You Snooze, You Lose

What a wacky week. And I mean in more ways than one.

I’d like to digest everything for my own sense of sanity, but that would take too long. Let’s see if I can keep this short and sweet.

Up in Here: Joe Lieberman on the news complaining half-heartedly about yet another overreaching power grab by the Bush administration is enough to make me lose my mind. Where is the outrage? I can’t decide which is worse - Bolton reporting to the UN without Congress’ support or respect to the organization itself or Democrats yawning and offering up excuses like, “Well, it’s only for a year or so.”

I was ahead of my time: The front page of the Floridian section of The St. Petersburg Times is devoted to a piece about straight women who dance close together at bars for shock value. I want to ask the editors – seriously – college antics? This is news?

For those of you keeping score at home: The school board sent me a letter saying for the past two years, they’ve been overpaying me by three dollars an hour and…umm…they’d like all that money back. Perhaps I should pack up clothes, toys, and groceries, haul it all downtown and say, “Here. Have it.”

Control Issues: My children started kindergarten and I’m a wreck about it. Up every night worrying about everything under the sun.

The boys did great. They settled into their respective classrooms and made friends right away. My youngest even had a joke prepared for the teacher. (“Your name is Mrs. French? You must speak French!”) C’mon, that’s comedy. For a five year old.

On the second day, I picked them up and got out to the car – okay, minivan –checking lunches and backpacks. My oldest’s lunch hadn’t been touched.

“Why didn’t you eat your lunch, Jacob?”

“Oh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “I didn’t realize I had my lunch today. That’s all right. I had cheese pizza instead.”

I remember the sludge they call cafeteria food and a little *ping* went off inside my head that could be the beginning of an aneurysm or stroke. I called his teacher. She apologized profusely.

“He was so confident when he said he didn’t have his lunch and seemed to know it was pizza day so I didn’t even think to check his cubby. From now on, I will. I’m so sorry.”

"How did he know it was pizza day? I didn’t even know it was pizza day.”

“Well, if you didn’t tell him, he must have read it on the calendar this morning.”

“How did he buy a lunch with no money?”

“He gave his information to the lunch lady and she’ll send you a bill for $1.75 next month. Again, I’m so sorry.”

I hung up the phone and looked at my oldest son. It’s only the second day and already he's learned to snow the teacher and get food on credit. I was still upset several hours later when talking to my mom on the phone. She was appropriately understanding about this first big step away from parental influence and how hard it is on parental units. She gave good advice and I felt much better.

“His teacher probably thinks I’m a b*tch,” I said.

She stifled a laugh.

“Probably,” she said. “You’ve got a clever kid. And what the hell is wrong with pizza?”

She’s right. He could have ordered a cheeseburger. Perhaps I should take my brother-in-law’s advice and hit happy hour every once in a while. It’d do me some good.

It’s been a wacky week. Oh, I could go on and on, but a promise is a promise. Besides, I’d like to sleep tonight.