lifeinflux

As many of you know,  Jason and I have lived together, post-divorce, since November of 2006.  Drue and I moved from the Research Triangle Park are of North Carolina to the Fairfax area near Washington DC.  Why we moved is a post in and unto itself, so we’ll leave it for another time.    Suffice it to say that we moved and he moved and somehow, thanks to the financial reality of NoVA aka being ridiculously overpriced in everything, we ended up living together.    And living together is not something we do really well.  Which is why we got a divorce in the first place.   But we made the most of a difficult situation and are looking forward to the day when we no longer live together.  Like by this summer.   Sorry.  I had to go throw a small party for us for a second there.   But again, I deviate from the topic at hand and in my brain and it is DYING to get out! So shall I continue? Yes, I think I shall…

As you may also know, Jason and I run the drama club program at Drue’s school.  For the most part, running the drama club is largely a rewarding effort.   It is also a fall on the ground, rip your hair out of your skull and wonder why you even do this effort from time to time.   So just in case you’ve always wondered why Jason is bald, well, now you know.   Just kidding.  He ripped his hair out in our second year of marriage which, again, is why we’re divorced.    Ah, you’re seeing the trend!     Anyway one of the great pleasures of drama club is when it ends – the feeling of reward and accomplishment just oozes out of the kids and the relief of not having to live at the school just oozes from me and all the other parents who dedicate 20 hours a week of their lives for three months to ensure that the production comes off with relatively few hitches.    Being a feedback kind of gal, I usually send out surveys to the parents; although, granted, it is usually a few months before I can muster up the energy to go over them.   But the parents usually share their thoughts on what Jason and I did wrong and right within a month after we’ve wrapped up for the season.   I tally their responses and send it over to the PTA, whose generous budget allows us to do what we do, so they can see that their money is well-spent.

So a few weeks ago, I decided it was time to start going through  the survey responses to see what comments the parents had about this year’s program.   Because I am a glutton for punishment, I always deviate from the standard questions and ask parents point-blank if their kids are interested in coming back to drama club the next year.  I do this for two reasons:  1)  I need to be able to indicate a level of interest to the school and 2) if something has occurred that created a poor experience for a child, I need to be aware of it so it does not happen again.    About fifteen surveys in, surveys filled with praise and good suggestions, I  confidently checked the “Yes, this child will attend drama club next year” on my survey result form for the sixteenth survey and moved on.  And then I paused.  It hit me that this particular survey did not, in fact, have a yes checked off!  It had a NO!!!   My first “No, my child WILL NOT attend drama club next year”ever!   Sure, other parents have thought it but they were the ones who checked “Maybe” or did not send the survey back in.    Therefore, if it is not on paper, it does not exist, right?  And a maybe… well that’s not a NO!  That’s an almost YES!   Every child in the universe knows that!

So here it was.  This is my first NO!, hovering over me like an F on a final!  Having never received one of these before, I did not know what to do.  Is their proper etiquette on dealing with a NO!?   My palms were sweaty, my breathing shallow.    Could I just shred this survey and pretend I never received it?   Would the survey be from a parent like me who keeps copies of the items she fills out and sends in and then follows up on to make sure you got it and if not, can send another?     What the hell should I do with this thing???    Obviously, once the panic subsided, I did the mature, grown-up thing.  I called my mom and IM’ed Jason, screaming and typing WTF? at the same time.   And yes, my Mom’s poor ear has recovered nicely.  Thanks for asking.   After babbling on about my NO! for a few moments, Mom and Jason both gave me that sigh, that “Jeri you are being ridiculous” sigh and asked me what the reasons were for the NO!  You know, like reasons MATTER when you get utterly rejected!

Begrudgingly, I flipped the page to determine why me and my wonderful little program could possibly be dissed in such a manner.  I read it.  I re-read it.   I told Mom and Jason I’d be back in a bit, and left to get coffee.  I drank my coffee.  I washed my face and I found Jason’s old pair of reading glasses because there was no way in HELL I was reading these reasons right.   And what, pray tell, would be the reasons for rejecting the program I pour my blood, sweat and tears into?  The program I lose SLEEP OVER each year for three months.

There are two reasons actually, it seems.   The first is I have a tattoo and I EXPOSE IT TO YOUNG CHILDREN.   You know, the tattoo under my collarbone.   Right.  Collarbone.  Not the tattoo on my ass or my left breast or even the one mid-thigh.  But the tattoo under my collarbone.   Because collarbones are shocking and obviously I’m just wardrobe malfunctioning all over drama club and exposing myself to young children.   And as an aside, I actually don’t have tattoos in any of those other places, just in case you’re wondering.    The second reason is because I am not Christian enough.   Well, shock me, shock me, Sinead o’ rebellion.   Is that all?   Dude, half my family could have told you that one!    But wait, there’s more.  The issue is not that I don’t go to church (because, well I don’t) and the issue is not that Drue believes in evolution over creationism and will argue with you logically until you cry (2 children’s bible school class teachers down for the count! Yeah baby!)… nope, the issue is (are you ready for it?)  that Jason and I LIVE IN SIN!

Now color me crazy, but last time I checked, to live in sin implies cohabitation and cohabitation means 1) living together (check!) and 2) having sex (uh not check?).   And people, I can assure you that under that definition, Jason and I most definitely do NOT live in sin.  In fact, on that count, we weren’t even living in sin when we were married (which is reason number three of why we got a divorce, just in case those of you at home are keeping record).    So once I picked myself up off the floor and wiped away the tears from laughing, I called Jason and read the survey results to him.    And once he stopped laughing in order to gulp in needed oxygen, we called Mom.  And once Mom stopped hanging up on us from laughing so hard she accidentally hit the “End Call” button on her iPhone, we started IMing friends to tell them that some random parent won’t let their kid back in drama club because Jason and I “live in sin”.

And now that their collective laughing has ceased, I figured it was time to share it with all of you.  Because if I’m not getting sex out of this whole living in sin business, everyone else should at least be getting a good laugh.  Right?