Suburban Goddess

A couple of nights ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table working on a project on my laptop as Alex played nearby. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her wandering towards the dog food bowl. Our dog has never been protective of his food, but he is nine years old, so I don’t want Alex playing in his food in case he decides to snap.

“Leave that alone,” I told her half-heartedly. Of course, she ignored me, as she now likes to do. She picked up the empty food bowl and started to wander into the kitchen with it. I opened my mouth to reprimand her again, but then she threw me for a loop.

Very deliberately, she put the bowl down in front of the pantry, opened the door, and proceeded to fill it up, one tiny handful at a time. Then she carefully closed the door, picked up the bowl, and started to bring it back to its original position. Halfway there, she tripped on the tile and fell, the dog food scattering everywhere. When she began to cry, I’m quite sure it was because she failed at her task, not because she hurt herself. I was so stunned by her behavior that I quickly scooped her up and kissed away her disappointment. We picked up the dog food together, and I put the bowl back where it belonged. Alex watched with a beaming smile as the dog dived into the food. It was that moment when I had a serious reality check.

You completely take it for granted, the ability to do and say as you please around your baby. And suddenly, one day, they’re not a baby anymore, and you realize that phase is over. For a fleeting moment, I was as profoundly sad as I was proud. I don’t have a baby anymore. I am the proud mother of a little girl.

In my first week of attempting to be consistant, I have made one employee cry, made another cash in three vacation days, and had two sales representatives call me a bitch.

I’d say I’m making progress.

“License and insurance, please ma’am.”

“Yes sir.” I hand him my license and realize with a sense of complete dread that I’ve left my new insurance card on the desk at home. I hand him the expired one and pray he’s in a good mood. He’s not.

“Your insurance has expired. Do you have a current card?”

“Yes, sir, but it hasn’t made it to my truck yet.” Please don’t tow me, please don’t tow me. Alex cooed in her carseat, and the officer took pity on me.

“All right, I’m going to write you the citation, but you can call the courthouse and fax them a current copy.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I promise I’ll put it in my glove box as soon as I get home.” I offered him an apologetic smile, but he did not respond. I’m sure he’s heard the excuse a million times before.

Silence as he writes the ticket. Slightly uncomfortable. Finally he mumbles out of the side of his lips.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, Ms. MacLaughlin?”

“Yes sir.”

“You were going 53 in a 35.”

“Would you believe I was dyslexic?” I offered with another smile.

The look on his face told me he obviously did not. Without another word, he handed me the ticket and walked back to his motorcycle, ready to nail the next unsuspecting speeder. I hope, for their sake, that they don’t give that officer any attitude.