Are the ones you tell yourself.
Pulled a muscle and pinched a nerve earlier this week. Turning over in my sleep.
Not after a great adventure or a day of hard work in the yard.
Just turning over in bed.
Doc says the bed is to blame. We were at the ‘vacation’ house with guests. Our bed there is one of those air-filled ones. Doc says he sees a lot of back/neck injuries that can be blamed on those beds, even when they are filled as firmly as they can go.
So, it’s been a week of drugs and massage mats.
I know y’all have practically NO interest in this, but I’ve found that this blog is a good way of keeping up with things. If I need to know ‘when’ something happened, I can usually do a search on the blog for it and have the data I need.
So for those of you who have made it this far:
Not a real post…just waving to my visitor from Utah. Hey!
Major work is being done on the real-time HoZ. New roof, new fascia, new gutters. We’re also trying to do some belated spring-cleaning. With Buck leaving in less than a month for the Army, and Princess No only down a few weeks a year from college, the house will be pretty much kid-free.
So…we decided to get rid of some furniture. Furniture that had been bought used when we got it over 15 years ago. And since then has had four kids doing kid stuff on it. There was a recliner, two over-stuffed leather seats, and a leather loveseat. The leather material itself, for the most part, was in good condition. But the structural integrity of all the pieces was shot. The furniture was just too uncomfortable to be worth keeping, and nobody was really using it anyway.
I called the trash guys for a bulk pick-up and was told to have all the furniture on the roadside by 6:00 AM Tuesday.
Then the roofing guys showed up. And one of the guys actually wanted the furniture. We tried to tell him how broken-down the furniture was, but he wanted it. Said he had four young kids of his own he needed it for. Took him two days to haul it off in his small truck, but he took it all.
And I had to think how blessed I was, that I could call something ‘trash’, get rid of it, but somebody else would want it. I have a good life. I have a job. I can get a new roof on my house (granted, had to take out a loan to do it, but still…). We drive relatively new vehicles. We have stability.
Thank you God, for the blessings in my life. And please grant blessings to that man, working hard (getting here at 6:00 AM!!!!) to take care of his family.
…where you just want to say ‘fuck off’ to everything you read on the news or Facebook?
Yeah. One of those days.
A weird thought that I had: What if homosexuality is actually an indication of reincarnation? If you lived a previous life as one sex, and then were reborn into another sex, could the previous experiences carry over? Not intending any offense to any homosexuals.
And could reincarnation be a type of Purgatory (or vice-versa)?
And why do I get thoughts like this while watching ‘Orange is the New Black’ or ‘The Walking Dead’?
Princess No had an eye appointment yesterday. She wanted me to be with her, so I went. We waited for awhile and then I had to use the bathroom.
When I came back, the geeky-looking doctor was in there, in the middle of explaining his funky headgear to PN.
Me: It kind of looks steampunk-ish.
Doc: Yes, I could add some gears to it. But I really think it’s more cyborg.
Me: Oh. Star Trek or Star Wars?
Doc: Oh, ‘Wars’.
Me: Step away from my daughter.
Have to draw the line somewhere. Doctor or no.
Buck graduated this past May. He leaves for the Army in July. The time in between those important dates??? He’s been playing video games all night and sleeping during the day.
When we get up in the morning, the light is still on under Buck’s door, only going off after he apparently hears us up. When BR and I go to bed at night, Buck gets up to eat. Generally making a racket in the kitchen that makes it hard to go to sleep. Then he starts playing video games, which makes it hard for us to stay asleep for the noise. Buck will turn it down, but we have to get up to tell him. He won’t do any chores unless scolded for days on end. He was interviewed and hired for a job, but wouldn’t watch the training videos to start. Said that his friend who got him the job told him that because another fast-food place was opening up, it meant lay-offs. So Buck just didn’t start the job. Then won’t get another job because *I* told him not to. No, what I told him was that he was leaving in less than two months and it would be hard to find a job that would hire him for such a short amount of time. I’ve posted a list of chores with payment amounts so Buck could earn some money…none have been attempted.
BR says to let it be, he’ll be gone soon enough.
It’s none-the-less frustrating.
This morning I woke up at 4:00. Didn’t mean to or want to, but there it was. I had the alarm set for 6:00, because we have someone coming to do a pest inspection and to move the bat colony out of our gable. Tried to go back to sleep for awhile, but I finally gave up around 4:45. Of course, I saw Buck’s light on. I just sighed and went on to take a shower. His light was off when I came out.
I still had time to kill before the pest people arrived, so I decided to grab a breakfast taquito from Whataburger. While I was waiting in the drive-thru line, I glanced at the truck’s clock…6:04. Then I realized I forgot to turn off my alarm. Which meant my alarm clock was going off. In my bedroom, which is next to Buck’s. Who had probably just gotten settled in to sleep.
And when I got home about 15 minutes later, the alarm was still going off. Was it wrong of me to giggle, thinking of Buck trying to sleep through it, smashing a pillow around his head to drown out the noise?
Nah…he probably slept right through it. The only satisfaction I can take is that shortly his sleep pattern will be adjusted by a D.I. Heh.
We miss you, dude. Your brother does especially. Buck was disappointed that you couldn’t come through here on your way out west…you know, for his graduation.
I imagine going out west to be with those disturbed folks is like having a bad tooth. You know it’s there, you know something should be done about it, but right now your tongue keeps darting out and poking that bad tooth. It causes pain, and you know you should leave it alone until something can be done, but next thing you know, your tongue has poked that bad tooth again. And again.
I guess I really can’t understand why you’re out there, with the people who betrayed you and lied to you and about you. Yeah, LTS is your mom…but what a bitch she is, allowing the abuse to happen, and look what has become of your youngest brother she had by that guy from Guatemala…I would like to think that page on the internet for him, advertising for a homosexual relationship was put up by someone else…but somehow, I believe he did that.
You can’t rescue him. You can’t rescue your lady-friend you dragged with you (or was she part of dragging you out there???). And by God, you can’t rescue anyone else in that family. Your youngest brother MIGHT be saved…but you have to rescue yourself first. You have to yank that bad tooth out, the toxicity that is that whole group of deviant people out there.
You deserve better than that psychotic mess in Utah. I worry for you. So does Dad.
We still love you. We hate that you’ve made this decision to be there, but it’s your decision to make. Granted, we can’t offer the money they do…but we can offer a place to stay, a place to heal, a place for you to gain the confidence and self-respect you deserve. I really don’t think you’ll get that out there.
Please take care of yourself, Goob. Know that we are here for you, no matter what. We want what is best for you, not what’s best for us. We love you for you…
Please take care and be safe. I try to text you each night, ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you safe.’ Don’t know if you see it, or just ignore it. I wonder how long you’ll have that phone number…I imagine you are being encouraged to get rid of all things Alabama. But even when it doesn’t work anymore, I’ll still be saying that prayer for you. Always.
Not to confused with ‘fornication’. According to Wikipedia, that is, lol.
Seriously, that’s the first line under ‘Formication’ on that website. Some people are idiots.
I stumbled across it while searching for reasons for my skin problems. I’m breaking out all over my chest and along the outside of my face. And I’m having these weird sensations like there’s a flea hopping on me. Only there’s nothing there (and that’s formication). Started wondering if it might be menopause related.
I’ve come to the conclusion that anything unpleasant is menopause related. Hot flashes, night sweats, gas prices going up, stupid president tricks.
The horrific killings in California are dominating the news. It seems that Elliot Rodger’s family sought help in the preceding weeks, but to no avail.
In a way, we’ve been there, too. Seeking help for a loved one, but help couldn’t be found. At first, I thought it was because we didn’t have vast sums of money for treatment. But if that young man’s wealthy family couldn’t get help for him, how could we expect to find any?
When you know a loved one is troubled, you do anything you can to help them, both for their sakes and for possible future victims. In our case, we were told by the cops there was no facility for treatment unless we wanted him to come out ‘worse than he was when he went in’.
What is wrong with our society when those most in need of help can’t get it? And then when there is a horrific outcome involving guns, people blame the guns??? It’s not the guns, folks, it’s our society!!!! A society that encourages overt sexuality and acceptance of all its forms, even when it’s not a mentally healthy practice. A society in which those in desperate need of help are explained away as ‘boys being boys’, or ‘he had a tough childhood’ or ‘he was a member of the Tea Party’. A society in which the breakdown of the family has had a corresponding increase in these awful behaviors.
There is no accountability anymore. We have a president who is so blasé about his responsibilities that he doesn’t get mad until he hears about it ‘in the news’. By then it’s too damn late. Our society as a whole echoes this ignorant response to our problems.
Acceptance of self has trumped acceptance of personal responsibility. If it feels good, it’s your right to do it, and screw anyone else. If someone else’s beliefs make you feel less than a person, it’s the other person’s fault. Elliot Rodger is the epitome of that mantra. That’s what caused the trouble for our family member.
And it’s destroying all of us.
…because the end of the school year is almost here. YEAH! Only 3 1/2 days next week with students, and then two teacher work days the week after that! These ten hour days have been killing me!
And then I get to go undercover as a mole. I’ve been invited to a conference. One sponsored by the Gates Foundation. Yeah, Bill & Melinda Gates’s gig. Big proponent of Common Core.
FWIW, Common Core isn’t the subversive indoctrination people make it out to be. People get up in arms about the stupid way it teaches math. They keep showing a technique that is only presented in one or two lessons, but making it sound like the whole effin’ year is teaching stupid ways to do math. Or they show a TEACHER-created worksheet that supposedly is Common Core mandated. Uh, no. Usually, those ‘worksheets’ teach a sound educational principle, such as cause and effect or main idea. The subject matter may be politically biased, but the component being taught isn’t. Basically…Common Core is just a curriculum, dressed up and shifted around to be presented in a new way.
All the people who argue with me about it (those who have NEVER been a teacher), won’t go look at the Common Core standards (available for free online, lol!!!) and then tell me what is subversive about it.
Yes, there are things in the educational system that SUCK!! Standardized testing as the be-all to end-all is one such item. But I get tired of being told I’m a subversive agent for wanting to work with kids. Not everyone has the means or capacity to homeschool or send kids to private schools, sunshine. And I do make sure my politics don’t come into my classroom. Some teachers can’t say that, but I can’t do that and still call myself a teacher. I should open minds, not shut them off.
But it’s almost over for this year!!!!!
Fuck you, ex-Mrs. Goob. Your rejection has driven him with a skank albatross in tow back to the place where the abuse all started. You have torn him down to where he doesn’t feel worthy of anything else. Fuck you, bitch. FOAD. He had such a great future…but your lies and hurt have driven him down, and stolen so much from him. Just like his bitch-birth-mother stole so much from him. No wonder he doesn’t feel worthy of anything else. I do hold you responsible for most of his suffering right now. You faithless bitch.
One day he’ll get back on his own two feet. I have that faith in him. He will rise above all this, because his heart is better than that. Oh, yes, his heart is very bruised right now. He can’t see the goodness that he has. But it will shine through. The shit you’ve dumped on him will slough off. But until then, I wouldn’t even piss on you if you were on fire.
And I hold you responsible for the silence we hear…
Last summer I brought home a stray dog. She had been living in a ditch behind the court house, and was near starvation.
We didn’t need another dog. We really, really didn’t.
But she came home, after a week at the shelter. I thought I was taking her to a no-kill shelter (thank you, stupid internet directions!!!!) But the guy there said that there is no real ‘no-kill’ place…those places bring the unwanted animals to the shelter to be killed.
And since this dog was part pit-bull…I knew she wouldn’t survive.
So the dog came home with us.
And she and BR fell in love with each other. She’ll listen to me…as long as BR isn’t around. Then she’ll ignore me. She’ll follow BR, lay next to him in the house…his happy little bitch. She’s very much a doggy-dog…pack behavior and all that. Our Golden could give a shit about her place in the pack. Give her a treat, brush her out and she’s happy. But the new dog very much believed in pack order. Even to the point of pissing in the Golden’s dog food bowl or where ever the Golden’s treat would fall.
A lot of this pissing happened on the back porch. And in the summer, it can get stinky. It was driving me up the wall. She couldn’t be deterred despite other incentives or shaming.
So…being she’s such a doggy-dog, I decided to employ doggy attitude.
The next time she peed where the Golden had gotten a treat, I peed there. Not directly…the neighbors talk about us enough as it is. But I had caught some urine and then poured it over where the new dog peed. She went over, sniffed at it, then gave me an ‘eat shit’ look as I walked back into the house.
It happened once more on the next morning treat…and I ‘peed’ again.
The pissing has stopped.
And now she’s no longer BR’s dog. Apparently I’m the head bitch of the pack, even over him. In the house, she follows me and lays down by me. She’ll go visit BR after he calls her, but will return to me.
Just been thinking about you on your birthday. Hope you are enjoying it…love you, kiddo.
There are two meanings to ‘Blood is thicker than water’. One is that family will stick up for family. The other is that the phrase is a truncated version of ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than than water of the womb’. Meaning bonds formed in hard times or battle are stronger than one’s blood family.
The second sounds very middle eastern (like my enemy’s enemy is my friend).
Speaking of water…water closets, that is…I’m currently on four medications, and one of them requires I drink 40 ounces of fruit juice a day. My bladder has never had such a workout!
So, a little ‘TIL’ and a little ‘TMI’.
I have a dream.
A dream where roofs don’t leak (THANKS to record-shattering rainfall last week), where hopes come true, where kids are safe, and ticks don’t bite.
A dream where hard work is rewarded, angels are found, and dogs don’t bite. Unless the asshole truly deserves it.
A dream where the neighborhood cats stay off of my damn lawn.
A dream where my bathroom is finished.
While I was on car duty today, I was listening to a group of second graders having a conversation. One kid was talking about he he almost became a foster kid when he was little because his mom was gone all the time, but his dad and stepmom found out and now he lives with them. Another boy spoke up and said that his grandmother takes care of foster kids, because sometimes their parents throw them down in the crib. Then that boy’s sister asked if he remembered the time when they got to be on the news because of the neighbor throwing down his baby in the crib. And then the brother replied back that they weren’t on the news that time. The time she was thinking of was when their stuff got stolen and the camera guy talked to them.
These are seven and eight year old kids. That tells you about the environment where I teach. And yet they expect these kids to perform as flawlessly as kids reared in an environment which has few of those societal ills.
I’m getting too old for this.
I was at the grocery store tonight, having my groceries rung up. A gentleman comes up behind me and starts placing his groceries on the conveyer belt.
Cashier: I’m sorry sir, but I’m closed.
Gentleman: Oh, okay, I’ll go to another register.
Me: *Looks around, sees no ‘register closed sign’, and the light is still on the numbered lamp above the register.* But ma’am, your light is still on. There’s no sign. It looks like you’re open.
Cashier: *laughs* I’m open. I’m just giving him a hard time.
Gentleman: She (meaning me) was ready to fight for me!
Cashier: Guess I’m glad she’s not carrying a gun. *laughs*
Me: Who says I’m not?
Cashier: *blink, blink*
Gentleman: *blink, blink*
Good news: After being kicked out of the my-two-dads’ house, and spending several nights literally on the street…Buck has come home. Details later. Maybe.
Bad news: Naked house has to be put on hold for awhile.
I mentioned a couple of posts back that I was helping my sister move a load of boxes from her old house to her new place. It was about 20 miles further from where she told me it was, but hey…she doesn’t drive, so she probably doesn’t have a good concept of distance.
We had three of her four kids with us in the cab of the truck. Aunt Mrs. Who, don’t you have satellite radio? Turn it to channel six! You don’t like that station? Which ones do you like? How about this…I have presets for 36 satellite channels. Why don’t I just scan through them, and then tell me when you like one, and we’ll stay on that one. It wound up on the Broadway channel. My sister and I chatted for awhile, then: Are you listening to this music? No, I’m listening to THIS: and changed it to the Rammstein cd. Don’t tell me what I will listen to in my own vehicle when I’m doing you a favor!
We got to the house, unloaded, walked around the property a bit, and then started back. Somehow, we started talking about middle age, and how food smells still bother us in the morning, years after pregnancies have come and gone. She also mentioned that she feels nauseated when she’s on her period and when it’s her fertile time. (Those are her words. In the cab of the pick-up. With kids definitely in earshot, especially since they’re listening to music they don’t want to, lol!. No problem…I’m very much a matter-of-fact person when it comes to bodily functions myself. I personally would not have mentioned a ‘fertile time’ in front of very young kids, but hey, not my kids. But my music!)
She did ask me what I had been doing on my spring break. Mentioned getting my sewing room done. That in fact, when it’s me by myself, I don’t close the bathroom door. And from the bathroom I can see straight across the hallway into my sewing room, with the sewing machine gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the window. I can sit on the toilet and feel all happy just looking at the room.
My sister gagged and called out my name, acting all shocked…’The things you come up with!’ Hey…at least I wasn’t talking about being fertile, too!!!! *shrug*
Empty nest. Kind of nice, kind of not. It’s nice having the privacy…if I want to walk naked from my bedroom down to the laundry room, I can. Without fear of causing lasting harm on the kids’ young and impressionable minds, lol.
But some good news. Goob has a place with the Guard in the state where he’s now living. YAY!!! Don’t know if it’s full-time or just reserve, but it’s something. AND he’s going back to school! Awesome, awesome news.
Princess No just received word that she’s been hired for a job on her college campus next year…analyzing statistics for the school. Falls right in line with her economics degree. Awesome, awesome news.
Eraserhead is going back to school to get a teaching certificate to go with his degree, and then has plans to teach English in Japan. Awesome, awesome news.
Buck is still moved out, having some difficulties, but is taking steps to move forward in the world. He actually went to the dentist himself yesterday…and paid for it. He leaves in July for the Army, and says he’ll wait till then to get his wisdom teeth out (told him my insurance will cover him till his birthday next month, and he’d only have to pay about half of the amount…but he decided he would wait until the Army could do it for ‘free’…okay). He’s finding out that being out on your own ain’t all fun and games, but taking small steps to move forward. Awesome, awesome news.
And I have accomplished a lot this spring break. Cleaning, moving things around, sorting paper work…not everything is done, but I do feel good about what I did get done. And I was able to sleep in a lot.
Victory is ours!
When, oh when, oh when will I ever learn????
When dealing with my sister, I should KNOW to expect demands being made of me. And why, oh why, oh why do I keep letting it happen?
Like this week…I’m off for my Spring Break. And I’ve been doing some serious housecleaning and decluttering. The kind of cleaning that involves hours of work. The kind where you work and work, because it’s just good to keep at it until it’s done. The kind that I have not been able to do since moving in because of so many people living here.
But now it’s just BR and me, and he’s working this week. So I can get some serious shit done. (See…serious shit. Not casual shit.)
My sister is also moving to her Habitat for Humanity house this month. Since I was off, and since I had an errand to run in her town, I offered to take A load to her new house (in yet a different town!!!) since I haven’t seen it yet. Told her that I wouldn’t have a lot of time, but could spend half-a-day helping her out. (Not with packing, just taking a load. I’ve been to her house last week, and Jesus H. Christ…the boys’ room (which leads to the back yard) is a minefield of clothes, toys, garbage, and chicken feed!!!!) All that trouble with DCFS, all those folks helping her get her house clean and presentable, and she’s right back to where she started!!!
Well, it turns out my sister had plans for me. (I should mention here that she can’t drive due to her epilepsy.) When I called to remind her of the time I’d be over and that I can’t fit her AND all four kids in my truck, she told me that it was okay, because I could run the eldest kid into town for his hearing aide appointment, come back and take everyone else to the new house, then bring them all back and then go pick up the first kid from his appointment. Which isn’t until late, late afternoon. Because I have all this free time since I’m on spring break and don’t have kids home anymore, I suppose.
Told her I couldn’t do that because I had things to do. But I STILL have to take the kid to Dad’s office, and then he will walk to the doctor’s appointment.
All this apparently because my mom (who will sometimes take them to appointments) and my sister aren’t talking to each other. Again.
Because of Girl Scout cookies and church.
Apparently, my mother bought GS cookies for my sister’s kids, and gave them to her at church last Sunday. And my sister, being the uber-conservative Catholic she is, went off on my mother about the cookies, because of Planned Parenthood’s connection to GS. My sister refused to take the cookies. My mother stated that they were already paid for, and that she bought them for the kids to enjoy. Apparently my sister got louder and more holier-than-thou, how her kids weren’t being raised that way, and my mother got mad and smacked my sister over the head with the church bulletin. All of this taking place in the church vestibule. So my mother took the cookies and dropped them in the food collection box. My sister later called the lady in charge of the food boxes and warned her about the evil GS cookies being there.
You can’t make this shit up, folks.
Dammit. What happened is that my mom got her feelings hurt because my sister acted like she wasn’t being a good Catholic. And my sister got her feelings hurt because she feels our mom is always trying to tell her what to do and that she’s not capable of making decisions. And my mom hasn’t told me much of what happened, only not to bring it up in front of my stepfather because he gets chest pains worrying about it.
Excuse me while I find my circle again.
Buck texted me today to see if he was still on the medical insurance. Apparently, one of the my two dads Buck is now living with have him convinced he has a tapeworm. Because he’s eating so much and still staying skinny.
I think they’re just feeling the impact of paying for his groceries. Oh, he says he pays rent to them. But given that our grocery costs have dropped by at least half…I imagine they’re paying more than they ever have before.
And now we could probably go three weeks before we would have a full garbage can to put out at the street. Previously, it would be overflowing each and every week, with bags piled up on top and on the ground around the can.
And we haven’t had to relight the hot water heater since he left.
He called earlier in the week asking about the truck. We told him we’re still planning on signing it over to him, but he has to have a driver’s license, not just a permit. He says he’s ‘working on it’. Whatever that means. He also complained about one of the roomies (one of the kids there, but we’re not 100% sure). Apparently the school would not issue him his laptop because there is not an adult to sign for it. So he bought a tablet to do his work…and it got ‘stolen’. Among other things that have ‘disappeared’. Sounded like he’s not having too good of a time of it there. We told him he could come home (under strict rules, of course) but he practically yelled ‘No!!!’ Okay, kid, stay with people who are stealing your stuff. Not my problem anymore.
Poor Buck. In a world of hurt, and doesn’t even know it.
Oh, yes they do.
Just today these two gems happened.
One of my sweet students gave me hug this morning. As she walked away, she asked, “Can I take your stomach home?”
“Why would you want to take my stomach home?”
“Because it’s fluffy!!”
Crap. Time to get back on the elliptical.
Then there is a student on the autism spectrum. He has to have some kind of tactile object with him at all times. Sometimes it’s paper men that he creates himself and keeps in his pocket. More recently it’s been a small monkey…it looks like it came out of a Happy Meal. Recently he’s taken to twisting, cutting, and wrapping decorative duct tape (leopard spots this week) around the monkey as a form of clothing. Well, I was leading the line of students out of the building, I hear him blurt out behind me (he has difficulty controlling verbal outbursts), “Mrs. Who, my monkey is going commando!!!” I literally came to a dead stop, gritted my jaw, and drew in my shoulders. Split-second decision…do I keep on going and pretend I didn’t hear, or do I check and hopefully prevent mayhem. I feared he might have added even more to the monkey…maybe making it anatomically correct? I turned around…and all he was doing was ‘flying’ his monkey above his head…it was still ‘clothed’ in its speckled duct tape duds. I asked him if he knew what ‘going commando’ means…and he looked confused and said no. I explained what it really meant and his eyes got really big (he won’t even use the bathroom at school!) and he uttered a big “OHHHHH!”. Little creature went back into the hoodie pocket, as if to protect it.
I love working with kids. They may make me age, but they keep my heart young.
I saw on FB the other day where you were so happy to be back to your maiden name.
Not as glad as I am. I mean, seriously, you have an affair with a foreign national and think YOU are the one who was wronged?
Know who else had an affair with a foreign national???? The Goob’s egg-donor…you know, the one who married the sex offender. The one who caused so much pain and suffering in Goob’s and Buck’s lives. Way to go, sweetheart. Way to add pain and suffering to a young man who just wanted to love the special women in his life.
Yes, thank God that you are back to your maiden name. We may have our problems…but you do not deserve to be part of Goob’s or our lives.
Grow the fuck up, bitch.
Dear Goob and Buck:
Wherever you are, you are both in our thoughts and prayers. Hope y’all are doing well, and chasing the dreams that will make you successful and happy.
May God bless you and keep you safe.
This morning I was in the bathroom, minding my own business. I had a song stuck in my head…’Big Spender‘ from Sweet Charity. One of the skaters in the Olympics last night used that song, and it had ear-wormed into me. So I started singing it. To pass the time, of course.
My husband was still in bed. When I emerged from the bathroom, his worried voice came down the hallway, “Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked.
I replied, “Yes, why?”
His voice came back, with a confused tone in it. “I just thought I heard something.”
Well, so much for my singing in the bathroom…
I just dumped out my ‘joy jar’. I started it last year, Jan. 1, 2013. It was a neat idea…each day, the family can write down something ‘good’ that happened, put it in the jar, and read over them at the end of the year.
Well, there was no real joy last year, I guess. I was the only one who wrote anything down, and there were only about 10 or so strips of happy thoughts in the jar.
So, I dumped the whole thing out without looking at them.
Two of the kids apparently hate/despise us. Won’t communicate with us. And I wonder just who is ‘living lives of quiet desperation’…us or them.