake up calls, I had to consciously make an effort to not go into autopilot
because my autopilot is not high functioning.
When I picked up my daughter from school the teacher told me
she felt my daughter behaved weirdly today. That she looked confused, and asked
her teacher, “Where are we?” I am not a professional in childhood development,
and I don’t think the teacher is either, since she is describing my child’s
behavior as “Weird.” I took my daughter to the doctor a month ago, on request
of the teacher, who said she thought my daughter had issues with focusing. The
doctor reassured me that my daughter is a completely normal 3 year old. She is
going from a quiet home environment to a hectic classroom two days a week, and
it likely exhausts her quickly.
My daughter’s teacher is also comparing her to kids in the
class who are twice her age. Maybe I didn’t research preschool well enough, and
now it seems like putting my daughter into a preschool that feeds kids into its
private elementary school was a bad idea because she is intermingling with
children who are as old as 6, and this is the benchmark for my daughter who
started the program before turning 3 years old. After telling the teacher that the
doctor has confirmed my daughter is completely normal, and I am with her 24
hours a day, aside from the two 4 hour days she is in school, and have never
found her oblivious, or “weird.”
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| Picking nose when being asked to smile for camera can be called "weird" |
After leaving her school, I drove to Starbucks, pulled in
the drive thru and ordered, all the time thinking about the teacher, her
opinions, my daughter, her continuation at this school, and the ridiculousness
of me having to reiterate to the teacher how my daughter is developmentally
healthy. With my mind racing, I ordered my drink, paid and stuffed the drink
into a cup holder loaded up with straw wrappers and unused ketchup packets.
As I was turning right out of the parking lot, I slammed on
the brakes for a biker who came out of nowhere. I almost ran this man over, and
after a very long moment of relief, and checking to see him continue to ride
on, I kept going. The biker didn’t even yell at me, or throw up the middle finger.
He was dressed in normal street clothes, a testament to his sanity. I have been
cussed out many a time by The Biker type who is wearing head to knee spandex,
with a dentists mirror taped to his helmet. I look at them, doe-eyed, and they
yell at me tomato faced with spit flinging from their lips. Before they fall
over from a heart attack, or I can think of anything to say back, the light
changes and the crazed biker is off. I spend the rest of my day thinking of
what I should have yelled in their face. It usually goes along the lines of,
“Don’t take your anger out on me! Just because you hate your life, doesn’t mean
you should go around in ridiculous clothes yelling at people from your bike. I
could kill you with a turn of the wheel.”
I can come up with some really fantastic comebacks when I
am mentally reenacting the encounter doing dishes, or folding laundry. Unlike the
bikers, who I will never see again, I do have to see my daughter’s teacher
again, and this is not boding well for my reenactments. All our encounters will be
awkward from now on. I have 2 options here, and have to choose a or b without allowing myself to be
carried away by “over thinking things,” which means, this is not a decision worth loosing a finger over, or, even worse, killing a friendly biker.
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| Putting on her wedding hat (aka veil) |
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