After a little over four years and some 1500 posts (!!!), I think I'm ready to hang up this blogging thing and move on to something else. I don't know what that something else IS yet, but the blog has become something of a chore. It's not in my nature to blog only occasionally, but I may resort to that. I'm not ready to KILL the blog yet, but at the very least I'm taking a break.
I have enjoyed my time here, and I've enjoyed every single comment (well, almost every single comment) on my posts. I've learned a lot about people, and I've learned a lot about myself. (Wait...that sounds like I'm not a people. You know what I mean.)
I may drop in from time to time if I feel the need to spout off some sarcasm, but don't feel obligated to check on a daily basis.
If anyone would like to communicate with me directly, feel free to email me at dwpruitt (at) windstream (dot) net. See how much I love y'all? I just made my email address public and available to any spammer out there. I hope said spammer has better things to do on this particular evening.
Have a wonderful holiday season, and don't forget to be as nice to your family members as you are to perfect strangers during this joyful time.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
2012 Christmas Ornaments.......
Full disclosure:
I put my Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving, which has been my tradition (most years) since Sweet Girl was young.
I finally got all the strands of lights working today. (It's a pre-lit artificial tree, and I'm never going back.) I need some replacement bulbs so I can get all of them either to BLINK or NOT BLINK.
It still doesn't have the first ornament on it.
I've been just a tad busy with some things. Not the least of which is the fact that I FINALLY got back on my bike today, and although it was only a 19-mile ride (they're going to kick me out of the Round Numbers Club, I'm afraid), it did my spirits a world of good. Hubby took MIL for her radiation treatment today, and I haven't seen her at all. That may be a good thing for both of us, considering how the past few days have been.
But that's not what this post is about.
Not long after Hubby and I got married, on one of our first trips, I bought a Christmas ornament in one of the places we visited. Every year after that, whenever I put it on the tree, I smiled to remember where we were and what a good time we had. So I made it a point on every trip from then on to buy a Christmas ornament to remind me of the trip.
And now I'm pouting, because apparently I'm out of space on my Picasa site, and I refuse to pay a monthly fee to upload pictures to my blog.
Bummer.
Any suggestions from folks out there about how to post photos without paying for storage?
I so looked forward to posting photos of my Christmas ornaments.
Dang.
I put my Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving, which has been my tradition (most years) since Sweet Girl was young.
I finally got all the strands of lights working today. (It's a pre-lit artificial tree, and I'm never going back.) I need some replacement bulbs so I can get all of them either to BLINK or NOT BLINK.
It still doesn't have the first ornament on it.
I've been just a tad busy with some things. Not the least of which is the fact that I FINALLY got back on my bike today, and although it was only a 19-mile ride (they're going to kick me out of the Round Numbers Club, I'm afraid), it did my spirits a world of good. Hubby took MIL for her radiation treatment today, and I haven't seen her at all. That may be a good thing for both of us, considering how the past few days have been.
But that's not what this post is about.
Not long after Hubby and I got married, on one of our first trips, I bought a Christmas ornament in one of the places we visited. Every year after that, whenever I put it on the tree, I smiled to remember where we were and what a good time we had. So I made it a point on every trip from then on to buy a Christmas ornament to remind me of the trip.
And now I'm pouting, because apparently I'm out of space on my Picasa site, and I refuse to pay a monthly fee to upload pictures to my blog.
Bummer.
Any suggestions from folks out there about how to post photos without paying for storage?
I so looked forward to posting photos of my Christmas ornaments.
Dang.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Role Reversal......
I couldn't come up with anything better than that boring title. Sorry.
When Hubby and I first married, I was always cold. We have central heat, but we mostly rely on a wood burning stove to produce heat, at least for the downstairs. I like wood heat, even if it IS hard to regulate (more on that in a moment). It's just so warm. And back when we used to go load our own wood, it warmed us twice.
Hubby was NEVER cold. He ran quite a few degrees warmer than I, and it was rare that we met in the middle.
Over the course of our marriage, however, Hubby has gone from his late 40's to early 60's (boy does THAT look different than it used to!), and partly as a result of his age and partly due to diabetes, his feet are always cold.
I, on the other hand, have gone from my mid 30's to early 50's, and every woman reading this probably knows what that means.
I ain't hogging the covers anymore.
It's the time of year I hate, when we go somewhere in the car in the morning and have to turn on the heater full blast. When we come home in the afternoon, however, we have to run the air conditioner. All the glorious seasons of the year, wrapped up neatly in a single day.
It's also the time of year when Hubby insists we turn off the ceiling fans in our bedroom. I like the fans, and not just for their cooling effect. I like the low hum (even though I don't consider myself a fan of white noise), and I like the movement of air the fans create.
I miss those fans. It's not that I'm burning up, because I still lean somewhat toward the cold natured end of the spectrum.
I am usually up a few minutes later than Hubby, most often because I have delayed writing my blog until he's ready to go upstairs, then I have to scramble to do it. If I'm going to be very much later, Hubby reminds me to put more wood in the stove before I come to bed.
And I usually forget.
I like being warm, mind you, but the wood stove sometimes puts out more heat than I can tolerate. And he wants me to put MORE wood in it? Sheesh. I almost always regret it the next morning, when it's quite chilly downstairs and the fire has gone out completely. But when I'm sitting in my recliner and beads of sweat are standing out on my forehead, it's hard to make myself put wood in the heater.
And I never know whether to call it a "heater" or a "stove." I guess "heater" is more appropriate, since it's not used for cooking. In that case, we need to come up with another name for that dusty appliance in the kitchen.
When Hubby and I first married, I was always cold. We have central heat, but we mostly rely on a wood burning stove to produce heat, at least for the downstairs. I like wood heat, even if it IS hard to regulate (more on that in a moment). It's just so warm. And back when we used to go load our own wood, it warmed us twice.
Hubby was NEVER cold. He ran quite a few degrees warmer than I, and it was rare that we met in the middle.
Over the course of our marriage, however, Hubby has gone from his late 40's to early 60's (boy does THAT look different than it used to!), and partly as a result of his age and partly due to diabetes, his feet are always cold.
I, on the other hand, have gone from my mid 30's to early 50's, and every woman reading this probably knows what that means.
I ain't hogging the covers anymore.
It's the time of year I hate, when we go somewhere in the car in the morning and have to turn on the heater full blast. When we come home in the afternoon, however, we have to run the air conditioner. All the glorious seasons of the year, wrapped up neatly in a single day.
It's also the time of year when Hubby insists we turn off the ceiling fans in our bedroom. I like the fans, and not just for their cooling effect. I like the low hum (even though I don't consider myself a fan of white noise), and I like the movement of air the fans create.
I miss those fans. It's not that I'm burning up, because I still lean somewhat toward the cold natured end of the spectrum.
I am usually up a few minutes later than Hubby, most often because I have delayed writing my blog until he's ready to go upstairs, then I have to scramble to do it. If I'm going to be very much later, Hubby reminds me to put more wood in the stove before I come to bed.
And I usually forget.
I like being warm, mind you, but the wood stove sometimes puts out more heat than I can tolerate. And he wants me to put MORE wood in it? Sheesh. I almost always regret it the next morning, when it's quite chilly downstairs and the fire has gone out completely. But when I'm sitting in my recliner and beads of sweat are standing out on my forehead, it's hard to make myself put wood in the heater.
And I never know whether to call it a "heater" or a "stove." I guess "heater" is more appropriate, since it's not used for cooking. In that case, we need to come up with another name for that dusty appliance in the kitchen.
Monday, November 26, 2012
New Respect......
I have gained a whole new respect for two different professions in the last several weeks.
The first field is one for which I have always had an appreciation, even before my sister took her place in it. I have always admired and respected nurses for the work they do, but even more so now. Doctors seem to get all the glory, but the nurses appear to do most of the work. Only a doctor can prescribe medications and certain treatments, but it's the nurses who really know what is needed. After my mother-in-law's surgery, I watched a nurse manage the care of several patients in the recovery room. She told the doctor (a resident who was probably born AFTER the nurse started practicing) what to do in order to discharge my mother-in-law to her room, and she reminded him to call the anesthesiologist, who had called to check on mother-in-law (he still didn't call - he forgot).
Nurses are the ones who communicate most with the family, and they are the ones who truly understands the patient's (and the family's) concerns. The doctor told us we would need to come back downstairs to her office to pick up a prescription, and the nurse had already sent it to the pharmacy via computer.
I'm not knocking doctors by any means. I appreciate the years and years and years of training they go through in order to take care of the rest of us. But if you measure their contact with patients compared to that of the nurses, there's no contest. I think we should flip-flop the pay of nurses with that of doctors based on minutes of patient contact alone.
We had the opportunity last week to meet four different nurses who work with home health care. One was the primary nurse in charge of administering fluids to mother-in-law in her home, and two others were additional folks she had to call to see if THEY could find a vein in mother-in-law's dehydrated body. (The third one was the charm.) The fourth nurse was the one on night duty who came to take down MIL's i.v.. fluid because I hadn't been trained (yet) to do it. When she left that night, she hugged me, then she hugged MIL and kissed her on the cheek. How sweet was that?
As I typed to my sister today, I don't know how they do what they do all the time.
The other group of awesome folks I've only recently come to appreciate is kindergarten teachers. My friend with whom I've been volunteering at an elementary school is the media specialist at her school. Most of the time teachers sign up to bring their classes to the media center, Jennifer reads them a story and has them do some sort of activity, and they go on their merry way. That's sort of true for the kindergarten class, except because this class was added late in the school year, the teacher pretty much drops them off and retreats for the only 45 minutes of relative sanity she gets in a school day. In one 45-minute period, Jennifer has to keep the kindergarten students on their squares, keep them from talking all at the same time, tell them as a group and individually that now is not a good time to go get water, repeat the rules about behavior in the library, read a story, hear fifty-two different versions of what the kids did over the __________ (weekend, break, holiday, last five minutes), keep them from hitting each other, hand out tissues, listen to each and every incident of tattling, have them complete an activity related to the book they just read, and somehow manage to do all that without slitting one of their little throats. Or her own wrists.
Oh, and she's expected to meet learning objectives.
With kindergarten students.
Every. Single. Day.
For forty-five interminable minutes.
I stayed late to help her with the little squirrels today, and she posed the question, "Can you imagine what it's like to have them all in a classroom ALL DAY LONG?" (Except for the 45 minutes they go to the library, when I wouldn't blame the teacher one bit for having a flask in her desk drawer.)
A huge, huge tip of the hat to kindergarten teachers. May you live long enough to win the lottery.
The first field is one for which I have always had an appreciation, even before my sister took her place in it. I have always admired and respected nurses for the work they do, but even more so now. Doctors seem to get all the glory, but the nurses appear to do most of the work. Only a doctor can prescribe medications and certain treatments, but it's the nurses who really know what is needed. After my mother-in-law's surgery, I watched a nurse manage the care of several patients in the recovery room. She told the doctor (a resident who was probably born AFTER the nurse started practicing) what to do in order to discharge my mother-in-law to her room, and she reminded him to call the anesthesiologist, who had called to check on mother-in-law (he still didn't call - he forgot).
Nurses are the ones who communicate most with the family, and they are the ones who truly understands the patient's (and the family's) concerns. The doctor told us we would need to come back downstairs to her office to pick up a prescription, and the nurse had already sent it to the pharmacy via computer.
I'm not knocking doctors by any means. I appreciate the years and years and years of training they go through in order to take care of the rest of us. But if you measure their contact with patients compared to that of the nurses, there's no contest. I think we should flip-flop the pay of nurses with that of doctors based on minutes of patient contact alone.
We had the opportunity last week to meet four different nurses who work with home health care. One was the primary nurse in charge of administering fluids to mother-in-law in her home, and two others were additional folks she had to call to see if THEY could find a vein in mother-in-law's dehydrated body. (The third one was the charm.) The fourth nurse was the one on night duty who came to take down MIL's i.v.. fluid because I hadn't been trained (yet) to do it. When she left that night, she hugged me, then she hugged MIL and kissed her on the cheek. How sweet was that?
As I typed to my sister today, I don't know how they do what they do all the time.
The other group of awesome folks I've only recently come to appreciate is kindergarten teachers. My friend with whom I've been volunteering at an elementary school is the media specialist at her school. Most of the time teachers sign up to bring their classes to the media center, Jennifer reads them a story and has them do some sort of activity, and they go on their merry way. That's sort of true for the kindergarten class, except because this class was added late in the school year, the teacher pretty much drops them off and retreats for the only 45 minutes of relative sanity she gets in a school day. In one 45-minute period, Jennifer has to keep the kindergarten students on their squares, keep them from talking all at the same time, tell them as a group and individually that now is not a good time to go get water, repeat the rules about behavior in the library, read a story, hear fifty-two different versions of what the kids did over the __________ (weekend, break, holiday, last five minutes), keep them from hitting each other, hand out tissues, listen to each and every incident of tattling, have them complete an activity related to the book they just read, and somehow manage to do all that without slitting one of their little throats. Or her own wrists.
Oh, and she's expected to meet learning objectives.
With kindergarten students.
Every. Single. Day.
For forty-five interminable minutes.
I stayed late to help her with the little squirrels today, and she posed the question, "Can you imagine what it's like to have them all in a classroom ALL DAY LONG?" (Except for the 45 minutes they go to the library, when I wouldn't blame the teacher one bit for having a flask in her desk drawer.)
A huge, huge tip of the hat to kindergarten teachers. May you live long enough to win the lottery.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Hi Ho... Hi Ho........
Political correctness notwithstanding, I feel like one of the Seven Dwarfs (Dwarves?) tonight. I'll let you guess which one...
My apologies to Disney.
- I have eaten an entire stack of graham crackers.
- I haven't folded the second load of laundry; it's still in the dryer.
- The Green Bay Packers are down 24-7 and it isn't even halftime yet.
- Half the lights on my Christmas tree blink, and the other half don't. I don't care one way or the other whether they blink or not, but I would appreciate it if they all do the same thing.
- Hubby thinks I should keep firewood in the wood-burning heater all day long, even if it's 60 degrees outside and 85 inside.
- It's past my bedtime, even though I don't have one, and there are dishes in the sink that need to be washed. Too many to ignore, not enough to put in the dishwasher.
- I haven't been on my bike in 8 days. And not for lack of trying.
My apologies to Disney.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Three Football Stories That Aren't About Football...
Story 1
Hubby and I intended to leave home around 6:30 this morning to go to the football game. Kickoff was at noon, and we wanted to get a good parking spot for the RV. What we consider a good parking spot is one that is A) easy to get out of, since we are among the minority of tailgaters in the RV who don't spend the night; and B) good for satellite reception.
I woke up at 4:50 or something like that, and I knew it was too early to get up. The next time I looked at the clock, it was 6:27. So much for leaving home at 6:30. Hubby got up a few minutes later, and we left not long thereafter.
Usually I spend a lot of time getting ready to go to a football game. Hair, make-up, clothes, shoes, food, drinks, paraphernalia for Gus, electronic devices, crocheting (sometimes, depending on the time of the game), maybe something to read.
I didn't have that option this morning. I hurriedly packed a bag with clothes to wear for the game, I poured us each a cup of coffee in a travel mug, we grabbed the dog, and we left around 7:00 or 7:15.
Oh, the beauty of having an RV. I left home this morning wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt, and my house shoes. I had on no bra and NO UNDERWEAR! I didn't even have time to brush my teeth. I took my hairdryer and make-up and did those primping things after we got there. Thank goodness I have toiletries that live in the RV, along with extra clothing (if needed) and underwear (whew!).
Story 2
This is tongue-in-cheek. I understand how ticket scalping works.
Something still looks funny enough that I want to stop and take a picture of it (it'll have to be next year, since today was our last home game, and it might get me shot anyway).
On our way to the stadium, we invariably pass several sets of scalpers. One will hold up a sign that says, "I need tickets," and the other holds up a handful of tickets, yelling, "Who needs tickets?" On the way to one game, the guy yelled about needing tickets, and I pointed to the guy about 10 yards from him and said, "He's got some."
He said to me, "What?" and we kept walking. I don't know if he really didn't hear me or if he was ticked off that I was questioning their methods. Or whatever I was questioning.
Today we passed a guy who was apparently either working alone, or his buddy had taken a bathroom break. He had a sign in one hand saying he needed tickets, and in the other hand he clutched ... you guessed it ... tickets.
Again, I realize how the system works. They buy extra tickets from folks who don't need them AND they sell tickets to folks who don't have them.
It still looks funny.
Story 3
Most fans are fairly well-behaved, at least in our section of the stadium. Unfortunately, our seats are very near some seats that are always occupied by fans from the opposing teams. (Maybe when I grow up I'll be eligible for seats that are only UGA fans.) It's not usually a problem. Good-natured ribbing takes place between fans from the two teams, and it's all in good fun.
Apparently not for some people.
One section over from us today, we saw folks standing up trying to get a better look at some kind of commotion. It's usually pretty easy to predict what's going to happen even before you spot the perpetrator(s). One (usually drunk) fan from the home team starts jawing and arguing with some other (usually drunk) fan from the other team, and pretty soon the verbal altercation turns physical and one or both parties is escorted from the stadium, sometimes handcuffed and sometimes not.
That actually wasn't the case today. It was ONE fan from the opposing team who was being belligerent to the UGA fans in her section, repeatedly dropping the f-bomb and generally being obnoxious and disruptive. Yes, I said "her." I don't think the security folks handcuffed her, at least not while I could see her, but they did wrestle her into the aisle and marched her out, to the cheers and jeers of fans in three sections. She was accompanied by a young man, maybe around 12 or 13 years old, and I felt terrible for him.
It was only the first quarter, and I suspect he didn't get to see the rest of the game. At least not in person.
Hubby and I intended to leave home around 6:30 this morning to go to the football game. Kickoff was at noon, and we wanted to get a good parking spot for the RV. What we consider a good parking spot is one that is A) easy to get out of, since we are among the minority of tailgaters in the RV who don't spend the night; and B) good for satellite reception.
I woke up at 4:50 or something like that, and I knew it was too early to get up. The next time I looked at the clock, it was 6:27. So much for leaving home at 6:30. Hubby got up a few minutes later, and we left not long thereafter.
Usually I spend a lot of time getting ready to go to a football game. Hair, make-up, clothes, shoes, food, drinks, paraphernalia for Gus, electronic devices, crocheting (sometimes, depending on the time of the game), maybe something to read.
I didn't have that option this morning. I hurriedly packed a bag with clothes to wear for the game, I poured us each a cup of coffee in a travel mug, we grabbed the dog, and we left around 7:00 or 7:15.
Oh, the beauty of having an RV. I left home this morning wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt, and my house shoes. I had on no bra and NO UNDERWEAR! I didn't even have time to brush my teeth. I took my hairdryer and make-up and did those primping things after we got there. Thank goodness I have toiletries that live in the RV, along with extra clothing (if needed) and underwear (whew!).
Story 2
This is tongue-in-cheek. I understand how ticket scalping works.
Something still looks funny enough that I want to stop and take a picture of it (it'll have to be next year, since today was our last home game, and it might get me shot anyway).
On our way to the stadium, we invariably pass several sets of scalpers. One will hold up a sign that says, "I need tickets," and the other holds up a handful of tickets, yelling, "Who needs tickets?" On the way to one game, the guy yelled about needing tickets, and I pointed to the guy about 10 yards from him and said, "He's got some."
He said to me, "What?" and we kept walking. I don't know if he really didn't hear me or if he was ticked off that I was questioning their methods. Or whatever I was questioning.
Today we passed a guy who was apparently either working alone, or his buddy had taken a bathroom break. He had a sign in one hand saying he needed tickets, and in the other hand he clutched ... you guessed it ... tickets.
Again, I realize how the system works. They buy extra tickets from folks who don't need them AND they sell tickets to folks who don't have them.
It still looks funny.
Story 3
Most fans are fairly well-behaved, at least in our section of the stadium. Unfortunately, our seats are very near some seats that are always occupied by fans from the opposing teams. (Maybe when I grow up I'll be eligible for seats that are only UGA fans.) It's not usually a problem. Good-natured ribbing takes place between fans from the two teams, and it's all in good fun.
Apparently not for some people.
One section over from us today, we saw folks standing up trying to get a better look at some kind of commotion. It's usually pretty easy to predict what's going to happen even before you spot the perpetrator(s). One (usually drunk) fan from the home team starts jawing and arguing with some other (usually drunk) fan from the other team, and pretty soon the verbal altercation turns physical and one or both parties is escorted from the stadium, sometimes handcuffed and sometimes not.
That actually wasn't the case today. It was ONE fan from the opposing team who was being belligerent to the UGA fans in her section, repeatedly dropping the f-bomb and generally being obnoxious and disruptive. Yes, I said "her." I don't think the security folks handcuffed her, at least not while I could see her, but they did wrestle her into the aisle and marched her out, to the cheers and jeers of fans in three sections. She was accompanied by a young man, maybe around 12 or 13 years old, and I felt terrible for him.
It was only the first quarter, and I suspect he didn't get to see the rest of the game. At least not in person.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Mama Bear Wants to Claw Someone.....
Sweet Girl hates it when I refer to her as my "cub" or refer to myself as a "mama bear." She'll understand the concept when she has kids of her own.
I'll probably mess up part of this story, since it is Sweet Girl's and not mine to tell, but I'll risk it anyway.
My daughter loves to cook. I don't know where she got that gene, because it certainly didn't come from me. Not only does she love to cook, she's pretty darn good at it. She experiments, she tries new recipes, she uses exotic spices and flavorings.
Me? If it has more than 5 ingredients and there's a single thing I can't pronounce or don't know what section it's in, I move on to the next recipe.
(I almost posted on Facebook the other night: "Food just tastes better with a new can opener" but I was afraid no one would get it. Or rather, I was afraid it was dumb.)
Sweet Girl decided NOT to come home for Thanksgiving this year. She's technically unemployed (but almost finished with school, praise all that's holy for that!), and we all know gas isn't cheap these days. Instead she decided to stay home and cook a meal for one of her married friends and her small family.
I don't know the entire menu, but I know she cooked a turkey, baked a pecan pie (I have never been that brave myself), made deviled eggs, and a host of other goodies. She cleaned her townhouse and sent me a picture of how sparkling it looked. She got up early on Thanksgiving Day and put the finishing touches on some things, whipped up a few things that can only be made the day of the meal itself, watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and relaxed while she waited for her friends.
Only they didn't come. Canceled (by text message, I think) at the last minute. After not returning her calls the day before.
Man, have I been doing a slow burn ever since yesterday. I want to track this little girl down (and her husband and child too, I'm not picky) and kick. her. ass.
How could she DO that?
My sister-in-law were talking about it today, and we pondered whether it was generational. I couldn't think of doing that to any of MY friends, not now and not when I was 28. Not ever. If you say you're going to be somewhere, you go. If you don't think you can make it, you don't say you will be there. And especially an occasion like Thanksgiving, where the girl had to know how much trouble went into the preparation. Not to mention cost. For an unemployed veteran who just wanted to have someone to share the holiday with her.
The Mama Bear in me wants to find that little b****'s number on Sweet Girl's phone and give her a piece of my mind. But that would embarrass my child, and I need to reserve those moments for really special occasions. Like riding the grocery cart through the parking lot.
IS it generational? Is it just young people in their late 20's to early 30's (older? younger?) who are so ME, ME, ME, ME oriented that they can ignore the feelings of other people and cheerfully go about their business? Or is this an isolated case of one young person/family? Please, please, please tell me it's the latter, or I may just crawl under my comforter and suck my thumb until the world comes to an end next month.
I know I should give the girl the benefit of the doubt, particularly since I don't know the WHOLE story. She has a young child, so there could have been any number of reasons that she had to cancel at the last minute. But she didn't offer ANYTHING in the way of explanation. I believe the phrase she used was, "We can't make it." Even if she had to make up a LIE, it would have been better than not offering an excuse at all. (I think Sweet Girl would disagree with me on that last one, because she's inherently way more honest than I am. I mean, when backed into a corner. Yeah, that's what I meant.)
Ugh.
This parenting thing just never stops hurting.
I'll probably mess up part of this story, since it is Sweet Girl's and not mine to tell, but I'll risk it anyway.
My daughter loves to cook. I don't know where she got that gene, because it certainly didn't come from me. Not only does she love to cook, she's pretty darn good at it. She experiments, she tries new recipes, she uses exotic spices and flavorings.
Me? If it has more than 5 ingredients and there's a single thing I can't pronounce or don't know what section it's in, I move on to the next recipe.
(I almost posted on Facebook the other night: "Food just tastes better with a new can opener" but I was afraid no one would get it. Or rather, I was afraid it was dumb.)
Sweet Girl decided NOT to come home for Thanksgiving this year. She's technically unemployed (but almost finished with school, praise all that's holy for that!), and we all know gas isn't cheap these days. Instead she decided to stay home and cook a meal for one of her married friends and her small family.
I don't know the entire menu, but I know she cooked a turkey, baked a pecan pie (I have never been that brave myself), made deviled eggs, and a host of other goodies. She cleaned her townhouse and sent me a picture of how sparkling it looked. She got up early on Thanksgiving Day and put the finishing touches on some things, whipped up a few things that can only be made the day of the meal itself, watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and relaxed while she waited for her friends.
Only they didn't come. Canceled (by text message, I think) at the last minute. After not returning her calls the day before.
Man, have I been doing a slow burn ever since yesterday. I want to track this little girl down (and her husband and child too, I'm not picky) and kick. her. ass.
How could she DO that?
My sister-in-law were talking about it today, and we pondered whether it was generational. I couldn't think of doing that to any of MY friends, not now and not when I was 28. Not ever. If you say you're going to be somewhere, you go. If you don't think you can make it, you don't say you will be there. And especially an occasion like Thanksgiving, where the girl had to know how much trouble went into the preparation. Not to mention cost. For an unemployed veteran who just wanted to have someone to share the holiday with her.
The Mama Bear in me wants to find that little b****'s number on Sweet Girl's phone and give her a piece of my mind. But that would embarrass my child, and I need to reserve those moments for really special occasions. Like riding the grocery cart through the parking lot.
IS it generational? Is it just young people in their late 20's to early 30's (older? younger?) who are so ME, ME, ME, ME oriented that they can ignore the feelings of other people and cheerfully go about their business? Or is this an isolated case of one young person/family? Please, please, please tell me it's the latter, or I may just crawl under my comforter and suck my thumb until the world comes to an end next month.
I know I should give the girl the benefit of the doubt, particularly since I don't know the WHOLE story. She has a young child, so there could have been any number of reasons that she had to cancel at the last minute. But she didn't offer ANYTHING in the way of explanation. I believe the phrase she used was, "We can't make it." Even if she had to make up a LIE, it would have been better than not offering an excuse at all. (I think Sweet Girl would disagree with me on that last one, because she's inherently way more honest than I am. I mean, when backed into a corner. Yeah, that's what I meant.)
Ugh.
This parenting thing just never stops hurting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)