Pua's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

It started out right. Got everyone off to school and work. Tidied up, washed the breakfast dishes, got a couple of loads of laundry done, and was just about to head out into the world. Unlike other days, I had a short list today. Some of my list included some well deserved playtime, on good advisement:

1. Take a picture for the new tribe photo project. (I love field trips!)
2. Find a nice postcard for Hot Toddy
3. Visit Mum-in-law at the nursing home and take her clean laundry to her.
4. Go to Bry's waterpolo game.
5. Play Tag and Duck, Duck, Goose with Patrick.

Doesn't seem so awful difficult. In fact, I was looking forward to it. I was actually a little giddy about it. I even called Charlie at work and flirted with him. Does phone sex count as real sex? Let's just humor me, shall we? Yes indeed, it was going to be a good day.

And then Hurricane Reality hit; full-force. The bitch.

First the call from the nursing home. Mom had fallen down by stubbornly attempting to exert her independence. Even though she knows the rules about not trying to stand up on her own, she did. And now we're back at square one. Three weeks of rehab down the drain.

On the way to the nursing home; the call from the son. Bryson had missed his bus to get to the game:

He: So, um, uh, I, uh, I missed the bus.

Me: Excuse me?

He: I missed the bus to waterpolo.

Me: Why did you miss the bus?

He: I was in the lunch line.

Me: Why were you in the lunch line when I made your lunch for you?

He: Uh, well, I was waiting for a friend to get their lunch.

Me: That "friend" a girl?

He: *silence*

Me: So do I have to come and get you to take you to the game?

He: No. It's no big deal. It's just one game.

Me: It is too a big deal. Your team is depending on you. Besides, it's a class Bry. Just like any other class. It still gets a grade. You don't get a good grade by not showing.

He: Fine. I just don't want to go.

Me: Why? What's the story?

He: Well, it's one thing for YOU to be pissed at me. But it's WORSE to have Coach be pissed at me. And he's gonna be pissed at me. I don't wanna see his face when I show up.

Me: (laughing) Great! Don't budge from that spot. I'll be right there to take you.

He he he. Sometimes it works out so much better when I'm not alone in the pissy department.

So I pick up the son and while we're driving along, there is complete silence. After a LONG ten or so minutes, he talks:

He: So, I'm sitting in French class today and the phone rings. Then Madame tells me to go to the office.

Me: Am I gonna be unhappy about this?

He: NO...I didn't do anything.

Me: Ok. Go ahead.

He: So I go to the office and I see Max (his buddy) sitting outside the principal's office and they tell me to sit next to him. And I ask Max what was going on. He says this chick accused us of peeing on some guy.

Me: WHAT???

He: Yeah! I'm like "WHAT THE HELL?" (yes, he actually said that). Who said that we did that? So Max tells me this chick throws some stuff in a bottle at this guy and then tells the guy that she PAID Bryson and Max ten bucks to pee in the bottle. WHAT THE HELL? (yes, he said it again).

Me: So Grommet, what happened?

He: The principal called me and Max in and told us the story. She said she didn't believe the girl and the story sounded too stupid and unbelieveable to be true. She also said that the girl has been in trouble before.

Me: Do you know this girl?

He: Well, I saw her at the football game last week. But that's it. I said "hi" to her, but I don't think she heard me and she got mad at me and stormed off.

Me: So what happened with the principal? Do I have to call and follow up?

He: No, I handled it.

Me: Well, it can't hurt to find out what they're doing about it. Not that I don't trust you Bry. I don't trust that girl. If she's willing to say nasty stuff like that for attention and attach your name to it, it can't hurt for the principal to know your parents are behind you. I appreciate you telling me this. Says a lot about you. Now, let's get you to waterpolo...because I gotta go take care of your grandmother.

He: (smiling slyly) If it would be less trouble for you, you can just drop me off at home. You don't have to take me all the way to waterpolo.

Me: Nice try Hot Shot. You're going. I wanna see Coach's face when you show up.

I drop Bry off and on the way, yet again, to the nursing home, I make a call to the principal:

Me: Hi, this is Pua H. I'm Bryson's mom.

She: Ah yes, nice young man. Very respectful. I'm sorry he got dragged into this. Shame really. I knew it wasn't true. It's just too preposterous. But, we had to get the story since it could boil down to something truly serious if it was actual bodily fluids. You know, health issues, and even sexual harassment. Seems the boys have been full of testoserone lately. This is the second incident this week involving sperm.

Me: Excuse me?

She: (continuing) Luckily, the fluid was just lotion and not ejaculate as the accusor stated.

Me: WHAT???

She: I can assure you that this young girl is being dealt with and her parents are being notified of her involvement. Bryson's name is not showing up on any school documents. He was very helpful in setting the record straight. I'm very happy he spoke with you about it. He's a very lovely young man.

Me: Um, yes. Well thank you. Thanks. Goodbye.

Okay, so now I have to figure out whether my son just changed the story a little bit because he just couldn't talk to me about cum. Pee is still up for open dialogue with the parental units. But I guess spooey is just a little too much for a 15 year old freshman to talk with his mom about. Then I imagine this girl and how that conversation with her parents must be going. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith, your daughter is being suspended for ...um....well..." Just exactly how would you present that? Geez, what's the world coming to. Uh, no pun intended.

While my frazzled brain is trying to wrap itself around all of this as I'm driving, I notice that my tank is pretty low and I should probably get some gas. Pull up to the pump, run my ATM card through, pump my gas, stick my card in my pocket, and I'm off again. There's a store on the way to the rehab center, so I pull over and grab a few things, one of which is a nice little postcard that should soon be on it's way to PFO. Get up to the register, open my wallet; no ATM. Oh yeah, I put it in my pocket at the gas station. Reach into my pocket; no ATM. SHIT! Apologize to the clerk because I have NO CASH, and walk out the door, frustrated.

Get to my car, search high and low; no ATM. Must have fallen out of my pocket at the gas station. Go back to the gas station, look around the pump, go inside and talk to the clerk; no ATM. CRAP! Get on the phone, call the bank to report it missing. I'll go back to the store later and retrieve those needed things, but for now, I gotta get to the nursing home.

Pull into the parking lot, which will only accomodate 8 cars, and those spaces are all full. I literally have to BACK my van out of the parking lot, drive around the block, and park a block away in another business's parking lot. When I walked into Mom's room, both she and her roomie were fast asleep, mouths wide open. The nurse informs me they gave her a pain pill and she'll probably be out for awhile. I hang her clean laundry in her closet and leave. I'll go back later.

When I get out to my van, there's a HUGE cement mixer blocking me in. I can't go anywhere. So I sit and wait. While I'm waiting, my phone rings, it's my mother in law:

She: Hi Honey. I thought you were coming to bring me my clothes.

Me: I did Mom. Your things are in your closet.

She: No you didn't. I've been waiting for you.

Me: Mom, I was just in there. You were asleep and the nurse said you had taken a pain pill and would be out for awhile. So I hung your clothes up and left.

She: Honey, I've been sitting here all this time and I haven't seen you.

Me: ::sigh:: Fine.

So I get out of my car and walk the block back to the home, go into her room, and she's dozed off, with the phone in her hand. I take the phone out of her hand and she wakes with a start. I say hello, walk over to the closet and open the door to show her her clean clothes.

She: Well, goodness, you're fast.

Me: Yes, I amaze even myself.

She: Thank you Honey.

Me: You're welcome.

She falls asleep again. I kiss her forehead and leave. Again. When I get back to my van, the cement truck is gone and I'm free to go. I figure, I'm THIS close to the beach. That would make a really nice picture for the tribe photo project and I head down the hill to the water. Find a parking space, walk out to get a good shot of the jetty with the pier in the distance. Beautiful. Turn my camera on. Nothing.
Dead as a doornail. I give up.

I head home quickly. Before there's an earthquake and the ground opens up and swallows me. Nah...I couldn't get THAT lucky.

Tomorrow, I think I'll stay in.