Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Story of an Envelope

It was a plain white envelope in my mailbox. One with a see through window, with my name and address showing through. One that stated in the left corner that it was from our municipal courts.

I'm not an American citizen, only a permanent resident, which means I can't vote (not that my vote would matter, since I live in Texas, the capital of Republicanland) and I can't sit on a jury.

And as I stared down at that envelope, my blood went cold. I was being arrested for something. I just knew it. The problem is, I didn't know what. I clearly didn't remember killing someone, or even assaulting them. I had no outstanding parking tickets, but what if I had gotten one, didn't know about it because it flew away with a gust of wind, and now I was going to be thrown in jail for it.

Jail. As soon as my mind thought of the word, my mind went into over drive. Would Sweetie Pie bring the kids to jail to visit me? How often? How would the kids do without me? Would Sweetie Pie be able to figure out how to use the cloth diapers on his own? Or would he give up and use Huggies again, adding to the billions of diapers in our landfills? Would the kids eat McDonald's every day?

And my job. I love my job. Would they let me come back after my jail sentence? Or would I lose my job.

And then my mother entered my brain. I couldn't go to jail. My mother would kill me before I served a day in jail. I would be dead to her. The lecture I would get from my mother would be 1,000 times worst than a lifetime in jail.

All these thoughts crossed my mind as I tore the envelope open.

It was a jury summons. Apparently, the city doesn't know that I'm not a true American. They didn't get the memo. I'm not going to jail.

When I told Sweetie Pie all of these thoughts that went through my head, he looked at me like I had grown a third boob. Clearly, he said, it's a jury summons.

But I'd never gotten one. And I just hoped that Dateline or 20/20 would visit me in jail and tell the story of the mom who was thrown in jail for no good reason.

Unless it was because I've been rooting for Canada in the Olympic games, which I'm sure is a crime against the United States in all of the South.

My name is Catwoman. And I'm slightly overdramatic.

Love,

Catwoman.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Giggle Monkey

I know he's my kid. But I can't watch this video without laughing so hard that my tummy hurts.

I love how easily amused 15-month olds are. It's things like this that makes me wish he wasn't my last baby. But then he starts his incessant screeching, and my uterus pulls the shutter down and a 'closed for business' sign up.

video

Love,

Catwoman