Jason is Still A Jerk, FWIW. A Successful Jerk.

There's a moment when we figure it out. I don't know if Alexis has figured it out yet, but I suspect she probably has. Mila, fortunately, has a few years because that girl isn't going to just accept the way things are. She's going to go into kicking and screaming. Let's face it; it's pointless to fight.

They always win.

I figured it out in second grade. It was second grade at North Hills Elementary, one of six or so elementary schools in Minot, North Dakota. It was recess and we were outside, despite the cold weather because obviously. I was wearing a too-thin brown coat, but it was the best I had. I was also wearing blue mittens and a blue hat and it was so cold.

So cold.

We were climbing on the monkey bars when he walked up and grabbed my hat. He ran away with it in hand, laughing as he called over his shoulder yelling names and such. Frankly, that's just how things were. Kids called me names all of the time because they all knew I had nothing except that I was smarter than them.

Being smart doesn't get you anywhere when you're poor, by the way. Oh, and there's a mountain of difference between "poor" and "broke". Broke people can be millionaires driving Jaguars because credit is a thing and once you have something, there are ways to float by on nothing. Poor, though. That's a condition for which there is no recovering. It means you'll need three jobs when you're 17 just so you can pay for the standardized tests required to apply for college. It also means making the choice between feeding your family dinner or putting gas in your car so you can go to work.

My parents chose dinner that day. I remember that part, too, because it's a piece of why things played out the way they did.

The boy stole my hat and ran off with it while calling me names. Initially I was stunned into non-action, but then I took off running after him. I knew I couldn't just grab my hat and go back to pretending I didn't care, so instead I grabbed his hat off of his head and took off.

Jason, that was his name and you better believe I remember that and I can still tell you where he lived, was not amused. He started yelling and carrying on and then the jerk went and told the recess monitor. I mean, COME ON. He started it.

We both wound up in the principal's office. We both got a lecture about not touching other peoples' stuff and how it wasn't safe to take hats when it's cold and, and, and ...

"He started it!"

"Honey, boys do silly stuff like that when they like a girl. He's just being a boy," the principal, who was wearing a blue button-down shirt that day, said. Jason didn't hear that part because his mom had already picked him up. I had to sit there another hour because my parents didn't have gas in the car and couldn't pick me up. When an hour went by and the principal grew tired of waiting, I was told to walk home. I cried the whole way there because it wasn't right, and then I ate cold tuna noodle casserole because they picked dinner that day.

I knew in second grade. I knew that the rich white boys will always win, no matter what.

Mila is My Favorite

When last we chatted, Mila was wide awake, two hours past her bedtime, and wearing Big Kid pajamas. It had been a sucktacular day, but little did I know it was about to turn magical. SO MAGICAL.

While wandering around Walmart and trying to stay awake, Mila and I looked at Christmas decorations. Of course. What better time to dream of new trees than the end of September? You have to plan these things in advance, you know. Mila pushed every button on every musical thing, pointed to every tree, and generally declared her love for all things sparkly and bright.

Which, THAT'S MY GIRL!

I didn't buy any sparkly holiday things, though. I thought REAL HARD about it but decided I should finish putting up the Halloween decorations before I start putting up the Christmas ones. We all know Mila will insist on putting up a tree if I buy a new one, y'know? Immediately. There will be no delay.

So I left empty-handed, put Mila in her Big Kid pajamas, and picked the real Big Kid up from dance. We headed home, Mila couldn't sleep, blah, blah, blah.

Mila couldn't sleep because she was too busy trying to convince me to buy another tree. Like, she went ALL in on trying to convince me, even to the point that she started walking around the house and pointing out where one could go. She ended up settling on the happy little corner where our trash cans used to sit in the kitchen. They don't sit there any more because our dog Penny is a doucheface who steals trash. A tree would be PERFECT there.

And then Mila began walking around and collecting items that could be used as ornaments for this new tree that we're totally going to have a month from now.

It's going to be a Shopkins tree. It's really a very excellent idea.

Everything is Stupid

Let me just tell you about my day.

It started an hour later than it should have because of this little bundle of joy and energy and chaos named Mila. I try really hard not to say, "Hurry up" to her because that's not what I want. I don't want her to rush through life without stopping to notice the more important things. I do want her to FOCUS ALREADY though. Sometimes the little things aren't more important and do we really have to stop and pontificate on every pair of shoes we find when the task at hand is to put the ones that are in your hands on your feet?

If anybody ever figures out how to get kids to put shoes on their feet in anything less than half an hour, I will be the most willing student there ever was. I'd even pay money to learn how to make that happen.

So. An hour later than expected, I finally rolled up to Panera. I do realize that's not where I work, but I have a major thing due this week so I've been spending part of every day at Panera so I can focus and get it done. There's that "focus" word again. It's an important one. And it's really very impossible when you're cuddled up with your laptop and a group sits right next to you and proceeds to do job interviews - via speaker phone IN PANERA - for a teaching position. As in, three people were asking questions and one was answering and this was all done with a cell phone in the middle of the table. And they did six interviews. And. AND. Every time one of the interviewers would walk away from the table, the others would start talking about the person who walked away. It didn't matter which one left  - the others immediately started with the, "OMG. He has no idea what he's doing," and such.

Which, well, it was kind of funny. But it made FOCUS hard.

So I left and found another nook to work out of but then I had to have a meeting with a person. That person happens to be the smartest person in all of the land and don't you know this work is hard, honey? Oh, sweetheart, let me break this down in terms your pretty head might understand.

If you catch my drift.

In the midst of this epic hour of mansplaining, I got a text. FROM TANGERINE MUSSOLINI. He wants me to come to his rally and donate to his campaign and STAAAAAB. I can't even pretend that I found it funny because I didn't. I instantly burst into angry flames. It was such a fury-inducing moment that I actually texted the number back. I realize it was probably some random Russian spoofer, but that's okay. I taught them some new words in English. Four-letter words.

AND THEN CAME THE WORST THING OF ALL.

Mila escorted me to Alexis' dance classes this evening. Alexis Tuesday night classes start about an hour past most peoples' bedtime, so Mila and I ran to Walmart to try to entertain ourselves and maybe stay awake. I figured I would get Mila a new pair of pajamas, she would put them on, and then she would fall asleep in the car. It was quite the magical plan.

She's still awake, literally two hours past her bedtime It was a good plan, but it failed.

Oh, and the pajamas were size 4/5, which is to say I HAD TO CROSS THE AISLE. They aren't toddler pajamas. They are Big Kid pajamas. BIG KID PAJAMAS.

And they're not huge on her. They actually fit, more or less.

BIG KID PAJAMAS. I BOUGHT MY BABY BIG KID PAJAMAS.

Tomorrow better be a better day.