Flick The Ants

I hate ants.  Little black displays of disgust crawling on every counter top in my house.  I find them on my shoes and occasionally crawling up my skin.  I shutter just to think of it.  They're everywhere right now.  I wish there was just a simple way to rid myself of them, but no matter how much I clean, they're still crawling across fucking everything.  Quite disgusting in my realm.

I was going pee earlier (yes, I do that), and one was crawling across the bathroom counter.  I reached out and flicked it as hard as I could.  (I can never bear to actually kill them, if you can believe that.)  To my dismay, it landed about six inches from it's starting point, and wasn't dead.  It just kept on moving, a little discombobulated, but staying the course.

I realized at that second, that my week was like the life of an ant living on my bathroom counter.  Flicked, but staying the course, going for the prize if you will.

Wednesday morning was crap.  I was opening Greenleaf, and actually (for the first time) left on time to clock in at just the right moment.  Cruising along Hwy 99, about a mile from my house, my car froze.  Well, it didn't freeze, it just quit working. (FLICK THE ANT!) I pulled along the side of the road (thank goodness there was a place to pull over to), and sat.  Thirty seconds later, I thought there must be a mistake.  I just bought this car.  I tried to crank the key, turn it over, and nothing.  Was I out of gas?  No, but it sure smelled like gasoline.

I pulled out my phone.  First call: Daniel, the bossman.  He said all was fine, not to worry, that work was under control.  Secretly, I knew he was judging me, wondering if my story were true, or if I was just running late.  I am just like Daniel, in a lot of ways.  Distrust without showing it is one of them.  I sat again for a few seconds, thinking of what to do.  I couldn't call Ben.  In our fight the night before, he had smashed up his phone.  Susan was either sleeping or at work, and with so little days off, I couldn't bother her if indeed she was sleeping.  Dave was unavailable, for unmentionable reasons.  My dad?  Well, he takes forever to do anything, so calling him would be a 10 am opening for the restaurant.  Hmmm.  I could walk home, get the other car.  That would take twenty minutes, at least.  Plus, I still have two children to drop off.  Call a cab?  I have no cash, and my car would be stuck on the side of the road.

I have to call Phil.  Phil is Ben's dad, we've met a few times.  I bought my car from him, as well as borrowed long-term a washer and dryer.  7:15 am, I'm sure, was too early to call.  But I did.  I also called Ben's sister to take the boys to school.  Twenty minutes saved is twenty minutes earned, right?  Phil arrived at the same time Tessa did.  When Phil got out of the car, he said, "Sure smells like gasoline."  He found the fuel line disconnected, fixed it, and I was off in two minutes.  I arrived at work two minutes before 8 am.

That afternoon, Garrett's teacher informed me that Garrett was having a hard time fitting in.  She was worried, and I said I would try to find out what was up.  In the car (which was still running, thank god!) on the way home, Garrett said he was being bullied.  He said kids were calling him "stupid".  He also, with tears in his eyes, said he was "starting to believe them."  (FLICK THE ANT!)

I went straight to mama bear mode.  My cub was in trouble.  I called the principal.

She said things like that didn't happen at Helman, and that she was sorry he was "being excluded" at recess.  She said she would have the councilor speak with him.  NO!  NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!  I didn't say he needed council.  I didn't say it was solely exclusion.  I know he has social issues, and if it were exclusion alone, I might ask for help for Garrett adapting to the situation.  Susan, my son is a victim of bullying.  He is being "name called."  What is your protocol?  What is the protocol of the district?  I need to know your plan of action, or I will create one of my own.  I am nice, Susan, until given a reason not to be.  If your policies in place don't handle it, then I will."


Today, I went to Garrett's school, just to see what was happening at recess, see what he was doing.  He was sitting alone.  It wasn't two minutes later that I was approached by the Councilor of the school (FLICK THE ANT!).  Sure, I'm available to meet for ten minutes, no problem.

No, Garrett does not need council from the school district.  He does not need to be on an IEP.  I realize the school gets money for special needs kids, and I understand why you would push that.  However, I refuse to put a label on a child who is doing just fine.  His social and emotional issues will be dealt with out of the school system, thank you very much.  (At the point, I bet it was her that was FLICKING THAT FUCKING ANT!)

I got home to an e-mail from Garrett's teacher, explaining that he told her we lived in Talent, now.  I needed to fill out an "inter-district transfer," and if it were approved, Garrett could stay at Helman.  FLICK THE ANT!!!!!!!!!!!

Ben was home sick today, and I had to help a little at Avalon.  Just helping open, driving him there, etc.  I didn't want him to pull over puking on his way to unlock the door.  When I got there, the napkins (brand new company, nicely colored napkins) were all different on every table.  I couldn't help myself.  I unwrapped and re-rolled all of them.  FLICK THE ANT!  Is it really that difficult to tell the difference between cream colored (for the table) and white (for the bread baskets) napkins?  Even the ones that were rolled were rolled inside out, seams facing the customers.  I drew the line there though.  I didn't want to OCPD about the whole thing.

I've been like a flicked fucking ant all week long.  Discombulated, but I will sure as hell stay the course.  I just flicked the the last ant of the night.  Then I wrote.  I JUST FLICKED THE LAST FUCKING ANT OF THE NIGHT.  Tomorrow, I'm going to kill them all, then let whomever the fuck cares decide.