Wimpy White Boy

I have been a bad, bad blogger as of late, but as of tonight I have been a good, good patient.  I threw my back out, took my expired muscle relaxers, added a dose of red wine (where I come from a dose is actually two glasses- hey, I'm from Detroit: where the weak are killed and eaten, stay with me here, people.)  Another round of ibuprofen and really, right at this exact moment in time I'm ready to blog my ass off.  Or I'm ready to pass out and seek some serious medical counseling tomorrow, one of the two.  In the meantime, I've been having fun writing the story of my premature son, Colin, that I am calling "Wimpy White Boy,"  and just enjoying throwing some ideas around on paper.  I have 75,000 first pages to this book.  This is the first, first page.  I'm going to post the other 74,999 first pages tomorrow.  Please account for this unexpected turn of events while budgeting your free time tomorrow.  Great, thanks.

When I woke-up on the morning of October 21st, 2004, nothing seemed out of the norm.  It’s not like I woke-up delightful and cheery.  That morning I rolled my seven months pregnant self out of bed and barked at my husband, Ethan, for leaving his dirty clothes on the floor all while tripping over my own pile of filthy laundry, which isn’t hypocritical on any level.  (Oh, you do think it’s hypocritical?  Okay, Ethan.)  After spreading my usual morning goodwill, I moseyed myself on over to my high school teaching job where I taught freshman and sophomore geography. 

Technically the one geography class I took in college during the Reagan Administration would no longer qualify me to actually teach geography, but this was before No Child Left Behind was enacted.  We left children behind all the time back then.  It was particularly difficult for the child we left behind on the field trip to the Natural Disasters Museum.  Gabe, if you’re reading this, glad to see the museum now has a bookshop. 

Getting through my half day teaching job at this stage in my pregnancy was no easy task.  I was an extremely irritable, grumpy pregnant woman who barked at people without just cause all day long.  I’m not trying to promote stereotypes here.  No, I’m just kidding.  I totally am.  It probably didn’t help that I was stressed from spending all morning everyday teaching a class I wasn’t fluent in.  It’s challenging teaching geography when you can’t point to Yemen on a map to save your life.  But it’s not just me who can’t find it.  I’d be willing to bet all of those kids I taught geography to over the years couldn’t find it either.

On this particular day I had plans to unwind after work by going shopping with a friend and her five-month-old.  As it turns out, shopping with a five-month-old is about as relaxing as sitting on the tip of an orbiting rocket.  I want to go on record as saying I have never actually sat on the tip of an orbiting rocket.  I would have assumed you knew that, but five minutes ago you thought all geography teachers know where Yemen is.

Obviously I picked-up carry-out for dinner on my way home from shopping.  If that wasn’t obvious to you it’s only because this is Chapter One and you’re still getting to know me.  By Chapter Three you’ll be surprised that back in Chapter One I picked-up carry-out instead of getting delivery.  By Chapter Six I will probably already have had my second child and both of my kids will be throwing macaroni and cheese at each other, but for the record, I made the mac and cheese myself (Easy Mac, but still…). 

After dinner Ethan went right up to bed exclaiming, “I have never been this tired in my life!” 

(cliff hanger...sorry...this concludes Page 1 of "Wimpy White Boy."  Based on past trends, Page 2 will be posted on the 3rd night of Passover...in April)


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