The joy of being the T.P. Queen…

I’m starting to think the new normal for me is crazy chaos.

I woke up an hour past my alarm this morning.  I woke with a start, bolting out of bed like a crazed woman at a red-tag sale.  Catapulting myself pell-mell down the staircase and into the shower, where I had just enough time to use a smattering of my anti-stress peppermint soap (as if this really works on days like this), but not enough time to fully wake up.  I went to school with pillow marks still imbedded on my cheeks.

And speaking of cheeks.  Here’s another lovely moment.  I was standing in the staff room talking rather seriously to a colleague about the upcoming afternoon line-up, wherein I would be introducing thirty kindergartners to our fearless local fire department volunteers, in celebration of Fire Safety and Awareness week. When what to my colleague’s wondering eyes should appear but a long strand of toilet paper sticking out from my rear.

How embarrassing.

Its days like these that I seriously re-consider my calling in life.  I should have joined the circus.  So, here’s to all the people out there, who like me know they will never quite have ‘it’ all together.   And here’s to the people that also realize half the fun in life is just being your imperfect loveable, self.  Because it doesn’t really matter what you think you are or what others think you are.  What matters is being true.  Be true to the self you’ve been given.  And that’s what I’m trying to be, ‘t.p. and all…’

Just tryin’ to be a blessin’, ya’ll.

So here is the true me.  I am tardy to a fault.  I am disorganized.  I take on far more than I can handle.  I dress myself with whatever is closest to the middle of the closet and thus most accessible in the five minutes I usually allow myself for co-ordinating my outfits.  I keep most of my toiletries in my purse, including snacks, medication, a brush, hair-bows, perfume and the occasional piece of jewelry.  I sometimes finish getting ready in the school bathroom.  I am the ultimate bag lady, often carting in to school two to three grocery bags full of stuff, as I left my real briefcase at home somewhere in the upstairs office.  Correction: I have a briefcase that I never use upstairs in my home office.  Who needs a briefcase when one can get a steady supply of free bags every time one drops by the grocery store.   And to add to the above confession: I am also usually finishing the last of my bagel as I am walking up the driveway towards the school front doors.

Last confession: I also cannot type.  I use two fingers to type everything I write.  Sometimes three.  Today, I updated my professional school blog and almost posted it when I realized I had written ‘poop’ instead of ‘pop’.  As in “Parents, please feel free to ‘poop’ in anytime if you have any concerns about your child.  And you know what was on my mind at the end of the day (refer back to the toilet paper incident…)

With all this in perspective, is it really any wonder I had toilet paper hanging rather un-delicately from my posterior?  I think we all know the answer to THAT one.