It's a Mystery

I won't lie; this back to school routine is kicking my arse. Between the school sports, the paper work, the never-ending lunch making, I'm about done with school. 

You'd think after doing this for so many years I'd have mastered the art of parenting during the school year. Of course, you'd be wrong. I thrive on disorganization. Well, not really. I just can't seem to escape it.

It's been a particularly rough week around here. 

Knox's ear went missing.

Well, not his ear so much as his brand-new-only-11-months-old-so-not-really-brand-new-but-newish bionic hearing aide, but to be honest, it would be cheaper if he lost his actual ear and not just the insert.

From all accounts, his hearing aides were freshly inserted at 3 pm. He was loaded on to the bus and an hour later, just after getting off the bus his ear was gone.

It's not to be found. No one can find it.... Which, you know, is the definition of 'not to be found.' (Clumsy writing for the win!)

It's a mystery. A mystery worthy of Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle.  

In the span of sixty minutes I am out THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS (please please please let insurance cover this cost) and everyone is like *shrug, whatcha gonna do?*

Let me tell you what *I'm* gonna do:


Then pout.

And then YELL some more. 

I may even kick a rock. Down the driveway.

Then kick a rock again. Back UP the driveway.

And then I'm gonna YELL some more. Randomly. And, possibly, at strangers.

But only old people strangers. Old people who aren't wearing their hearing aides. So they can't actually hear me yelling at them. Because I don't want to seem rude. I'm fine with seeming crazy but I draw the line at rudeness. 

And then, after all the yelling, pouting and rock kicking, I won't lie. I'm going to cry. Crying makes everything better.

I just don't understand it. He went on the bus with both of his ears and got off the bus with only one of them.

Are kids these days selling hearing aides on the black market? Melting them down to snort them? 

Hoarding them to build a giant robot that they will set forth upon the world to rule it with the super power strength of its bionic ears?



And before you ask, no, Abbott did not eat it. He's an arsehole but he's a fussy arsehole that way. Also, he was nowhere near Knox when it was discovered the hearing aide was missing or even before. He was too busy chasing the Chihuahua who is in heat.

Did I mention my dog is an arsehole?

I'm not an arsehole Mom. I'm a HORNY TEEN.

I only wish he ate the hearing aide because I would gladly excavate poop than pony up the THOUSANDS of DOLLARS it's going to take to replace this necessary equipment. 

I don't have thousands of dollars. I'm jobless and I mooch off my husband.

My husband who is GOING TO BE SO MAD.

I'd rather excavate poop than tell my husband. AND I DON'T LIKE POOP. 

Google is going to forever think I have an excrement excavation fetish. Hello perverts brought here by Google. Welcome to the party!

So. To sum up: Knox's shiny bionic ear disappeared into the realm of 'never to be seen again,' shoulders have been shrugged, the dog has been cleared and the insurance people are going to be uncommonly kind and generous because if they aren't, the poor kid who lost all his teeth not two months ago and can't get them replaced will also have to wheel around deaf as my 66-year-old father who refuses to get his hearing checked.

And I already have to cope with one relative yelling "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU," I can't handle another.

Please universe, bring back my kid's expensive medical equipment. The aliens don't need it. But Knox (and my bank account) certainly do.

*Kicks rock.*

Time Warp

Long ago, in a land far away (or rather, just meters from where I currently sit), a great saga was about to start. An epic journey (of sorts) began. It entailed many bagged lunches, forgotten permission slips and tears over homework.

It was the start of the school years.

When it began, all those years ago, it looked like this:

Now, with a senior beginning her quest for the end, it looks like this:

Of course, in between it mostly looks like this:

What? YOU try taking first day of school pictures with these hoodlums. It's impossible I tell you. Impossible.

Happy back to school day, yo.

(Now excuse me as I try to wrap my head around the fact my daughter is graduating this year when I swear it seems like only yesterday that I, myself, graduated. Weird.)

Rules of the Road

"Hey Nash, I'm going to the store. Do you want to come?" I asked him as I walked past him while he was shooting hoops and opened the car door to buckle Knox into his seat.

That's when he said the three words I've come to dread.

"Can I drive?"

It's a special time in a parents' life, those months when their kid is gearing up to take their driver's test and are scrounging for as much practice time as possible. And by special I mean 'slightly hellish.' 

Nothing bonds a parent with anxiety issues to their teenaged child more than being trapped inside a metal box with wheels, as your child hurtles you both closer to insanity or death all while trying to remember the rules of the road.

I become less of a parent and more of a screechy adult, clinging to the dash board, the seat, the roof, to anything, all while trying to keep from hyperventilating and bursting into tears.

I pulled Knox's straps tight and sighed heavily.

"Just get in the car kid."


"Your foot must be a little heavy today. You're speeding."

"That's a yield sign!"

"Oncoming traffic! Watch out for the oncoming traffic!!"

"Traffic laws aren't suggestions meant to be ignored!"

"Watch for that dog! Don't run over him! The dog! THAT DOG!!"

"A rolling stop isn't a full stop!"

"You can't stop in the middle of a cross walk! You're supposed to stop before it!!"

"You're taking the corner too fast!!"

"That yellow metal thing is commonly referred to as a fire hydrant. You aren't supposed to park in front of it."

"Um, angle parking means park at an angle. You're taking up two stalls."


The car lurched to a stop just outside the grocery store. I leaned my head back against my seat, closed my eyes and took a deep breath before looking over at my son.

I love my children, I love my children, I repeat over and over in my head.

"It's not helpful with all the back seat driving."

"I'm just calling it like I see it Mom. You should have let me drive."


Ya. Teaching your children how to drive is the BEST thing ever. From now on, I'm just strapping him to the roof until he gets his own car.