Dear God,
No, my name is not Margaret, and I am not wondering if You're here. Honestly, I hold the belief not only are You here, You get Your giggles at my expense. I'm not saying I'm the only person that provides You with humor; I'm just saying I'm onto You.
Today, I'm writing about Your running joke, my daughter. Quite obviously, You heard me pray and plead for a healthy child during my pregnancy, and I thank You again and again. Ok, maybe just on Sundays, and only if Your other jokey gift, my son, gives me a tiny moment to reflect rather than chase him around the church (By the way, I know You are taking bets, despite the fact You have an unfair advantage, on how many curse words I will unleash during mass. Like I said, I'm onto You.). But anyway, I also know You heard my very quiet plea that I never voiced to anyone else that she please be smart, because God, You know how I feel about academics. And the thought of having a child without a love for education was horrifying to the point I simply could not contemplate.
I don't want You to think I'm not grateful for a very healthy daughter (we'll disregard the 3-day hospital stay when she was 12 months old, and the epic vomiting over spring break). But seriously, this child has the handwriting of a horse. And I'm not talking about the animated animals that have Palmer script. I am talking about a horse at the end of the Kentucky derby that has broken its leg and ready to be put down. It is that bad, and I don't see it getting any better. Recently, while struggling with what I believed to be her writing, I grasped for hope that she would love to read and have the same obsession for proper spelling as myself.
Har har. Very funny. Despite her love for books (thank You for making sure she got my genes for that one), You gave her her father's sheer hatred for spelling. It would appear these two share a unique dictionary that has yet to be shared with the public. Or anyone on this planet for that matter. I'm guessing, however, that YOU provided them with the sole copy. Any chance I might get a decoded version? I didn't think so.
I'll tell You what I don't find amusing--the fact that You gave her her father's aptitude for math, when You knew perfectly well it would be I who would have to help her with her math homework. Don't act like You didn't know I was going to inevitably quit my job and stay at home, and thus, take on that responsibility. After all, You are omni-whatever that word is that means You know everything. I appreciate the irony of the fact that despite my love for reading, I simply cannot master word problems in math. I mean, how can I possibly decipher what I'm supposed to solve? What do I care how long it would take Ted to reach Fred if Ted were traveling by train at 50mph, broke down 30 minutes later, caught a plane whilst Fred biked on a one-speed in the opposite direction for 3 hours, turned around by Vespa and then caught in a tornado? Seriously, I don't care. Beyond my lack of respect for algebra and trigonometry, why are first graders being asked to solve word problems in math?!!!! HOW HARD ARE YOU LAUGHING EVERY DAY AT 4pm?!!!!! Because let me tell You, as much as I disrespect math, the lack of faith my child has in me is becoming more and more obvious every day when we sit down to tackle her math assignment. Perhaps I should audit her class...
In closing, thank You for giving me such a beautiful gift that is my daughter. Feel free to take away the sass, drama and daily rolling of the eyes first in the morning when I pick out her clothes, and in the afternoon during homework time. I'm not sure how to close out a letter to You, so for now, let's just leave it at peace out.
My guess is that if God's sense of humor is as ironic as you imply, then his response to your 'prayer' would be to refer you to a less-than-religious-as-you'd-expect-from-divine-reference bard named Mick... everybody now... "you can't always get what you want- but you get what you need..." prophetic...
ReplyDelete