A Farting Infraction

Now I know children are bizarre little creatures. They're loud, obnoxious, and a general pain in our asses. Don't look at me like that. You know the same thoughts have swirled through your brain too. I'm just not afraid to say it out loud.

I love my kids. Truly. I would take a bullet for them, as most mothers would. But for the love of baby Jesus--what did I do in my past life that I'm paying for now?

This morning I got up early and straightened my hair. The Boss & I have to go to the post office and run some errands today. Then the phone rang. "Please don't be the school." I say in my head. Because I talk to myself in my head all the time, don't you? Caller ID flashes that it's the school calling. 

This can only mean a few things.

A- Teenie Queenie's B12 deficiency caused her to pass out.
B- Teenie Queenie got into a fight.
C- Middle Man is faking an ailment so he can come home and use the restroom.
D- Middle Man has done something ignorant.

Out of these options, I generally lean towards D. Because history has proven this to be the number one reason of phone calls from school.

Immediately I recognize the voice. It's M.M.'s counselor. We're on a first name basis at this point.

"Boobies, I've got M.M. here." She says in her 'yes, again' tone.

Sometimes I think if I could just reach through the phone and smack the kid all of the problems at school would go away.

"This morning during a class, he got up out of his seat went across the classroom and passed gas in another student's face. His teacher kicked him out of class. I have him here in my office and felt he should talk to you."

I thank her for calling me and tell her to put M.M. on the line.

I go through the Mom talk. What were you thinking? Do you think girls find that shit attractive? Why would you do that? Would you like someone to do that to you?

He answers with his usual "I don't know. No. I don't know. No."

I rattle on about how pissed off I am. How his X-Box is being unhooked as we speak and insist he write apology letters to his victim and the teacher.

Now honestly, I know boys will be boys....blah, blah, blah. But he's FOURTEEN. I can only envision him at 25, getting up out of his cubicle at work, (provided he can swing a job that will give him a cubicle.) waltzing over to another co-worker's cubicle and shitting on them.

Boys are vile little weirdos. Common sense is replaced by gas. If you guys remember correctly, he's been in trouble for this behavior before.

So when will the big picture click in his head? Will he have to live at home forever? Can I find a wealthy woman who will support him and make sure he showers every day in his adulthood?

....and these are the days of my life.