Just a thought

Perfect for me is not perfect.  It is just perfect for me and it most certainly doesn't need to be perfect for anyone else but me.  It is, therefore, not necessary for me to explain or you to question.  It would make life much easier if we just understood that our perfects may not be the same.

I am perfect...perhaps just not for you.

Punching Bag

So...how can you throw a punch and then stand there with a straight face and say that you are not fighting. You have definitely started the fight so don't be upset when the defender decides to fight back. It is, of course, not okay to go around throwing punches and is quite ridiculous to think that people are going to simply take your punch and keep on stepping or allow you to keep on stepping.

I guess the real issue is that you must be so used to throwing punches that you don't even recognize that your gloves are on. You don't know what a punch looks like now-a-days. Well, others do.

Well, when do you ever step out of the rink. Better yet, when do I.

Mean Old lady

Yesterday it finally hit me why I am so quick to anger right now. I am fed up. Not with one particular person, with anybody that decides to come to me with crazy written all over their face and nothing but insane spewing from his or her mouth. I used to be able to say that I have "just about" had it with being disrespected (by anyone) or being ignored or whatever. But, now....I definitively say that "I have had it!" No "just about". I am in full force fed up...not going to even attempt to make sane the insane or reason with the unreasonable. And it is the straw that has broken this camels back.

I am fed up with the expected and thus accepted disregard and lack of appreciation of our teenage species. The thought that they are entitled to respect when they haven't even learned to dry behind their ears or flush the toilet properly. I have great kids by anyone's measure. They are great when compared to countless other teens that are doing far worse but, I don't have other teens living with me. I have mine and I measure them according to my expectations and not according to what everyone else is doing or not. So, when I bust my ass to do for them...put them in a wonderfully safe community...pay for their involvement in all kinds of activities...sacrifice my time, energy, total being and comfort for the sake of their having rich and very fulfilled lives, they better not have an issue with anything I ask them to do.

The other day I asked my son to let me use his boombox and he had the nerve to tell me that I can use it if I get it because he doesn't feel like unplugging all of the wires. Fine...if not feeling like it is a justifiable reason for not doing something then, I don't have to do a damn thing anymore...Because I definitely don't feel like coming home and cooking him dinner...I am not hungry. I don't feel like letting him use my car to get to work, internship, friends' homes...take a bus. I don't feel like waking him up for school...That's what alarm clocks are for. But, good thing that I have good kids because after a week of me not feeling like it he felt like coming correct and is working on redemption.

My precious daughter is another story. She is on the cheerleading squad and is responsible for fundraising and raffle ticket sales. The other day...right after my son's "other day" I was on my way home from picking up items from someone donating to her team's rummage sale. It took me a bit longer than expected to pick the things up...one because I wasn't rushing and two, because my friend didn't have all of the things put together waiting for her rummage sale. On my way home, I told her what had taken so long and she had the nerve to ask me why I hadn't called before that day so that he would have known about the sale earlier. Now, remember, this is not my thing...it is hers. I call myself helping her out and instead of a "thank you mom", I get a "that wasn't good enough". So, I am done...If she doesn't do it, it is not done and she does not earn the money to be on the team.

It is not just the kids, though. It is work. The pushy guy at the grocery store. The ignorant clerk at the department store. The person who cuts me off in traffic. I sit and breath and remind myself to not let it get to me. I watch this movie...my movie...the one that I must be in as this life is entirely too comical to be real...and I don't let it bother me...I think. Until, the coach of the team tells me that Dads who pick up rummage sale items get credit for their cheerleaders but, I don't. What the ??? My daughter doesn't have a DAD in the house. So, does this mean that when I pick up something that a DAD should have gotten I don't get credit. Damn it. I am a single mom so I am DAD. I won't go on about this now...but, definitely in another post.

Point is...yes, I am finally getting to the real point...I just got it. I just realized that the mean old man on the block used to be some pretty nice guy. The mean old lady used to be the one everyone loved to be around and who loved to do for everyone. She held her head high in the face of adversity. She perservered despite any barriers. She survived but, at the cost of losing her sweetness because somewhere along the line she got fed up with everyone else's crazy.

I understand her bitterness...not that it is okay...but, I definitely get it.