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I Am the Worst Carpooler In the Universe

Last week I got a little shrill with my family and demanded that everyone clean their closets. And by “everyone” I meant everyone but me. Well mostly I meant Jane and Mr. G because they’ve done a lot of shopping lately and there’s a limit to how many things you need to own.

When clothes are crammed in a closet nothing gets worn. I’m a minimalist when it comes to wardrobes. Own a few high quality things and wear them all. My daughter is convinced that she needs more clothes than that because she cycles through three or more outfits a day: uniform, volleyball or gym clothes, and after school clothes.

In any event the closets were purged and Jane and I stared a pile of clothes. The brands were astonishing: Rag and Bone, Free People, AG, Theory, Hugo Boss, True Religion, James Perse and more, some still had tags attached. Jane wanted to bring it to Buffalo Exchange where she could get credit for new clothes and for a while I thought that was a good idea. It would teach her to be entrepreneurial. Then I remembered that I’m the one who paid for all those clothes (some virtually brand new) and I’m looking to support my community.

A new car showed up (Acura RDX review coming soon) so I filled the trunk with clothes and went across town to Ascencia. Ascencia is a homeless shelter just outside of Downtown Los Angeles that does good work. I like the folks who work there and I like their mission but I’d never been there and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

When I got to Ascencia Mark helped me unpack the trunk of the SUV and I noticed a few pair of Mr. G’s underwear. These people are homeless and times are tough but I refuse to believe that anyone needs my husband’s old underwear (they weren’t really that old, he’s just switched brands). Standing there with my friend Mark I sort of grabbed the underwear and tossed them out of sight.

Later in the week I was at home and texting the mom I carpool with. It was just about time to leave to pick kids up for school and I ¬†wanted to touch base and let her know that Alexander wanted to stay for daycare, she shouldn’t pick him up. The reply I got was:

This is your day to drive.

What. The. Fuck? I didn’t even have to check the calendar because I know she is always right. I frequently have no idea what day of the week it is and she always knows (bless her!). I dashed out to pick the kids up from school still barefoot and then made my daughter take off her shoes so that I could pop into Trader Joes to pick up a pre marinaded frenched rack of lamb.

After dropping off the carpool neighbor I lamented to Jane that I was the worst carpooler ever because I was unsure of the days of the week and probably would never be clear on that. Jane looked me dead in the eye and said, “No Mom. You’re the worst carpooler in the world because you made the boys sit in the back seat with Daddy’s old underwear.”


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