Confession - I'm Sorry

This week, our household has seen some disconcerting events...


First of all, I dusted. 


Second, I cleaned a toilet. 


Third, a recently-deceased rat/mouse, whose enormity is rarely witnessed outside a New York City subway, was discovered by my oddly-exhilarated daughter in the playhouse. 


Even though the trash truck took Bill O'Reilly away this morning, I am still afraid to let the kids play in that house. Larry did not perform an autopsy and the Hazmat team did not sterilize the area.


I am periodically checking them for signs of the bubonic plague. Or rabies. Or Republicanism. 


But, to be honest, I'm not sure I would even know if Lincoln came down with rabies (or Republicanism for that matter). He regularly foams at the mouth and his violent tendencies have reached an all-time high this week.


My sweet little baby boy is gone. And he has been replaced by El Diablo. He is in the "hitting and screaming stage." Let's just hope this "stage" ends by college or I could have a real Dodgers/Raiders fan on my hands. 


You know, I've decided just to offer up my apologies right now for any past, present or future infractions. It will save all of us some time that way.


I'm sorry to you, indignant mother of the timid Asian child at Gymboree. I have not yet read Confession of a Tiger Mom and neither has Lincoln. 


I'm also sorry to you, random lady with the sweet little girls at nature camp. But you don't have a boy. You don't know. You will never know.


I'm sorry to you, elderly couple at the local BBQ joint. But, if he wasn't screaming, he'd be throwing food and I don't want to clean that shit up. 


I am very sorry to you, Maya. But if you would just leave his goddamn trains alone, you wouldn't be bruised by an engine to the side of the head. Who's the bigger dummy?


I'm just plain sorry to you, lady who runs the childcare at the gym. But at least you get a paycheck for dealing with it. 


I am sorry to all of you, children of Chic-Fil-A patrons. But isn't it the Christian way to forgive?


I'm so sorry to you, Lincoln's best friend Abby. But I'm not entirely sure you didn't originally teach him how it's done. 


Finally, I am sorry to you, rich mom of a boy Lincoln's age who has a really nice house and a vacation home on the beach AND one in the mountains. He has never done this before. It is completely unlike him. He must be really tired and hungry. Should I come over after his nap?


I think those apologies will buy me another week of social acceptance. After that, we may be banned to the wilderness where Linc can butt his head against a tree all day long. 


If that happens, or if we come down with the plague, it was nice knowing you all. Feel free to use my clean toilet.