In Which I Am Discussed By Third Parties Without My Consent

One of the earliest things grown ups try to teach us is to mind our own business. I'm forever telling my boys to stop tattling on each other, and to pay attention to their own behavior. My sponsor and other women wiser than I am often preach that it's not my business what other people think of me. My job is to keep my side of the street clean.

I knew that all of the afterschool teacher's aides knew about the "troubles." I figured word had made its way around the neighborhood to some extent. Nevertheless, I am chagrined to learn that a group of moms were discussing me during one of the neighborhood bunco games. Not MY bunco group, the other one. And the story is far more sordid than real life. For example, I have up to three DUIs as far as some of these moms know. Ugh. And wow. And yuck.

I like to be in control of what others think of me. This blog is a good vehicle for that. I can be funny, self-deprecating, and come off like a good sport. I aspire to this version of myself, so it's not a big lie. I think I have a better self that comes out on occasion if I can let go of the rest. What is a big lie, of course, is that I have any control over what the neighborhood moms think, or anyone else. And really, what a lot of work to try to influence that anyway. I can only behave myself, pay my fines, go to my classes and rear my children.

That doesn't stop a part of me from feeling like I'm a weird fourth grader again, and none of the girls like me because I'm different. Funny how we can regress.

Pigs in Your Heart

"If you have pigs in your heart, I will follow up with you."

This is the message I just received from an itinerant preacher while I waited at the bus stop. At least I think that's what he said. He said it gently, as a sort of benediction. He looked me in the eye and then walked off, pulling wheeled luggage behind him, earbuds firmly in place.

I feel like I've been casting my pearls before swine today. Management clearly doesn't understand my genius. I am misunderstood. I could've been a contender. Work is really starting to get in the way of my free time.

My program teaches me to pray for serenity, to be of service to others. A dear friend noted recently, "I get that jobs in the service industry aren't great, but why wouldn't you just decide to be the best waitress you could be?"

I tried to do these things today, but it came out all screwy. Another friend used to say, sometimes you just need the day to be over and go to bed. So that's my plan--get into bed when the kids do, watch serial killer tv, and pray for serenity. And in case it helps, ask for pigs in my heart.

Get Me Out of Here

"It's much better if you just let go."

My friend was describing a recent visit to an amusement park--a ride where they strap you in and basically drop you for what sounds like a vomit-inducing free-fall effect. Apparently, one's first instinct is to hold on tight, but my friend found that if you don't fight it, if you just let go and let the straps do their work, it's a much more enjoyable experience.

Hmmm.

I'm tempted to turn this into a hallmark moment of a life lesson, but I'm trying to avoid that here. So I'll just tell you that there's no way you'd ever get me on that ride.

20 Minutes in Hell

With very little provocation, I grew a second head this morning. A demon head. It blossomed out of my neck, stretched and roared at my oldest son in a deep, threatening voice.

This child of mine, so beautiful in a million different ways, will not get ready in the morning. He must be dragged from his bed, given his clothes, and reminded constantly of the same four tasks that he's been required to do every weekday morning for six years.

He is not a morning person. And neither am I.

All of this is compounded by the fact that we must leave earlier now, so that I can get the bus. Each morning I have the kids, my friend shows up, drives me to the bus stop, then ushers my kids off to school with her own. And despite the fact that mornings were not much smoother when I could drive, I still feel guilty for subjecting them to a more complicated morning.

The whole morning drama only lasts 20 minutes, but it takes me the 30 minutes on the bus for the demon to calm itself, tuck its horns back in and disappear completely.

Days at the Beach

My youngest son had a playdate/sleepover at his buddy's last weekend. I promised W we would do something special, just us. What did he want to do? "Let's go to the beach!"

Crap. How about the pool? "No. The beach."

When I lost my license, the thing I cried about the most was that I wouldn't be able to drive my kids to the beach this summer. It's one of my favorite things to do--throw the boogie boards and the cooler in the car and just go. We're all happier at the beach.

And, as it turns out, it's ridiculously hard to get to the beach by bus from my house. So what to do? Because I really want to go to the beach now, too. The usual suspects for giving us a lift were unavailable, or had been pressed into service too often of late. (I try not to wear out my welcome). So I called a car service--Terramoto Transportation. They have a fleet of Priuses, all painted black with a cool hummingbird logo in green. They charge about what a cab would cost, but plant a tree for every ride you take. Nice, right?

It cost me $40 each way. They were friendly and let me stop at the store on the way back home. Not cheap, but nothing about this gig has been cheap. Water was icy, but W and I ate chocolate chip cookies and had a blast.

My friend Cindy and I hit the same beach, sans kids, the next day. We wore our bikinis and pretended we were in high school again.

And on Labor Day, my dad called and invited me to ride the 9 mile-trail to the beach from my neighborhood. It was an awesome ride. When we got to the beach, we hit the taco stand for chorizo breakfast burritos and called my stepmom to come get us.

I really have nothing to complain about. Life is good.

Where the Hell is That Pony?

Just missed the bus. Next one doesn't come for an hour. I ran, but missed it anyway. What to do? Call my friend. Tell her I'll be late to dinner, and look! Here's a Starbuck's! New York Times, free wifi, and a mint refresher. Some kinda funky jazz on the sound system. Could be worse. Could be better, but could be worse.

The new mint refresher is tasty. And I wish hitchhiking was both socially acceptable and not ridiculously dangerous.

Ain't Got Nobody

I have one more DUI education class left, then my Sundays will be free again. I have nine more "group" sessions left before my Monday nights are my own. I have three "face-to-face" meetings with a counselor to go to, and a MADD program. I'll be done with all of this in October. And then I still won't be able to drive for six more months.

I have a good routine now. My bike and my super squishy flip flops get me through. Friends and family are generous in giving me a lift here and there. And yet. And yet.

I found myself home alone last Saturday night and really at loose ends. Kids had gone to their Dad's. In fact, I had earlier in the day met his love interest, and was musing over that. My own romantic interest had other plans. Many of my friends were with their families. Single friends had dates. If I'd been able to drive, I'm sure I would have taken myself out, but as it was I didn't feel like biking anywhere. I could do a bunch of housework, but it seemed like it would add insult to injury. So without a viable alternative, I watched a six-hour House marathon on tv. Made myself a burrito. Ate some ice cream. I wasn't depressed or unhappy, just at loose ends.

I'm not sure what this means, except that I miss my car. I miss driving.