I am in a monumental funk. Two of my three kids raked me over the emotional coals today. I want to appreciate their uniqueness and I don't want to hold it against them when they aren't like me, but it goes beyond that sometimes.
They treated me with such disrespect today. One of them seemed in it for the drama, the other truly seems to loathe me. I don't know if I am more angry or hurt, but I can say for sure that no response I offered was productive. (Can you tell I'm writing in generalities for fear that someday they read this and realize exactly what I'm talking about?)
I just finished reading this post-apocalyptic book tonight and it didn't exactly lighten my mood, so here I am thinking about what these kids would say about me at my funeral.
I wish it would read like Katie's recent ode that I found on my pillow...
To: Mama,
I love you
your helpful
your pretty
you like naps
your funny
your good at cooking
Sincerely Katie,
I'm a little afraid, though, that they are more likely to tell stories about my general crochety-ness and laugh at the ways that I threatened them and how I used to scream this special scream at them that ended all tirades because it hurt my vocal cords.
Note to self: Add to my will the clause, "No biological child shall be permitted to speak publicly at my funeral or memorial service if said child wishes to receive the inheritance described below."
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