Work. Geoff. Busy. Committments. Parties. Work. Kids going on school break and no one to watch them. Work. Geoff Geoff Geoff. I will not let my veins, arteries, capillaries explode. I will not allow December 4th to be the busiest and worst day ever. Or December 5th for that matter.
The one thing is, aside from my house getting suddenly completely remessy right after my parents left, and the fact the Geoff won't stop singing in class (or picking his nose) I've got the work/holiday party thing completely under control. A asked me if there was anything she could do to help -- wrap a present, print and cut names for the raffele, write names on Post-It notes for our icebreaker... nope, nope and nope. The only thing I have left to do are print some certificates for 4 PTO hours for raffle prizes and to get checks cut from our AP office for to pay everyone for their services.
Nice.
So it's all good. And I'm looking forward to this being over. Cross your fingers kids -- it's supposed to start snowing sometime tomorrow or some shit like that. Watch it ruin everything and everyone goes home at like 8pm because of the weather. Like the Hurricane which screwed up our Summer outing in August...
I spent a half hour on the phone with Geoff's teacher today. He's been in the principal's office every day this week. On Monday he had a horrible day because my parents left without taking him with them to NY. On Tuesday it was for singing and not stopping. On Wednesday it was for throwing handfuls of soap all over the bathroom in a fight with an invisible adversary. Today it was for singing and sticking his fingers up his nose, and then refusing to use a tissue and blowing his nose like a Minnesotan bachelor farmer.
I am so worn out from dealing with him. It wasn't even 7:45 this morning and I'm screaming at him. He took a pair of scissors and cut a big hole in one of his shirts while he was sitting on the couch. "I wonder what happens if I do this!" he said, and Jessica said "Don't you dare!" and I heard... *snip!* "Uh oh!" and sure enough he'd cut a hole.
We needed to walk out the door to go to school, and there I am making him change shirts. He didn't want to do it because our neighbor (the little girl we ride over to school) was there, and I finally just ripped the thing off him.
I read something about a family in Texas or Atlanta or something where they'd beaten their 11 year old daughter to death after tying her up on Thanksgiving.
Let me just say, that's heinous. I'm not sure what she did to get in trouble. But I have to keep thinking about this family and saying "I will not go there. I will not go there."
I will not go there. A shirt is nothing. I'm angry, I'm irritated, but hell. I'm not beating him to death no matter how pissed he makes me.
This will be my mantra with him. This will be my song.
Anyway -- it was a weird day. I got to work, got a little scold because people were asking A for directions and asking her specifics about the party, and I hadn't sent that information out to the masses yet.
I guess I should have earlier this week.
So after the scolding I took care of all the questions, printed directions, printed this did this wrapped that opened this put batteries in that did this went there and ran...
... back to my house in time to meet a pick up truck that carted away Clayton's car.
After being parked in front of our house in Fall 2001, the "Hot Rod" as we so affectionately referred to it all this time, has been carted away.
To her credit -- ole "I" there, Clay's sister, tried her damnedest to get the car donated to a charity. They all rejected the car. So I ended up calling a place to have it towed away for free. Done and done. Last night Doug and I pushed it up out of the yard and towards the driveway. We couldn't get it all the way up into the drive and Doug was wicked pissed. See, without even asking us our tenant moved it back in October so he wouldn't have to plow around it.
Even though we knew that it would immenently be on a tow truck. The thing won't run, so in essence, he rolled it into our yard just to get it out of the way. We agree that it was in the way, but dude -- talk to us first wouldya?
So Doug has been pissed about it sitting there in our grass. And when we couldn't get it up to the driveway he threw a hissy.
I offered to postpone the visit until we could get our tenant to help us get it up the slope into the drive. Doug told me to just have them come and do what they can and if they can't then we'll reschedule.
They brought a ramp truck, and it actually worked out beautifully. The car wouldn't have been able to be put into the truck if it were in the driveway because the truck would have had to block the entire road for like 10 minutes. He winched that sucker up, and drove away.
And I stood there and cried and cried and cried...
The last remnant of the Clay legacy, the big fat piece of shit car that no one wanted, not even the most needy charity. Gone.
And a huge chapter in my life, finished.
I know that I cried from transference, for the near running over of the kid that I did the other day, for Geoff being a complete piece of work lately, for stress stress stress. It had little or nothing to do with Clayton, with the stupid fucking POS car. I hated that POS car. I'm glad it's gone. Totally glad it is.
I was just due for a good cry.
I went back back to work and continued another three hours of asskickingly awesome HR duty fulfillment. And that is about all one can hope for at this point.
No comments:
Post a Comment