“Excuse me? Hi. I received an email this morning that my book had arrived. But it’s not there.”
The man behind the desk looks up from surfing the ‘Net to say, “You sure it’s not on the reserve shelf?”
“I already checked under my last name and library card number but it isn’t there.”
After he checked two other spots, he apologized and said he didn’t know what to tell me. The book was just missing.
My theory for my missing copy of “Toilet Training Without Tears” was that one of the many local parents of toddlers saw my copy set aside in the reserve section and swiped it for their own pee pee, poo poo needs, all the while knowing that it was pre-ordered for a Ms. Lee and her clearly marked library card number (last four digits).
My vengeful nature flared up. I was tempted to retaliate by swiping the pre-ordered copy of “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” that was hovering next to the other book I had requested. It could be easily mistaken as an accidental borrowing as the other patron’s last name was also LEE.
I’m proud to say I didn’t follow-through with such an immoral act, as tempting as it was.
I AM a mom after all. I have to set an example.
Library Beef. That was how a fraction of my Friday unfolded, with my two boys waiting for me patiently in my tall-ass double stroller.
What happened to my street cred (shout out to Slauson Swapmeet, Crenshaw Blvd)? My hard core South Central upbringing where people would retaliate for more major offenses like, say, KILLING THEIR LOVED ONES, not for borrowing one’s pre-ordered How-To book? Did my thuggish ruggish bone get replaced with sorry shelving woes? card catalog catastrophes?
(Truth be told, Library Beef is quite in alignment with my nuanced flava of street cred, i.e. my doing homework diligently Joy Luck Club style in the back of my Korean parents’ Chinese takeout store in a neighborhood where drive-by shootings were as expected as the mail).
Such a fruitful week in terms of playdates and other activities but by today, (thankGodit’s)Friday, I am wiped out. Too wiped out to write about the mundane details of my day other than Library Beef, like about how Micah wanted to pick out his own clothes (blue shirt and black pants), how Ellis has become real quirky wanting to nurse only in strange and uncomfy positions, like lying upside down next to me on the bed, at which point, Micah will join us in the high, King-sized bed jumping up and down with all his might, squealing with delight, not caring that he’s giving me small heart attacks because he could fall onto Ellis, the frame, or the wooden floors while I am helplessly latched onto / occupied;
how it has become a bigger production to get out of the house now that Micah has such strong 25+ month-old opinions about what he’d rather be doing than getting bundled up and strapped into the stroller, and how Ellis pooped so much after skipping a day, that it went up his back and onto the shoulder blades, while they were supposed to have already been strapped into the stroller.
Later on in the day, after taking apart all the dried-up blue PlayDoh all over crazy messy living room, Micah told me he has to pee, by which he meant, he had already peed into his training briefs, into his sweatpants, and onto some part of the living room.
One of those days I get real grouchy towards the husband for simply providing for us via a desk job where he can run out to buy some premium olive oil without two kids and a Transformer-looking stroller in tow. Punk!
Tomorrow is Saturday. I’mma drive up real slow to the library…
(after stopping by the charming French bakery)
and find out what happened to my book (thumping chest, adjusting bandana).