Resident Moron

Yep, that would be me. The Resident Moron. I screwed up twice today (thus far,) that I know of, anyway.

Me First’s school had a “Learning Demonstration” today. (Who knew learning could be so easily demonstrated, in one morning, no less?) Of course he had no clue whatsoever what would be happening today, which meant that between the two of us we probably managed to muster together about 0.04% of a clue. (Daddy is out of town today. If he’d been here we might have accumulated about a half a clue extra.)

The first problem was that we had no idea what time Me First needed to go to school. All I knew was that the program started at 9:30. I got Me First dressed and ready and sent him off when I saw other kids leaving for school, which ended up being the regular weekday time.

Me First insisted he didn’t need to take his school bag. In fact, I had a note from school confirming this and asking the children bring their 手さげ (shoulder bag.) This would have been easy enough to accomplish had Me First actually brought his shoulder bag home from school. Of course he’d left it there, so he set off this morning with a random backpack. He seemed happy with that, which was good enough for me.

The program we received from school said the presentation would be from 9:30-11:40. Me Too and I went to school at 9:30.

It was absolute mayhem.

Apparently the morning had been split into two halves, with each class performing the same program twice. This makes sense, since many families have children in more than one class. These halves had been split once more, so the classes could watch each other. So while First Grade Class 1 was doing their show, Class 2 could watch. Children being children, there was much running about to watch siblings, throw stuff, with some wrestling and rough housing thrown in for good measure.

Being the idiot that I am, I didn’t realize the class would be repeating the program. I had planned to stay to watch both. We ended up being able to leave much earlier than I’d anticipated.

Saturday is English school day for us. Today was show-and-tell day, so Me Too and I rushed off and caught the last thirty minutes or so.

And in so doing committed error #2, though technically I feel that this one is my husband’s fault.

After a very rushed lunch, we arrived back home in time to meet Me First on his way back from school. It was then I discovered FOUR messages on my answering machine.

Apparently today was the day to pick up and pay for fire extinguishers. The fire department representative was in the neighborhood to collect money and check off the names of those who had placed orders, which, unbeknownst to me, HRH had done.

In fairness, he had asked me if I thought we needed one. He didn’t say he had ordered it, that it needed to be picked up and paid for, and much less that this would occur on November 26 when he would not be here. And just to complicate the situation he gave them our house number and HIS cell phone for contact info.


Thus, once again I get to play the part of the neighborhood idiot gaijin who can’t do something as simple as show up and pay for a stupid fire extinguisher. Though I very well may not have been able to carry it up three flights of stairs home…I have no idea how much they weigh.

I suppose it is all well enough that I didn’t get the message, since I have no money in my purse.

I have been, it appears, at long last officially been acknowledged as the neighborhood dumbazz as of yesterday. This morning, I found a flier in our mailbox pertaining to some work that will be done on the stairs. There was a line or two in there about cleaning up any kid stuff and toys that is on the landing, complete with a veiled threat that failure to do so will result in a less than perfect repair job.

We are the only family in the building with kids and their own landing. I really don’t think it was necessary to give everyone in the neighborhood a flier when I am the only person who needs to be told to clean their sh!t up. (Yes, the landing is loaded with kid junk and Me First’s marvelous stick collection.) I was hoping to get some kind of crown or sash for the Ms. Common Sense-less award, but I suppose a title like that is rewarded only with public humiliation.

Unfortunately for the neighborhood, I don’t mind too much, being no stranger to shame and humiliation. My father was a pastor, don’t forget, and I doubt the neighborhood ninnies will find a way to embarrass me more than some of his stories from the pulpit. But that is a subject for another day. (*^_^*)


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