It’s Only Monday

It’s only Monday and I’ve already done something smart, something stupid, and something silly.

The smart thing I did was to organize my boys’ drawers. I’ve been trying to weed out the clothes they don’t wear or don’t fit so that that all they have are three pair of pants, six shirts and one ‘church’ outfit. Around here what constitutes nice clothing is clean, fits well, has no holes and no super heroes adorning the front. I don’t care if there’s buttons or collars or pockets. Whatever my boys will wear to church is fine with me.

It’s what’s in their hearts I’m concerned about.

That, and their pockets.

My 12 year old suddenly doesn’t like to wear anything hot, and he insists that everything is hot. He’s taken to wearing shorts under his pants so that if he gets too hot he can just take his pants off. This horrifies his sisters but has little affect on me. It is a little disconcerting when he takes his shoes off at the start of the sermon and then wriggles out of his pants at about minute 12, but that’s why we sit in the balcony. Our audience is more limited up there.

Organizing their drawers won’t help that situation, but it will make getting dressed easier. Here’s hoping it lasts longer than 30 minutes.

 

The stupid thing I did was this:

IMG_4096
See? Young and girlish.

I looked in the mirror last night and thought, “I look kind of cute and girlish.” My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, my eyes were a little sleepy, but I thought my skin looked pretty and that I did not look at all  like my 42 years.

Here’s where I got stupid. I asked my days-away-from-18-year-old daughter if I looked old thinking she would agree with me and say, “No, you look practically girlish, almost like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.”

That is not what she said.

What she said is this: “Yeah, you do look a little old. Your eyes seem really baggy and you have a new wrinkle. You look like you need to sleep. A lot.”

Stupid, right?

She felt bad immediately after, especially when she noticed my face fall. I think when I started to ugly cry she was certain she’d said the wrong thing. I was given a quick back rub as an apology.

 

The silly thing I have done is lose my birth certificate. This is a long, drawn out story but I’m going to try and condense it. About six months ago Laurel, my 15 year old daughter, noticed that my drivers license has a capital M next to gender. We laughed about it and I completely forgot about it until my doctor needed a copy for their records, a copy of my driver’s license which has me marked as a man.  I felt a little panicked and wanted to explain but left it alone for fear of what the poor soul making the copy would think. Suddenly I grew worried that I was going to get pulled over and thrown in jail for something and be put in with the men because my driver’s license says I’m a male. The hubby and I went to the DMV. Our relationship with the DMV is shaky on a good day. This turned out not to be a good day.

I stood in line for a short while before being helped by a very sweet, very young girl. I quickly explained that my driver’s license was incorrect in identifying me as a male and I would like to have it changed.

“You’ll have to bring in your birth certificate to show that you were female at birth,” she said with a straight face, “then we can change your driver’s license.”

She also told me I’d probably have to pay for my replacement. My husband let her know we’d need to speak with her supervisor to clear up the situation. After I was assured that I would not have to pay for the replacement we left.

The next week, right before Christmas, I went back to the DMV with my birth certificate. It was raining so I put it in an envelope.

The DMV had moved to another location. Across town. Christmas traffic was mad so I decided to wait until after Christmas.

Since it’s now officially after Christmas I decided that today was the day to change the M to F on my driver’s license. I’m sick of the jokes from my family.

Unfortunately I cannot find the envelope that holds my birth certificate.

I have torn my bedroom apart. I have looked in the file I keep those things in no less than 2,357 times.

I think I’m going to have to order a new birth certificate.

Isn’t that silly?

 

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