Okay, so I have to say that returning to my real job wasn't all that bad afterall. My first day, Tuesday, was pretty much dedicated to cleaning off my desk (oh it felt good to chuck all my old projects!) and organize my computer files. Oh, and of course I spent a good portion of the day in the "honeymoon phase . . . " in which everything was rainbows + lollipop good.
Most of my co-workers were happy to see me, and after a couple of hours, I started answering people's questions with my standard rote answers. "Oh the kids are great. . . " or "She's almost seven months now. . . " or "Yes, I'm thrilled to be back here." Some co-workers acted just as if I had never left, making me feel as if I were in some H.G. Wells book or something. Hello timewarp! Case in point: a co-worker who is kinda, um, how shall I describe her. . . uh, kinda dingbat-ty (no, no, I'm not referring to Birdie. Do y'all remember her?). Imagine someone who doesn't hesitate to spew her deepest, darkest secrets over lunch. . .and then cries three months later because God forbid EVERYONE knows her secrets and Jesus how on earth did they find out? For the sake of this post, let's refer to her as Miss Loopy.
Anyway, there I was at my desk having worked an entire 45 minutes, and just as I was ducking down to file away some paper, my office door bursts open, startling the beejeezus out of me. And there's Miss Loopy. (Now remember, I haven't seen her or spoken to her for EIGHT MONTHS). And there she is, her loopiness on high, and she's rushing into my office at full speed. In fact, as she's bursting into the office, she's conversing with someone (no one?), and also happens to be mid-sentence.
Miss Loopy: "---and then on Christmas Eve I get a call, and it's my ex in the hospital."
Me: (excited to see a new face): "Oh hi, Loopy!"
Miss Loopy: "Can you believe the nerve? He went and had a stroke, and then called me. . . "
Me: (surveying the office to see if anyone else was perhaps in mid-convo with her. . and nope, it's just me and The Loop.)
Miss Loopy: ". . . it's like he's on his deathbead or something. . . but what could I do? Huh? I mean, after all of this time I'm NOT getting any of his pension since all of that illegal stuff back in the 90s. . . and besides SHE was there. You know. THE OTHER WOMAN."
The monologue continued like this for about 15 minutes, before Miss Loopy decided to end the conversation by leaving my office. Midsentence, of course. That wacky woman that! And folks, I'm sorry to say that the Birdie stories will be no more. Birdie has moved onto a new place of work. Rest assured, though, that there will be plenty stories of The Loop. . . oh how the archives are deep!
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Onto more intriguing bits of news. Did you know that the other day I had a booger on my shirt? And no, it wasn't mine thank you very much. The green ball of sticky slime belonged to one of my loving, charming children, and whichever one decided to bestow this phlegmy wad of love onto my shoulder is so going to get it some day.
Before the M.o.B.R. (Moment of Booger Recognition), I was feeling pretty damn good. I was up, the kids were dressed, I was dressed. Heck! I even flatironed my hair for the day! Man, the day was starting off so well. In hindsight, the morning was pretty hectic, requiring me to hug or coddle each one of the little tykes at varying points of the morning. You know those early morning moments when sibling 1 yells, "Go away!" to sibling 2, and sibling 2 feels crushed because sibling 1 is being mean. And the morning becomes filled with yelps of "Mama tell him/her to stop looking at me!!!!" or "Allie's using my cup!" or "Mama! Henry ate the last packet of oatmeal!" You know, that kinda stuff.
Anyway, so what I'm saying is that the booger culprit could have been any one of my three lovelies.
Anyway, flashforward a couple of hours, and I'm out and about with the kids in a PUBLIC PLACE (Michael's to be exact). Remember now, PUBLIC PLACE = I SEE PEOPLE AND PEOPLE SEE ME. We're strutting around. Things are great, and it's my day off to be with the kids. We're strolling down an aisle in the shop, and a woman walking towards us stops and admires my brood of chickadees. As she's looking at me, I'm thinking to myself. . . Yes, not only am I decently dressed. . . I flatironed my hair today too.
Her eyes linger a bit on my shoulder, she takes lets out a breath of hesitation, and then smiles and moves on down the aisle. I continue down the aisle in the opposite direction and then the moment occurs. You know, THE MOMENT. The M.o.B.R.!! My fingers somehow land in the slimey ball of green boogery mess, and as I pull my hand away, the booger stretches and snaps off of my sweater and onto my index finger. I try to flick it off, but to no avail. My fingers are now tangled and stuck in a CAT'S CRADLE OF GREEN SNOT. And it ain't pretty.
The kids start getting whiney. Someone mentions something about having to go pee pee. And damnit I have a booger stuck to my hand. Another lady starts heading my way now, and I start panicking. Wouldn't you? Eventually the booger flicks off and lands somewhere between the rows of rubber cement and the Plaster of Paris. And like the proper lady that I am, I leave it there. Shhh, don't tell.
Hours later, when I'm at home, and the kids are down for a nap, I sit on the couch and I laugh to myself. I laugh hard like a lunatic. When Hank comes home, I tell him all about my day, and he laughs too. When the kids get older, I can't wait to tell them the booger story. Heck! I can't wait to tell them all the stories: the story of Henry's candy cane that got stuck in Mama's hair. . . or the story of Alison's dried barf on my shoulder. . . these are the war stories of my life as a mama. May I wear them all like badges of honor.
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