August 26, 2010
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m neither (a) Smart enough to make it to the 22nd grade nor (b) Well-Behaved enough. I would’ve either flunked out or been thrown out way before year number 22. But anyway…
School started this week and although I was happy about it, I was also a bit sad. The Boy is getting big. Like, nothing fits anymore big. He is nine. Which in dog years is about 63. And since he is really hyper, has pretty foul gas, pees in the yard, chews on anything that’s left lying around the house and often makes barky/howly type sounds, I think he actually qualifies as a senior citizen in the canine world. This is bad news for me, because it means that technically I’m even older than I thought I was, but the good news is that I did not have a litter of Boys. Even though I love him more than the whole wide world, one is fine. Plus, if I’d had a litter, I would’ve pimped the kids out to cable TV and bitched at The Hub all day in front of the cameras, which would have forced him to turn into an Ed Hardy-wearing, slut-dating douchebag. Then I would’ve had an affair with my bodyguard, divorced The Hub, and gone on Dancing With The Stars where I would have danced like a slightly stiffer than usual corpse and been a complete bitch to my partner and judges in front of a slightly disturbing number of American television viewers. That all sounds like way too much work for me. So I repeat: One is fine.
Aside from being sad about me and The Boy getting older, I was also sad about having to wake up at 6:15 am. Although I actually consider myself a morning person, I am a much better morning person when allowed to wake up from my natural body clock, i.e., my bladder. My bladder is pretty good at waking me up about 3 times a night, and once it wakes me up and it’s light out, I just go ahead and get up. But so far this week, my bladder has not been properly set and is going off at 4:30 when The Hub gets up, so I go back to bed and am in deep REM sleep having dreams of my friend Jeff and I grocery shopping pantsless when the alarm goes off at 6:15. (By the way, don’t worry. Jeff is a chef and was only helping me shop for ribs. I was the only one pantsless, he was only shoeless, and nothing dirty happened. Plus he knows all about the dream and is neither frightened nor filing for a restraining order as of yet.)
As for The Boy, he seems to be settling into 4th grade fine. He is happy with his teacher, although after finding out she is a reader of this blog, I am nervous. When she told me she was a reader I had only, hours before, told Eat Pray Love to suck my balls. While I am happy and flattered that she admits to reading this piece of crap, I am also thinking “Great Patti. Now The Boy is the kid whose mom writes about humping and ball sucking, and I don’t see how that can be a good thing.” So I would like to take this moment to say to Mrs. Shoemaker: Although I write about things that can sometimes be considered inappropriate, The Boy is not a subscriber, and never in your class will he talk about humping, and if he does you can feel free to smack him upside the head. xxxooo, Patti
So now I am trying to get down with the fact that I have 9 months ahead of me to write, do Pilates, walk, ride my bike, volunteer too much, paint things, daydream about tiny things, cook things, have lunch with friends, organize the holy hell out of everything, lay by my pool alone, watch Matt Lauer, play Rock Band with whoever I can convince to come over, clean things, and to be alone. So far, this week has consisted of me wandering aimlessly around the house kind’ve (gulp) missing my little boy, but I’m sure I’ll get past that pretty soon. Probably in a few weeks. Or possibly by about 3:30 today when The Boy gets home and he and his friend Luke are running around screaming and shooting me with Nerf guns. Yep. 3:30 oughtta do it.
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