When I first started blogging, I participated in something that happened on Fridays. But I can't remember what and I'm really too lazy to go back and check. Anyway, I don't come across as many blog carnivals as I used to, but I find that specific topics (ie True Confession Tuesday) help me blog more consistently. I'm the kind of person who needs boundaries and goals. I would have a much cleaner house, for example, if someone were grading me on it.
Anyway, recently I realized that, along with a svelte figure and sleep, motherhood has robbed me of my social skills. I have no emotional intelligence - in fact, I can barely remember to ask people how they are. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I'm trying to keep from ripping my hair out. That takes up most of what's left of my brainpower. Consequently, I make a lot of les faux pas. And you know the way I handle embarrassment is by blogging about it.
Faux 1
A hot morning. Preschool is over for the year (more on that later). Hot Guy has the car. I need to go to the bank and the library and entertain my kids. So I have the genius idea that we'll walk on all of these errands, with a side trip to the Dunkin Donuts for a munchkin bribe. The bank is not that far, but between pushing a 25 pound kid, 40 pounds of books and the heat, I am a sweaty mess by the time we get there. And of course it's annoying and the baby starts screaming to get out of the stroller halfway through. Fortunately, the air-conditioned mecca of sugar is next door. I assume it will be fairly empty at this time of the morning, but naturally it is crowded so by the time I get the sugar and my diet Pepsi I am already flustered. I can barely get through with the stroller and the big table in the back is blocked by 2 standing women. They are talking to a woman at another table, and don't seem to notice us. So I squeeze the kids in next to the seated woman. When she turns around, I apologize and say pointedly, "There was no other room." She smiles and says hi to my kids, tells the daughter on her lap to do the same. I stand and chug my diet Pepsi and stifle ChunkMonkey's "Out!OUt!" yells with glazed munchkins. The woman asks me if we've walked there and I nod and wonder why she keeps talking to me. She seems surprised that I'm not really talking back. But I'm hot and all I want is for her to leave so I can sit.
It's not until after she's left that I realize she lives down the street from us. Our children have played together in the cul-de-sac. I used to know her name.
Oops.
