Desperate people do desperate things

If only she could think past getting through the next few minutes, maybe it would have turned out differently. Lying didn't come as naturally as it had in the past. She tried anyway to stay calm and say everything with confidence. If you believe it's true, they will believe it too. Determined to get out without drawing much more attention to herself she explained to the clerk that she was simply looking for a cart or basket by the door. She was just holding her planned purchases in her bag because they had become too cumbersome. It was obviously the store's fault they didn't make the shopping bags more accessible throughout the store. She will never shop here again after this indecent accusation and experience.

She was hoping to make the manager uncomfortable enough he would let her leave and he wouldn't find the foil and duct tape lined pockets in her jacket with four digital cameras in them each. She had to play it just right, cooperative but disgusted and above it all or he's going to just call the cops. Bringing the cops into it just brought more problems and probably at least a night in jail. Then she'd have to call her parents again to get the kids from the house before CPS arrived to find them home alone.

At least she'd managed along this far without formal CPS investigations. Hassles, all hassles, they really didn't need to get involved she was in control. Why couldn't anyone see that? This mess today was only because she wanted to be a good mom. Sure good moms don't run around ripping off the tech store but good moms pay the rent, the electric bill and put food in the house.

She didn't really have a plan past getting something she could sell. Probably try to sell the cameras on one of those auction websites or a pawn shop. She had done well enough selling everything she had worth anything to sell. There always seemed more bills and debt then the unemployment check she got from being laid off nearly a year ago could provide. She needed to focus on here and now to get home free.

The manager was starting to cave, he knew he was supposed to follow protocol. He was supposed to call the cops to sort out all shoplifters. But maybe she was telling the truth it was busy today and they were short handed again. There weren't any shopping baskets in the racks they were piling up by the register. He started to apologize to the lady for the misunderstanding and told her he hoped that she would understand they needed to suspect everyone.

She did it. He was letting her go. She was going to get away with it. Trying to hold on to her excitement about getting away, she still needed to concentrate on getting through those doors. She told him that he could keep his apologies she wasn't going to buy anything here again and everything was overpriced anyway. She shoved the merchandise she tried to slip into her bag back towards him, yanked her large handbag off the counter. She swung around to leave. Walking straight to the door, out to freedom. She got into her car, put it in gear and drove away.

She did it she pulled off her first heist. The guilt and realization started to set in. She asked herself, who is the wild-eyed girl staring back at her in the rear view mirror? She didn't even know anymore. The last few years have been such a roller coaster. And she had been going down fast. She was trying to keep her white knuckled hold on the stability and control over her life.

Lost in her thoughts she didn't noticed the light changed. She slammed into the side of the landscaping truck. She lost conscientiousness when her head hit the steering wheel and the air bag deployed.

Waking up to the gentle beep of the heart monitor in the hospital, she tried blinking her fuzzy vision away and tried to get her bearings. She heard parents talking in hushed voices just far enough away not to clearly hear what they were saying. She heard words like totaled, jaws of life, physical therapy. She allowed herself to slip back to sleep not wanting to answer questions or have hers answered. She knew enough she had hit bottom.

But how do you know you're a grown up?

I could name many parts of daily responsible adult life to be considered a milestone of my realization that I'm a grown up. Every day I don't choose ice cream for breakfast is a clear sign of my maturity. Mail no longer holds wonderment and excitement for me, I even stream my Netflix on my TV so I don't even look forward to that anymore. The first time I realized summer wasn't a vacation it was just another work day, is also a harsh realization that childhood was over. I think it was when I stepped into the time honored tradition of writing notes to the teacher, I officially realized I am the grown up.

My father was great at crafting the perfect note to the teacher. Having a proud last name at the end of the alphabet holds certain challenges. Teachers being naturally orderly people like to alphabetize. So year after year, teacher after organized teacher my siblings and I found ourselves in the back of the classroom, at the end of the line, last to choose a soft pretzel at snack time. My brother had enough he complained to my father. My brother was tired of being left only the shriveled slimy soft pretzels after his whole class got to choose their perfect pretzels first. My father tired after working all day and tired of hearing this complaint day after day wrote a note to my brother's teacher.

The note was short and simple. "Please stop feeding my son slimy pretzels. He doesn't want to be last to choose any more." The teacher looked at my 7 year old brother and asked,"Is your father serious?" My wide eyed brother responded, "Yes, he is." My brother was then first in line everyday after. He was victorious no more slimy pretzels. That one note changed everything, that one note became legend in my family. The power of parental persuasion was solidified with that note.

I am now the note writer. I keep in constant contact with my children's teachers. I am their advocate. I don't consider myself a helicopter parent more as a team player with the teachers to keep my children's education a high priority. I write many many notes to the teacher. Most of them are not what the teachers have come to expect. I do not write about how my special snowflake child needs this or that or how they have unfairly graded my precious baby. I write notes that say things like, Please give my daughter the grade she actually deserves on this project. She slapped it together hastily, without help or following directions. Please do not hold it against her she didn't mean to disrespect you or the assignment she felt that Sponge Bob Square Pants was more important than successfully completing the assignment. We will continue to work on her work ethics.

Soon after sending that note, it was back to school night. My daughter's teacher sought me out to discuss my note. She told me she has received many notes from parents but this one was the first in her 25 year career she brought home for her husband to read. She said it was the first time ever she had a note written by a parent that wasn't yelling at her, but conveyed frustration with my own daughter. She profusely thanked me for making her day.

I've gone to many more back to school nights. I've met many more teachers. I have let them all know they can always reach me and will give all my contact info. I let them know if it involves my children they can send me smoke signals or sky write it anyway they need to use to contact me. I've realized I'm not the student anymore, I'm not the child. With my first note to the teacher, this massive responsibility of raising children to successful adults stunned me that I'm the one. I'm the the integral team member to my children's educational success. My brother recently got married and has a son. I'm considering sending him a pen and stationary to send his own notes to the teachers his son will have.

The first post

So the first post, it sets the tone. Will this blog be funny, clever, witty or just boring? Because not everyone's life is exciting or interesting to read. And some might be reasonably interesting but how's the writing style?

Hopefully, this will be my adventure in keeping my brain from turning to mush. I like to read I have always liked writing. It was a subject I excelled in during my school years. Now looking back at some of my writing I think I've come off quite pompous and wordy.

My goal is to write some stories, hone my skills and you, dear reader, get to grade them. I plan on writing various types of stories and some will be autobiographical, while some I'll completely make up for my own amusement, and some might just be reviews of things I've read, places I've gone and experiences I've had.

I'm ready to embark on this journey of an endless writing class. Suggestions and comments are welcome.