This morning I was going a special kind of nuts. No one reason in particular. More like several particular reasons. It all started last night when I decided that it wouldn’t be so bad if I stayed up and watched just one more episode of “Burn Notice” on Netflix. Since I slapped the snooze on my alarm clock twice and overslept by 40 minutes this morning, I’m here to tell you YES. It actually IS so bad if I stay up and watch just one more episode of “Burn Notice” or any other show on Netflix. Binging on streamed television means purged energy that a caffeine IV drip cannot replenish. It’s just bad for the whole mom gig when I don’t get at least 6, preferably 7 hours of sleep. The exhaustion affects everything from completed tasks on the to-do list to rational thought.
After getting the first 3 kids out the door and onto 2 different buses, I decided to start a load of clothes while my husband had his morning coffee and cigarette on the back porch. I noticed some dirty clothes had already been tossed into the washer, so I turned on the light to see what was in there before bleaching someone’s pants or turning white t-shirts a lovely shade of pink. I did not recognize the football jersey…or the size XL drawstring shorts….or the polo-style shirt….or the black and white and beige plaid short-sleeved button down shirt that was only buttoned AT THE COLLAR…. HOLY CRAP! MY HOUSE WAS BROKEN INTO BY AN ATHLETIC CHOLO WHO DOESN’T HAVE ACCESS TO A LAUNDRY FACILITIES!!!!! That’s ridiculous. I kicked the beds of my third and fifth children.  “WHICH ONE OF YOU TWO BROUGHT HOME SOMEONE ELSE’S CLOTHES FOR ME TO WASH? DO YOU REALLY THINK I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH LAUNDRY IN A FAMILY OF SEVEN?  DO I LOOK BORED TO YOU?”
The 14-year old, who has been suffering lately from “I-can-say-whatever-the-hell-I-want-itis” opened one eye and asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to forgive that lapse in conversational judgment because you just woke up so suddenly”, I replied. “Whose clothes are these?”
My 16-year old said, “I don’t know.” The 14-year old said he also didn’t know and went back to sleep. The Athletic Cholo Theory didn’t seem so bizarre anymore. I ran out the back door with the smelly foreign clothes in my hand.
“Please tell me you know the story behind these,” I begged my husband.
He looked at me, annoyed that I was all crazed at this hour and only half a cup into his caffeine/nicotine ritual.
“A guy at work gave them to me because he thought the boys could wear them.”
My husband questioned the ability to screw with lost things. “Look. You can get just as annoyed with me as you like. Don’t forget that I’m home by myself all day long. Sometimes it’s scary and insanity is the end result…not that any of you people care as long as your sock drawers are full when you need them. Don’t judge me.”
I decided to get rid of the clothes and tossed them into the donation bag…because sometimes the needy get clothes out of spite. And then I went on with my day of making breakfasts, finding lost shoes and book bags, disappointing the 14-year old by agreeing with his AVID teacher that writing his last essay in binary code instead of English, while creative and talented, is unacceptable, and sweeping the next 3 inches of rainwater due to the never-ending Texas thunderstorms off the concrete and into the overwatered lawn.

One thought on “Athletic Cholos, Binary Code, and Thunderstorms

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