Dear family and friends:
Can you believe another year has come and gone? Here it is Christmas time again, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or fill-in-the-blanks here. Don’t expect me to remember which you celebrate. I can barely remember my dog’s name. Wait … what is it again?
We’ve had another fabulous year here in suburbia, Chez Frumpy.
Curly Girl has just been certified at her job changing oil for a living. Some moms might think that 18-year-old girls who were in the gifted classes in school could aspire to higher education, but not me. I never dream about seeing my daughter with a college textbook in her hand. OK, well, I do. But then I walk into my friends’ houses and see a young adult lying on the couch, with orange-stained fingers from eating Cheetos all day long, neither working nor going to school, and I’m grateful my kid is gainfully employed. Plus, I get a discount on oil changes. And it is all about me.
Cheetah Boy is continuing his career as a restaurant server, though he’s no longer working at Knott’s Berry Farm. He still can’t decide what he wants to major in when he finally goes back to college, though his interest in becoming a social worker and also “making a lot of money” probably are not going to happen simultaneously. I’m encouraging the idea, because he’s literally been involved with social workers since the day he was born, having been detained at the hospital at birth due to his birth mom’s drug use. I can’t think of too many people who would be more qualified to work in the children’s services division than he is, based on his own personal history. If you are familiar with the child welfare system in our country, you will realize this will probably disqualify him from any meaningful career.
The other exciting thing that happened to Cheetah Boy this year is that he started getting friendly letters from the Toll Road agencies, telling him he owed them thousands of dollars, because he had (literally) dozens of violations for evading tolls while driving in his car. The interesting thing about this is that he doesn’t own that particular make of car, he never drives the toll roads and, on one occasion, he was even vacationing in Cuba with me when he supposedly broke the law.
After I posted something about this on my Facebook page (and got a dozen replies from readers with similar frustrating stories) I was contacted by a toll road person who helped me sort it out. It was a case of mistaken identity. But…