Suburban Goddess

“How many daughters did you have, sir?”

“Two. But I would have taken five boys instead.”

“But boys break stuff!”

“Yes, but I can FIX that stuff….”

I’ve reached the point of so much multi-tasking that I can’t get any of the tasks correct anymore.  This is a dangerous thing, because I’ve found in the past three days, I’ve passed my exit on the Interstate FOUR times.  I almost forgot to pick up my carpooler once, and twice I’ve almost forgotten to drop off my child at daycare.

I’m a big hot mess right now.

I can’t really pinpoint what’s changed, other than missing my thyroid medication for a couple of days… but I can’t imagine it would have that much of an impact in just three days. I actually have LESS on my plate that usual, because I don’t have the freelance stuff to contend with that I used to.

Is middle age finally starting to set in?  I don’t want to go senile! I’m not ready yet!

“She has the personality of a postage stamp.”

“What?”

“I said-”

“I know what you said, I’m trying to figure out what you were getting at. Are you saying she’s been around?”

“No! Man, it’s no wonder people are always mad at me… maybe I need to choose my words more carefully.”

“At least your metaphors…”

If the entire floor can hear your phone conversation, you may consider taking it OUTSIDE.

While I was home, Mom was going through a bunch of their old files when she found a file containing some of my old school information. I flipped through the file, finding an old handbook on Guidelines For Raising A Gifted Child.

I tested out of regular courses pretty early on… I remember being in specialized courses as early as fourth grade. As I progressed through my school career, the hour a day turned into a full-fledged gifted program. Other kids would look at me and my counterparts with envy as we were pulled out of regular classes to attend “enrichment” courses.

This is where the ego began.

I used to think giftedness meant I was smarter than “regular” kids. After all, they teased me mercilessly for being a “nerd,” so that made me smarter, right? I learned to embrace the label, reveling in my “giftedness.”

So when I went to college, it was serious culture-shock. They never taught me how to actually sit in a regular classroom and take notes. I lost focus quickly. I grew bored. And unfortunately, when I grow bored, I develop a raging case of narcolepsy, which became apparent when my head would hit the desk with a resounding THUD, eliciting giggles and stares from my fellow students.

Anyway, back to being special. So my first year of college, I signed up for a Child Psychology class, and I was excited that Giftedness was a topic to be discussed on the curriculum. I would be able to stay awake through that one! I walked in the day we were covering the topic with a sense of smugness.

I’ve got this topic covered. After all, I’M GIFTED.

All my self-esteem came tumbling down like Paris Hilton in a homemade porno when the professor stood at the front of the room and crushed my entire vision of childhood.

“While many actually think giftedness is enhanced intelligence, it’s actually considered a LEARNING DISORDER.”

This is the day my self-esteem died.

Wha, wha, WHAT? LEARNING DISORDER? I knew kids with learning disorders; they rode the short bus. And little did I know, “giftedness” qualified me for that bus, too. As he continued to explain our cognitive differences, I stared at the blackboard in disbelief. I wasn’t special, I was SPESH-SHUL.

Ugh.

So when I found the pamphlet at Mom’s house, I flipped through and couldn’t stop myself from laughing. One page had a list of comparisons of what it was like to be gifted. These three were my favorite:

BEING GIFTED IS LIKE….

… being a giraffe in a herd of gazelles.

… driving a Lamborghini on a highway of Chevys.

… being a circle in a room full of squares.

HA! So take that, normal people! I may be learning disabled, but you’re all a bunch of SQUARES.

(Now I see why Mom kept that information from me for 25 years.)

There has never been a song more appropriate than this one… love it, love it, love it….

“Hey, did you see what headline they were running on the front page today?”

“No.  What?”

“‘Divorced blogger dishes about her ex.’ That’s hysterical.”

“Oh crap.  Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Funny!”

“Not funny.  It sounds like Desperate Housewives.”

“Desperate DIVORCED Housewives! Juicy!”

“Leave it to the mainstream media to sensationalize a Mommyblog.”

“Ack! Ack!  I know!  You’re all, like, Meryl Streep and shit…”

(sigh)

“I’m worried about you over there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You keep talking to yourself.”

“I’m not talking to MYSELF… I’m talking to the BOX… and it’s NOT COOPERATING.”

Although I know I’m never alone (all I ever have to do is pick up the phone, which some would point out is surgically attached to my wrist), I really miss having a significant “other” in my life.

Life’s various circumstances has lead me to cross paths with some amazing people this past year… people I could easily see myself spending a lifetime with… but those same circumstances also make it impossible to do so. I keep telling myself, “it’s just not time.”

But I wonder, will it ever be?

It would be so nice to be able to depend on someone right now.

I didn’t realize how often I use threats of violence in a playful way until a friend of mine pointed it out.

He’s in law enforcement.

So I set about to alter my behavior, since some people don’t see the humor in threatening to stab someone in the neck with a paper clip or poking someone in the femoral artery with a pencil. Of course, I would NEVER do something like that… but the thought of certain people rolling around on the floor with a pencil stuck in their leg is FUNNY to me.

(If you don’t like it, the address bar is directly above. Go away. This is MY BLOG.)

The problem is that I didn’t realize how deeply ingrained this behavior is. But others do, and are taking great pleasure in trying to provoke it out of me. Some days the teasing is so intense that my jaw locks from grinding my teeth shut…. after a moment, I give myself a little cheer. Two claps and a “yea, me!” I did it. I made it through the moment without a threat of violence.

Unfortunately, that has also backfired, because when someone pushes me past my breaking point and I mumble quietly, “I could kick you IN THE HEAD,” this particular person continues to mock me by clapping twice with evil glee:

“Yea, ME!”