It's really windy today and the front door just blew open. That's a bad thing because The Dog, who usually acts like he loves us to pieces, really hates us and wants to escape from his brutal life of eating, sleeping and eating some more before he sleeps. So when the door blows open, he seizes the opportunity and runs for it. This always requires grabbing a treat and the leash, saying a quick prayer to St. Francis and going out after him. Which is tough because if I run he thinks we're having one last game of chase before he's free forever. But if I just saunter along calling, "Here boy! Treat!" he ignores me and keeps running. You can almost hear his little paws tapping out "Freedom! Freedom!" So anyway, I'd just gotten out of the shower and while I was dressed and had shoes on, my hair is still wet and really, the last thing I wanted to do was get some exercise because, sheesh, we've already been for a walk this morning.
I heard the door slam open, jumped up from my desk and sorta slipped a little (because a rolling chair isn't really the best launch pad in the world) and I caught my hand on the bookcase to steady myself, while still moving toward the living room and I whacked a glass carafe with my pinky, sending the carafe bouncing to the floor along with the glass fisherman's float that sits on top of it to keep bugs out of the wine. As all this is clattering to the floor and bouncing around I ran to the front door and slammed it shut and locked it against future breezes.
And The Dog was just sitting on the couch looking at me with an expression that said, "Geez, lady. I'm sleeping here. Keep it down".
My finger really hurts.
Things to be thankful for, besides not having to chase The Dog down the street: there was no wine in the carafe so I don't have to mop and also, apparently French glass doesn't break.
In other news, my child hates me. Again.
Teenagers are not known for their searing logic skills. Everything is about them. I know that. But sometimes I still step right out onto that minefield and start picking daisies. La di dah.
This morning she was angling for some extra jobs because she wants to make money to buy papa and I Christmas presents. Which is adorable of her. So we start brainstorming. Except that I don't have any intention of paying her to do things she's supposed to do, like keep her room clean or unload the dishwasher. There's stuff people have to do because they live in a family. It's not glamorous, it just is. Fine. So I start suggesting things like mopping (which I hate to do) and such and she's pretty jiggy with it but then she says, "And I've been thinking. You know how you credit me with $10 every time I detail the car? Well, I'm thinking you should pay me half and keep half". Right. The reason she is credited $10 is that detailing the car is the way she's "paying back" the $500 frakking dollars she owes us for the car window
she broke this summer. So I calmly remind her of this fact and suddenly she's got her fangs out and she's screaming at me, "Why do you always throw that in my face!?! Can't you just let it drop!?!"
I take a deep breath and point out, very logically, that I never
bring it up except when, like at this moment, she forgets why she's in this whole car detailing situation in the first place. Which results in her going into her room and slamming the door.
Except it's time to go to school so I tell her she needs to get her stuff and in the process I ask if she has all her homework and she snarfs out, "Yes" and stalks out the door. In the car I ask if she has her homework folder. "NO! It's at school! I have my homework, ok?"
Not ok. At this point I'm about to slap her from here to tomorrow but I just grip the steering wheel a little tighter and say softly, "I do not appreciate that tone of voice. It is very disrespectful."
"Well, maybe if you would just trust me..." she begins.
"Do you have any missing assignments?"
"What? No! Well. Yes. One in math and one in lit."
"MOM!!!! That's so not fair! I did the work, I just couldn't find it at the time and turned it in after class".
"Where was the homework?"
"Around. In my desk or whatever".
So I remind her that this is precisely why she has a homework folder because I know
she does the work but she has to be able to find it when it's called for so that she gets the credit.
"I'm just trying to help you help yourself", I say. And I'm still keep a calm tone.
"Well, it doesn't help me when you yell at me about it!" she yells. "Stop yelling at me!"
This is me. Not yelling at her. It's too early in the game to give up but seriously, I am having a devil of a time cracking the code. Kids.
And finally, yesterday The Child and her team-mates were presented with championship trophies. In a moment of pure poetry, she also received a volleyball t-shirt from Jlow
which has a big dragony creature spiking a volleyball at a bunch of frightened rabbits. This is perfect because when they play community ball their team name is "Spikers" and their school mascot is the dragon. How did she know?
Labels: shoes, The Dog, volleyball