OH, THE PLACES YOU SHOULDN'T GO!
There are plenty of places that are inappropriate for children (prison, the proctologist, Chuck E. Cheese's, etc.). Today, I discovered a new place to add to that ever-growing list: the Social Security Administration office.In my state, when you give birth you can select an option on your hospital records to automatically have the state assign your baby a Social Security Number. Then, after thirteen months of not receiving anything from the state, you have to go to the Social Security Administration office to reapply. We went through the same hoops with Zoey. Today was Zed's turn.
So the three of us trekked on down there this afternoon (in hindsight, this should have been a Zed & Daddy outing while Zoey was in preschool). You are assigned a number when you enter. And then you go sit and wait with half of your city's population.
And wait.
And wait.
And if you're lucky, you sit close enough to the front so that you can eavesdrop and hear some of the stories. Such as the poor girl who had her purse stolen and now couldn't get a new Social Security Card because she didn't have any identification (she had foolishly stored her old card in her purse as well). But my favorite was the Belligerent Man. Below is a snippet of his conversation with the clerk:
Belligerent Man: I ain't got no Social Security checks since February!
Poor Clerk: It says here you have an outstanding warrant for your arrest.
Belligerent Man: For what?
Poor Clerk: It doesn't say. It just says you have an outstanding warrant for your arrest.
Belligerent Man: So what?
Poor Clerk: You can't receive your benefits if you have a warrant out for your arrest or if you are in prison.
Belligerent Man: How the hell am I supposed to know there's a warrant out on me until they arrest me?
And on and on they spoke in circles. But the guy did have a good point.
Unfortunately, my children didn't find any of this amusing. After ten minutes, Zoey began squirming and Zed began crying. The angry glares from my fellow citizens started soon after. "What?" I screamed at them telepathically. "You don't feel like crying as well? I know I do!"
Finally, after forty-five grueling minutes, the world's most chipper government worker called our number. This guy was smiling, making small talk, and even talking to my kids. This didn't sit well with the cynic in me. Call me old fashioned, but I like my government workers to be crusty misanthropes. Must've been his first day on the job.
But at least I got Zed's number. And if I don't receive the card in fourteen days, I get to go back and relive the fun!
THE STREAK CONTINUES!
Remember how I told you my daughter is unable to take a decent class picture? We received the picture of her entire class today.Still no signs of improvement.
Big surprise! She's not smiling. But it looks as if the photographer said, "Okay, kids! I want to see a big smile from everyone except Zoey. Zoey, I'd like you to try to touch your ears with your shoulders. Can you do that, honey?"
She can.
We'll still buy plenty of pictures.
ONE THING I'LL NEVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT WITH HER IS A LACK OF SELF-ESTEEM
Recently, whenever I do something nice for her, Zoey will say, "Dad, you're the best." Melts the heart.Today, I threw her a curveball. "No, I'm not. You're the best."
Her reply? "I know."
BECAUSE MY ARMS ARE GOING TO FALL OFF IF I DON'T
The weather's been nice, so we've been spending a lot of time on our swing set. Zed cackles the entire time he's swinging. Zoey shouts, "Higher, Daddy! Higher!" the entire time she's swinging. The swingset also has a rock climbing wall, a slide, a clubhouse, and a sandbox. We also have a roller coaster, a castle, and another slide in the backyard (it looks like a Little Tykes testing facility (or a daycare)). But you'd never know.All. We. Do. Is. Swing.
I pushed those kids in their swings for forty-five minutes straight today (no exaggeration). If this keeps up, I'm going to have Popeye arms by the end of the summer. Or be dead. One of the two.
I think I need to hire some teenagers to do all my dirty work. I'll sit in a lawn chair and drink a few beers while they push my children in the swings. In fact, I've been tempted to run the following ad in our local alternative weekly:
Swingers Wanted
For afternoon playdates. Please contact Chag or Ella at 555-5555.
Think I'd get any takers?
GHS: 1 (because I'm beginning to believe we'll never get a decent school picture)
