Showing Your Ass

Ever have one of those days where you just embarrass yourself over and over? In my neck of the woods, acting stupid and embarrassing yourself is called "Showing Your Ass".

I've been busier than busy this last week---a dear friend is arriving this weekend to spend some time with us, so we've been picking the place up and getting a room ready for her. The craft studio is facing our busiest time of year---we've got shows to show up for, merchandise to sort, orders to fill, etc. Next week, weather permitting, we're having a mini-family reunion. Relatives from Australia, Maryland and other states will be here, and my mom has arranged that we all have lunch at my house. LOL

So yesterday at about 3:30am, I woke up with a major squawk.

I forgot my mom's birthday. Totally freaking forgot it.

It wasn't a few days ago---it was TWO WEEKS AGO!

Gah!

Now I'd spoken to her at least twice in the meantime, and she never said a word. WTF was up with that?

Gah!

As soon as the florist opened, I ordered a big honking bouquet and signed it "much love from your bad, forgetful daughter".

She called me a couple of hours later, overwhelmed by the truckload of blooms that were wheeled into her house. I apologized over and over.

Then she made an admission. She didn't say anything in our conversations about my forgetting her birthday, simply because she knew that I'd NEVER forget her birthday, and was afraid that I'd sent a bouquet, and the card the florist might have left in the screen door had blown away.

Because she'd been spending the majority of her days and nights at her 86-year-old beau's house and wasn't home. Snarf.

She was waiting for me to say, "did you like my flowers?", whereas she wasn't going to come out and admit that she "lost" them outright. Hahahahaha!

Between the time of ordering the flowers and getting the call from my mom, I showed my ass again in a really big way (when it rains, it pours).

Since Big Kid's illness, he calls me a lot during the day. Sometimes he calls 16 times a day. He has a compulsive disorder and an anxiety disorder, so frequently he has to call me when something freaks him out and he needs to get calmed and grounded. Sometimes he has to call me because he has to tell me something utterly trivial (he got to level 10 on some game). Needless to say, it's very disruptive when I'm trying to work.

We've been working with his cognitive therapist to cut down the calling times. Big Kid made a deal with Hubby---Hubby bought him a new computer system with the proviso that he'd cut his calls down to 2 a day unless there was a spurting stump involved.

So he's been making his 2 calls a day. Or what he surmises is his 2 calls a day. If I don't answer immediately, he won't leave a message. He'll just call six more times in a row, over and over and that counts as "one" call.

As if I'll suddenly materialize to answer the phone, since I haven't the first 5 times.

We've been joking that there's some kind of psychic connection because he always calls at the most inconvenient moment.

Like when I'm pooping. Or taking a bath. Or when I'm pooping. Or running up to the top of the road to get the mail. Or when I'm pooping. Or when Hubby and I have a child-free moment and are making the most of it. Or when I'm pooping. Since I actually only poop about once a day (I KNOW!! TMI!!!), it's amazing that he can specifically target this time to call me, since it varies.

All day long I'm home and near the phone, but never a call from anybody unless I'm tied up with the above. Usually pooping. I don't take the phone into the bathroom with me because, well...that would be gross.

Yesterday, after I called in Mom's bouquet, I was um---visiting the facilities when the phone rang. It rang 4 times, and then hung up when the machine picked up. Then rang again. Oh bother.

I hurried the best I could, but couldn't make it to the phone in time. Nothing like the anxiety of an incessantly ringing phone to make it all crawl back up there.

The caller hung up instead of leaving a message. Then the phone rang again. I looked at who was calling and it said "646" which is the first three digits of Big Kid's new phone number (due to his recent obsession with cell phones, the number changes every few weeks).

Exasperated, I pushed the "answer" button and bellowed, "How come the only time you call me is when I'm in the middle of taking a big huge crap?"!!!!

The voice on the other end of the line: Hello?

Me: Big Kid?

Other Guy: Uh, no, this is Erik, Little Guy's van driver. Who's this?

Me: I'm afraid to tell you.

Oy. Yes, it was embarrassing. Yes, I think Erik was wondering if he should actually RETURN Little Guy to the crazy woman with a potty mouth.

What a day! Even my ass is blushing.
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Thank you to everybody who responded to my Pantry Challenge. I'll get everything up sometime next week!