Parents – don’t give your children everything. Teach them the value of a dollar, how to clean a house, to do their own laundry and make a meal. It’s imperative. Their very survival is at stake.
Which is exactly my train of thoughts as I stood in my rubber rain boots down the basement, mopping up the remnants of sewage that back-flowed into the basement. Contaminated the toys that were strewn about the floor in the children’s playroom. Ruined a baseball. Eliminated any hope of work from my morning.
I hated mopping – though it is not in any way hard. It’s because I never did it growing up – our house was immaculate, thanks to the twice-weekly cleaning lady who took the job out of my stay-at-home mother’s hands. Yes, I’m angry as I write this. Sorry Mom if you’re reading, but you’re already angry at me for being who I am.
It’s one of those days. Perchance, the week has been, less than perfect, let’s just say.
When I emailed my mother to request, kindly and lovingly, that she stop scrutinizing what my daughter eats and stop commenting on it – so that she doesn’t create body image issues in my daughter – she declined to respond. My father told me I was inappropriate and wrong to send the email. He then told me that it’s nice that I’ve finally matured, after bashing my ex-husband (who, by the way, is the father of his grandchildren) and just about everyone other than my mother.
We left it as “we’ll agree to disagree” but really, I was fuming. How dare they scrutinize my gorgeous, healthy daughter’s appetite? What about the boys? Have we learned nothing, people, after years of eating disorders and thousands in therapy costs?
Then the basement flooded. Again. And $200 later, thanks to the salvation of a very kind plumber who cut roots from the pipes and snaked not one, but two drains, I was mopping the basement. Shaya was upstairs watching TV while I tried to eliminate the smell of sewage from my house.
After, I settled into my desk chair to check email and try to do work when I read that a local reporter “doesn’t want to deal with a middle man” – which is why she went directly to my client for an interview request, despite me being the one who pitched the topic. She didn’t even have the courtesy and compassion to respond to ME.
What the fuck am I working for, people? Why am I extending kindness, compassion and love to everyone around me, when so many aren’t even deserving of it and certainly don’t send it back my way? How much can one person really take?
Ok, that’s my rant for today. The emotions runneth over. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a writer disguised in business attire. If you don’t like what I have to say here, don’t read. It’s my right to rant somewhere – even if no one’s listening.