After work yesterday, I called my mom to, you know, see what she wanted to do for Mother's Day. Because I'm a good daughter like that. Most of the time.
Me: Hi, mom.
Mom: Hi.
Me: What's up?
Mom: Um . . . it's your nickel.
Me: Oh, well, I was just seeing what we're doing for Mother's Day.
Mom: Oh, I don't know.
Me: Well, you have to choose. You're the only mother in our immediate family.
Mom: Ha. Ha.
Me: I mean, I gave all my kids up for adoption.
Mom: Jennie . . .
Me: So, I don't really call myself a mother.
Mom: Oh, I'd say you're a mother something.
I wish you guys could hear the exasperation in my mom's voice sometimes, I really do. Anyway, I was calling her on the way to volunteering and I was exhausted. Exhausted might not be a good enough word, actually. See, even though I was DEAD after Philly, I couldn't sleep Sunday night. Monday night was even worse. I am not exaggerating when I say I did not sleep at all. And then work tried to kill me. So, yes, corralling little kids all evening didn't exactly sound appealing. But the weird thing about this volunteering gig is that it always puts me in a good mood. I know that sounds ridiculous, considering we're there to talk about death, but we ALSO get to do things like draw pictures and read Dr. Seuss and play Candyland (true story, don't be jealous), so that makes up for it. And the kids are awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I often wonder why I only work with them a couple nights a month and not like, all the time. And there's that whole "what am I doing with my life?" question that pops up, um, every day. ESPECIALLY those days when we have a visiting volunteer who does things like live in exotic countries and smuggle children in danger across the border so they don't get sold into sex slavery AND THEN councils torture victims AND also she looks like Jennifer Garner and I'm standing there all, "Hi . . . I work in HR, nice to meet you."
On the other hand, I got to play with Play-doh last night. My life can't be that bad.
i can't seem to sleep either. i think it must be our bodies trying to wean themselves off all that alcohol we consumed over the weekend.
ReplyDeletePlay-Do is salty. But not too salty.
ReplyDeleteI love the phrase, "It's your nickel." I also love the phrase, "Your dime. My time. What's on your mind?" Because I am old. Kids these days will never even know what that means. When their kids call them up for Mother's Day, they'll be all, "It's your rollover minutes." And those kids will be like, "Dude, what?" Because by that time there teleporters.
ReplyDeleteGood talk.
Speaking of teleporters... In my yoga class yesterday some guy came in to talk to us and I'm not sure how this related to yoga (AT ALL), but apparently the scientists have already teleported quarks and shit. Like, moved it from one place to another, moved it! Next they'll do I dunno real matter, then rats, and well then we'll all be dead by then.
ReplyDeleteSo why don't you explore the possibility of making death and kids your full time job?
ReplyDelete(just not dead kids - cause thats yuck and sad)
kat! that's exactly what I was thinking. I think I broke myself.
ReplyDeletePeefer, it's also non-toxic. Thank goodness.
h!a! and CC (hee), I have a teleporter. OK, no, I don't, but wouldn't you be jealous if I did?
Tam, yeah, I'd like to stay away from dead kids, if at all possible.
Dead kids are salty.
ReplyDeleteDon't eat the play-doh in front of the kids, that sets a bad example. And will mess up their pooping.
Play-Doh smells amazing! Plus, there are endless opportunities for impropriety in one can. But those probably should not be explored around children 18 and under.
ReplyDeleteMy grandma still insists it costs me money to call her every time I do, even though, every time, I tell her I have free long-distance. "Ok, you better go; this is probably costing you a fortune!"
ReplyDelete