Check Your Showers
Nov 30 2015
I got in an argument with my 16 year old today about who’s more annoying, him or me. I won. And not because he’s my kid with expressive language disorder, and I can talk him to death. That is NOT why I won. I won because I’m RIGHT, and he’s the annoyingest. The annoying-EST. The AnnOY. ING. EST. He’s the ANNOYINGEST.
For the record,
P.S. Because my son is the annoyingest, he insists the record also reflect that he is more mature than his mother. “I annoying, Mom? I annoying? OK, fine. But I MATURE, Mom. I mature-ER, Mom, than YOU.”
P.P.S. Fine. Whatever.
P.P.P.S. It’s 9:02pm, friends, and I’m face down in the sauce where “sauce” = “life.” Not where “sauce” = “booze.” I have no energy for booze right now. I’m face down in life.
P.P.P.P.S. I’m typing at my desk in my bedroom which is dark except for the glaring light of my computer screen and the single strand of colored Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the window which has been up since last year around this time and sports a few cobwebs that glow on the orange light and the red one in particular and stir in the wind when I blow at them.
P.P.P.P.P.S. Thanksgiving weekend was good until it wasn’t, full of family who lift us up and let us down, and this weekend I got to be both the lifter and the letter, so there’s that. Being human, man. Being human can be rough.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. By Saturday afternoon, I was in bed, down with the flu that had been chasing me, and now it’s Monday, knocking on Tuesday, and four more of us have fallen to the harfing and the runs. Three kids and two parents laid flat and oozing. We’re an attractive crowd, my family. Adorable.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I took a third grader to the doctor today. Not because of the pukes; we’re over going to the doctor for that. I’ll just give myself the $90 to tell me my kid’s sick, thankyouverymuch. But we still find plenty of reasons to visit the doc and put ninety dollarses into the office coffers. Today’s visit was plantar warts. On the way to the office to have the warts frozen, my kid and I talked about Jesus and the Light and the Darkness. We talked about winter when the sun sets early and this season of Advent and our unreasonable, relentless hope that Light is coming again. On the way home, he yelled Fuck and Shit and MOTHER FUCKER because his feet throbbed and ached from the liquid nitrogen, and my kid believes in the science of swearing. The entire round trip felt like various forms of prayer because we believe around these parts that God is in the grime and the gore as much as the gorgeous and the grace. I don’t know what to tell you, folks; we’re a strange bunch.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I took a shower tonight and prayed again because prayer was the theme of the day – obviously – and my prayer went like this… “Dear Jesus, Why is my family so annoying? Why, Jesus? WHY?”
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. When I opened my eyes, I saw this:
We’ve been showering with douche gel, y’all. Douche gel. I cannot even tell you how much this explains.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. In conclusion, check your showers.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And also, Jesus answers prayers.