I have a tendency to be a little fucking strange... a lot awkward and more than a fair amount of weird. “So, you’re quirky?” Yeah, yeah. Quirky. In my early 20’s at a casual work lunch, my boss told a story about how a woman accused her of flirting with her husband. My boss told us her response to the wife was, “Please, I don’t want your short, bald husband.” Everyone around the corporate lunch table laughed... except me. I was confused. So I asked her, “Wait, how did you know he had short balls?” Now, just like everyone around that lunch table, you might be thinking to yourself, “WTF!” Let me explain. What everyone else heard: “Short bald husband.” A man of small stature with little to no hair on his head. What I heard: “Short balled husband.” A man with remarkably ‘short’ testicles. Yup. This is me. This is my brain. It took me quite some time to accept myself. When someone asks, "How are you?" I'm no longer surprised when my response is, "Feeling things. Living earth." I expect a few puzzled looks every so often. Why do I respond that way? I have no fucking idea. I want to say, "Awesome. Thanks for asking. How are you?" But it seems, from time to time, I'm not capable of such simple small talk. And, as luck would have it, my being awkward isn't reserved for chit chat. I can also make a total ass of myself when trying to do something nice for others. Take this past Friday for example. I just wanted to buy coffee for a fellow Starbucks lover in the drive-thru. Instead, I think I may have lost my local shop a repeat customer. No way that woman will be back and risk bumping into me again.


It was the last day of school for my boys and, of course, I woke up late. I spent the morning running around yelling and searching for missing shoes before finally hopping into the car, barefoot and still in my pajamas. Typical mom shit. Fifteen minutes after I dropped them off, I got a phone call from my oldest son. "Mom, I forgot my science textbook. You have to bring it to me now or you'll have to pay for it." Yup. Typical kid shit. After changing into more presentable attire, I made a second drop-off at the school. I let out a frustrated sigh as I pulled away. Of course, this is how the last day of school would turn out. The adrenaline started to wear off from rushing around and my head started to throb. I needed coffee.


During the drive to Starbucks, the DJ on the radio was talking about the Mister Rogers documentary. It got me thinking about stepping-up my kindness game. I wanted to start doing more good deeds for "my neighbor." This would be my first step towards disaster. There I was, a car away from ordering my coffee in the drive-thru. As I opened my wallet to check for cash, I realized I had two $10 Starbucks gift cards. This was it. This was my time to shine. I would buy coffee for "my neighbor." But not the normal way. EVERYONE buys for the person behind them. I would buy for the person in front of me. How? Well, I'd walk up to their car window, hand them a gift card and say, "Your coffee is on me today. Have a great day!" Then we'd share a smile and life would seem a little less bleak. I truly believed that’s what would happen before I opened my door and stepped out.


Maybe I should have walked slower, but I was excited. I had a little pep in my step. And in my voice. I can see now how that "pep" could translate to carjacker, but at the time I was riding high on my impending act of kindness. I never expected to cause a sense of impending doom. As I leaned down next to the open car window, I noticed the driver was talking with another woman in her passenger seat.


"Hey!" I called out. The woman's head spun around, and her eyes bulged from her head. She was leaning so far away from me; her torso was in the other woman's lap.

"AHHH! OH MY GOD! WHAT?!" She yelled in a panic.

"A $10 gift card for you," I said as her eyes scanned my hands for weapons.

"WHAT?! OKAY. FINE. I'LL TAKE IT." She was still yelling. I assume in an effort to assert dominance.

"Yes. Gift card. Coffee." I pointed. I was Tarzan. Me, carjacker. Her, terrified.

"OKAY. GREAT." Still yelling. It was obvious that she wanted me to go away. I stood there for a moment or two, silent. I was trying to quickly think of something to say to defuse the situation, but I knew I'd only make things worse. I then thought, "What the fuck are you doing?! You're still standing here. Silent. You look insane!" It was time to leave.


I walked back to my car and ordered my coffee. I watched as the woman in front of me paid with cash and not my gift card. Then I watched as she pointed me out to the cashier, who gazed back at me with a very puzzled look on her face. I started shaking my head and laughing at what had just happened. Why did I shout "Hey!?" Why couldn't I have chosen a less intimidating greeting? A nice standard, "Hello," would have sufficed. Also, why didn't I try to reassure her that I was just a nice person with a good intention? Instead, I turned into fucking Sling Blade!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!" I pulled up to the drive-thru window and paid for my latte. I'm certain while I was there, they made sure to get a clear shot of me on the surveillance footage. A print-out of my face would definitely be posted in the manager's office the next day. Only I could go from "Good Samaritan" to "Gift Cardjacker," in the blink of an eye. Sorry, Mister Rogers. I tried. This neighbor just comes off more like stranger danger .

I wrote this "Letter of Apology" to my mom a few years back and it still makes me giggle. Thinking about what a handful the boys were makes me glad to be past that age, but it also makes me yearn for those times when they were so little. As crazy as it sounds, I do miss the craziness. But more than anything, I miss the innocence... and definitely the naps too. If I'm going to be really honest, I'm dreading puberty. I'm not ready to have a house full of "dirty socks." I just want to rewind and go back to the bitty babies who only saw boobies as a meal- the age when they not only kept it in their pants, they kept it in a diaper too. I'm feeling way too far from tot and much too close to teen, and its FREAKING ME OUT, MAN! The time, where has it gone? I'm sorry I never believed my mom when she said how fast it would go. I guess I should add that to the list of apologies below....

Enjoy!

This is my formal letter of apology to my mother for all of my toddler shenanigans. In writing this apology I am hoping to lift whatever curse/hex she put on me long ago. You know, the one that goes, “I hope you have a child JUST LIKE YOU someday!” I scoffed at those words long ago, but they aren't so funny anymore. Not only do I have a child like me, I have two of them. I know my Mother is thrilled by this because anytime I call to share one of the kids' most recent mind boggling stunts, she usually responds with, “Yup. I remember when you did that.” And I swear I can hear her grin through the phone, basking in the karmic retribution. So, since my experiences have bared such a close resemblance to my Mother’s, I will use them as models for what I am so whole-heartedly sorry for.

Mom, I want to apologize for never letting you get ANY quality sleep, EVER. I’m sorry I would wake up sixty times throughout the night. I’m sorry that each time I woke up it would be just before you dozed off. I’m sorry you would wake up just as you started to doze off when I didn’t wake up because you were sure I stopped breathing. I’m sorry I woke up from naps early on the days you needed to get as much shit done around the house as possible before dad started calling you Peggy Bundy. I’m sorry dad started calling you Peggy Bundy. I’m sorry for being one of the main reasons you had SO much to do around the house.

I’m sorry for pulling all the books and movies off the shelves. I'm sorry I left a clothes trail wherever I went. I’m sorry for spilling ev-er-y fucking drink I got my hands on. I’m sorry I then played in those drink puddles and was somehow able to splash them to the ceiling.

I'm sorry I only ate cheese puffs for an entire month and made you question what kind of person you were for letting me do that. I’m sorry for telling you the food you cooked was "yucky" when you tried to make something new. I'm sorry I would eat corndogs dipped in my chocolate milk instead, and tell you how good it was while you dumped $70 worth of food down the sink. I'm sorry you would eventually find $70 worth of food CRUMBS under the couch cushions, along with 3 crayons broken into 200 pieces, 17 mismatched socks, a salt shaker, your good tweezers, and your car key you paid $300 to replace.

I’m sorry for getting into your makeup and putting lipstick, blush and eye shadow all over me and the walls. I’m sorry I also crushed it into your beige carpets and made it impossible to yell at my Picasso-clown-face without laughing. I’m sorry for eating your expensive face creams and then screaming so loud that you couldn’t hear poison control tell you I’d be fine, but may have diarrhea.

I’m sorry I had explosive diarrhea right before you were trying to run out the door to make an appointment on time. I’m sorry I pulled my diaper off and pissed and shit all over the house. I'm sorry that after I was potty trained, piss and shit still ended up all over the house. I’m sorry that what made it in the toilet was your cell phone, your toothbrush, your hair brush, rolls of toilet paper, markers, crayons, toys, shoes, jewelry, etc... I’m sorry I also tried to eat every one of those items.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be pleased 85% of the fucking time unless you gave me fruit snacks. I’m sorry that you were sorry after every time you took me to a grocery store, mall or restaurant. I’m sorry you had severe anxiety attacks when you went to those places WITHOUT me, due to post traumatic stress. I’m sorry for running faster than the fucking roadrunner immediately after learning to walk. I’m sorry I climbed up every object taller than myself like a monkey with a death wish. I’m sorry I had the brain of a gnat and the fearlessness of Evel Knievel and would jump off, into, and onto the most dangerous places possible. I’m sorry I found each and every sharp-ish fricken thing in our house and stuck it in or around my face.

I’m sorry I made you crazier than a shit house rat. Truly, I am. After all the things I put you through, I can not express in words how amazed I am that I survived past my toddler years. And when I say “survive” I don’t only mean because you didn’t strangle me after I destroyed irreplaceable or expensive items, I also mean because you were always right there to catch me when I would jump from the top of the steps while you stood at the very bottom. I owe you one... or two.

Your Very Remorseful Daughter,

Michelle