Sep 8, 2010
I was on my way to work today after dropping off The Boy and The Baby at school. Iris phones me stating she had intercepted a phone call at my house. It went like this:
Madam X: Hello? May I speak to The Baby (uses The Baby's first name)
Madame X: The Baby (first name)
Iris: She's 3 years old. Who is this?
Madame X: Oh, I'm sorry. May I speak to The Baby? (uses The Baby's middle name)
Iris: WHO IS THIS?
Madame X: Oh...tee hee...whoops....um...May I speak to The Secret Pepper Person?
Iris: WHO. IS. THIS.
Madame X: Oh we are just calling to tell you that the bus will be late this morning.
Iris: WHAT BUS?
Madame X: huh?
Iris: Are you talking about the handicapped bus we've been waiting for since 8/24?
Madame X: Oh, I don't know anything about that. You'll have to call transportation.
Ah, yes. Seventeen painful years of torment over and over with each child and each foster child until I am a drooling imbecile. Iris asks me if I'm going to call transportation?
I would rather bite the head off a family pet on stage at a packed PETA convention than call these people.
No. I will not be calling them.
The geneticist and I were talking about employment for the teenager yesterday. She was lamenting that The Teenager would be wonderful with a little job and that generally kids like her are happier when employed but her ataxia would probably hinder her more than her IQ.
Now where could she find a job with limited physical and cognitive skills?
Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
Wait I've got it! I'm going on line right now to see if the school district transportation department is hiring!
She'll be in supervision before she turns 20.
Posted by SECRET PEPPER PERSON: at Wednesday, September 08, 2010