Tuesday, September 18, 2012

V for Volunteer

Dear Reader-hearts in all my Slavic countries, I thought you should know, I have a very strong sense of self. I know this because my highly-trained professional therapist told me so. Before you get all "ohhhh, she sees a THERAPIST" like I spend my afternoons talking to invisible unicorns and vacuuming imaginary unicorn hairballs out of my carpet: #1. There is no shame in my mental game. #2. I only see unicorns when I'm on codeine. #3. Going to therapy, lunch and nail appointments is what a Lady of Leisure does, while searching for (somewhat)gainful employment.

(Update on the employment part: I got a freelance gig editing manuscripts for a publishing house. I can't wait to see what amazing works of literature I get to destroy with my bloody red corrections! I know, I am a disturbed individual. Also, Disturbed, like the band. Fingers crossed those crazy kids can get the band back together already and crank out an album. I digress...)

So according to my well-paid counselor, I know who I am. Given the philosophical edict "know thyself" I'm pretty much winning at life, in my opinion. Oh sure, I'm not fabulously rich, nor hanging out backstage with The Man and A7X while I song-edit and drink hard lemonade, BUT as far as knowing my innermost Sammo? That I can take to the bank. The knowing yourself bank, not the one with money and deposit tickets.

There are a couple hard-and-fast rules that are stapled to the bulletin board inside my personality, such as:

1. I'm not a joiner (I love people, I don't like organized groups. Unless they're bands. And I'm listening to awesome music - but I'm still not IN the band. That's largely due to the fact that I have no discernible musical talent. In my head, I'm Amy Lee. In the real world, I sound like Elmo.)

2. I don't volunteer. (If you wait for me to raise my hand and be all "I'd LOVE to host the little girl join-y thing at my house and bake fresh souflee" then you, my friend, will be waiting a loooong time. Especially if you want souflee.)

Thus when Princess wanted me to volunteer at the library, I put her off. I'll admit it, I "lost" the volunteer form. Surely there were other more helicopter-y moms just chomping at the bit to shelve some books? She brought home another few forms. She begged me. This is the library, after all - the place with the power to soothe even the crankiest of Verbal Assassins. I mean, it isn't like she wanted me to help out on gym day or something. Except she did. I forgot that I'd agreed to help when the kids learn to roller skate because Princess was apoplectic about the mere prospect of not...skating...well. The horror!

So now I'm on the hook for the library AND the gym.

What the HELL is going on, Readers in Russia!? Just how did this happen? Now I'm wandering the school with a giant "V"-for-volunteer tag pinned to my shirt every Tuesday and Wednesday for infinity.

It hasn't been all bad; today when I told another mom that Casanova tries to spell with numbers, she told me that 5 corresponds to the letters 'e' and 'w' in numerology. Oh. Well then.

Think she'll run a chart for me for free since I helped with those tricky fiction books? I'm a scorpio. Does that do anything fun for my magic numbers? 

And the kids are darling. Why just this morning a little girl asked if I put makeup on myself. (That's how she phrased it. Yes, yes I do, little girl. "Everyday? WHY?" she asked, as if I were committing some particularly egregious parental error. I bet her mom rocks the au natural look = anathema to Your Favorite Writer. These lids are lined and the lip gloss is on or I don't leave the house. Kids, keeping you real, am I right?

Some of the other moms volunteer for everything, like they're going to win a "Best mom volunteer" trophy and a gift card to Starbucks or something. I don't expect a trophy - I just want Princess to enjoy her new school. And to stop throwing forms at me while crying. Oh, and my other goal...

My goal? Insurance. When Princess ends up in therapy, I'll be able to say, "tell your therapist that I volunteered when you were 7. Blame your father!" I haven't seen The Man shelving any books lately! Sure, he'll probably use that "earning a living and paying for Tom Cruze" excuse.

And of course, my thearpy.

Comments, questions, do you know yourself?