Slowly Moving Forward

I can’t believe it’s almost the end of March already. I thought 2014 just started? *sigh*

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been just slammed these past few months. It’s not even that bad – I’m just slow. I’ve been making excuses for myself, taking advantage of all Glow Worm and my doctor appointments (between his allergic reactions and my back going out), I’ve dropped most of my house-cleaning (except the bare minimum) and paying attention to the mail (eg: medical bills from all these appointments). Plus, my 2014 Goals were just slammed to the back burner and I ignored them.

Well, I’ve been very productive today. Of course, it’s 1:30am and I am also really screwed tomorrow (today?). But I’ve gotten several monkeys off my back. (Which makes me exceedingly happy even though really, these things are just what normal, responsible adults do on a daily basis. Whatever. I’m still feeling chuffed.) It especially makes me happy in light of my previous post addressing stuff I suck at.

So, because I’m four years old, I’m gonna tell you what I finally did:

1) Cleared out and filed approximately 3-4 months of unopened mail. SO PLEASED and SO RELIEVED. Do you know that this isn’t even the longest I’ve gone without going through my mail? I had at least two years worth of mail in several paper bags that I powered through right before Gamera was born. Or was it Glow Worm? I really don’t remember. All I know is that it was pathetic. And yes. Really. TWO YEARS. (This includes medical bills – I really don’t know how I was that bad. It’s not like we don’t have the means to pay for things. I was just really fucking lazy. *sigh*)

2) Gathered my 2013 tax documents for my CPA appointment today. Now, at least I was a teensy bit better last year and started a folder for tax documents (both a physical one and an electronic one). But, of course, I didn’t download all my 1099s and W-2s until past 11pm. (Hey, Cookie Monster and Gamera didn’t conk out until past 10:30pm and I ranted about it on Facebook and then I watched a well-deserved episode of The Vampire Diaries.) And you know, we have a shit-ton of accounts.

3) Paid a lot of slightly past due/about to be past due medical bills. What? I kinda mentioned this in #1? Pffft. This is so awesome it’s worthy of it’s own mention. (Admittedly, this is a lot like being proud of NOT beating my own children. But I don’t care.)

4) Started back on my housecleaning schedule again. Ok. I didn’t only do it today. And I am still letting a lot slide. But baby steps, ok?

What? You were expecting more? TOO BAD. That’s all I’ve got. I really need a wife.

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Things I Inexplicably Suck At

I am good at many of the mundane things in life: doing dishes, tidying the house (for the most part), making sure my children are fed and alive, buying groceries, breathing. You know, the important stuff of every day life. But somehow, I utterly fail out other things. No excuses. Just complete sucktitude. Here they are in no particular order.

1) Paying medical bills. Seriously, why can’t there just be an autopay option? Stop sending me bills. Start auto-billing my credit card.

2) Playing with my children. I don’t know if I was always terrible at it or that I started being terrible the instant I gave Cookie Monster a playmate, but dude. I really don’t enjoy playing with my kids. I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it. I constantly feel as if they should play by themselves and with each other and leave me out of the equation entirely.

3) Brushing teeth. (But flossing, I’m good.) Both for myself and for my kids. I don’t know why.

4) Bath/Bed time routines. Yeah, my kids are cute in the bath but really, I find myself especially short-tempered at night. I feel as if it’s the home stretch and FFS WHY ARE MY KIDS STALLING IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE JUST BATHE AND SLEEP ALREADY!! GAH!!!

5) Remembering things. I originally started thinking about this post while trying to put the kids to sleep. I know I had another item on this list but I just can’t think of it. It’s been at most ten minutes since I first thought about this subject and then started typing.

6) Getting out of Costco and spending under $100. Impossible. In my entire lifetime, I think it’s only happened once.

7) Bringing in the mail. I’m excellent at bringing in my Amazon packages. Utterly pathetic at bringing in the mail.

8) Filing taxes on time. In my entire lifetime of filing for taxes, I have never filed by April 15. EVER.

9) Using everything we buy. Especially produce. I am really bad at remembering to cook real food. I throw away a lot of stuff. *sigh*

10) Doing anything that requires a phone call. (I finally remembered the item!) Scheduling doctor appointments? Calling customer service? Disputing something? Bah! Why can’t everything be done via email/text/online forums? WHY MUST I SPEAK WITH A HUMAN? For some reason, the phone becomes an 800 lb gorilla when I have to use it for anything that is not ordering take out. (Even then, I am annoyed I can’t order online.) It’s 2014. GET WITH IT, EVERYONE.

Welp, there you have it. A non-exhaustive list of the stupid things I’m terrible at. Am I utterly alone in this? Tell me in the comments.

My Children Keep Me On My Toes

When Gamera was almost two weeks old, Cookie Monster locked himself in the nursery. Since it was the kind of lock that requires a key, he was in there, with a dirty diaper (of course) for over 30 minutes. (This was the 2nd time he’d done this, by the way. The first time, he managed to unlock the door – also with a dirty diaper. Cookie Monster liked to run away from the changing table and go into his old room). Poor boy was screaming and weeping the whole time. It was unawesome.

Cookie Monster banged on the door, tried to claw his way out of the room, and kept trying the door latch. It was very traumatic. I was totally trying not to sob!! I did start crying a little bit, but I didn’t want to freak Cookie Monster out so I tried to stay as calm as possible. Plus, it’s hard to pick a lock when you’re weeping hysterically. Finally, the last 5 minutes or so, I just stuck my hand under the door and told him to hold my fingers. It was so sad. Thank God the locksmith came in 20 minutes and charged us $100 for it!! He broke the lock (even he couldn’t pick the lock) and got Cookie Monster out.

I eventually changed out most of the locks to ones that he could easily unlock. I was not about to go through that again!

Of course, my favorite was when the locksmith asked, “Why didn’t you just ask him to unlock the door?”

I looked at him and said, “He’s under two. Don’t you think if I could’ve gotten him to do that for the last 30 minutes YOU WOULDN’T BE HERE RIGHT NOW???”

Cookie Monster recovered quite quickly though. After all, nothing a lot of ice cream, milk shakes and fries didn’t immediately cure. He had nothing of nutritional value that night for dinner.

Fast forward to this afternoon where I am nursing Glow Worm in the nursery and the older kids are playing in the guest bathroom. Next thing I know, Cookie Monster comes to me and says Gamera won’t open the door. I hear her trying the handle repeatedly but to no avail.

I think to myself, “Wait! Didn’t I change all the door handles last time?” A quick check on both the doors of the guest bathroom suggests that I did not. I keep trying to get Gamera to unlock the door. After all, she is a lot older than Cookie Monster was when he locked himself in the nursery.

She is not having it and begins to cry. As I am trying to pick the lock (with Cookie Monster running around, getting in the way and Glow Worm wiggling on the hall floor, I try to comfort Gamera as best as I can. I completely fail at describing how to unlock the door.

My friend, DS, who is staying with us for a few days tries to help me remove the lock. Unfortunately, the screws to remove the handle are on the other side of the door. That seems ass-backwards to me.

Gamera is still crying. Cookie Monster leans his head against the door and asks her repeatedly if she wants to build a snowman.

The locksmith tells me it will be twenty minutes and $120 (inflation much?). Thankfully, Gamera finally figures out how to unlock the door (after my friend and I have completely mangled one of the locks). The locksmith arrives minutes after she self-liberates so I still have to pay him $50. *sigh* At least she’s out.

Tomorrow (or maybe Friday), I will have to switch out the remaining four door handles for the ones with a push button lock so small children can open the door easily. I can’t believe I didn’t learn my lesson the first time. I’m sure when Glow Worm is older and I have Baby 4Glow Worm will manage to lock himself in somehow with a lock I thought I switched out. That would just be my luck.

On a different note, this morning, Cookie Monster’s preschool teacher told me that yesterday, some twins were visiting class to check it out. When she told the class the twins were in their mommy’s tummy at the same time, Cookie Monster jumped in to tell everyone that he came out of my tummy (I had a C-section with him) and that his Gamera came out of my “gagina.” (She and Glow Worm were VBACs). His teacher was just relieved no one had follow up questions.

Can You Get PTSD from Taking Your Kid to the Dentist?

You stand there, feet rooted to the tiles of the lobby floor. Your eyes are watching events unfold in all their insane glory. Time slows down and the whole while, your brain is stunned and stuttering, “What. The. Fuck. No. Wow. OMG. Is this happening? OMG. It is happening. It is happening to ME! Fuck!”

Ladies and gentlemen, this was all before 9:45am this morning.

So six months ago, I thought it would be so efficient and awesome if I scheduled both Cookie Monster and Gamera’s dental appointments at the same time because hey! Who doesn’t love efficiency? Turns out, Cookie Monster doesn’t love efficiency!

Erroneously, I thought that since it would be Gamera’s first time at the dentist, she would benefit from watching Cookie Monster go first. Clearly, I have no memory because WHY WOULD I THINK THAT? There has been no evidence during our previous two visits for Cookie Monster that this would be: A) a good idea and B) ever going to happen. I blame it all on a completely unrealistic hopeful optimism that has resulted in three children.

Fast forward to this morning. We start off pretty good. That is, until Cookie Monster gets wind that we are going somewhere after breakfast. He comes upstairs asking me where we are going. Because I have a stupid policy of never lying to my children (sometimes, I really hate this policy), I tell him we are going to the dentist. He is not happy. I make a classic parenting mistake. I tell him if he doesn’t go, then his teeth will rot and the dentist will have to pull out his teeth. (WHY WHY WHY DID I FUCK MYSELF IN SUCH A ROOKIE AND STUPID STUPID MANNER? I DESERVE ALL THE BAD THINGS!!)

As you can imagine, that went over well. Instead, I should’ve just said, “I love you too much to argue.” (I’m trying out a new parenting method and the hardest part is for me just to STFU. Clearly.)

Cookie Monster starts to whine and cry and hides himself behind the rocking chair. I wrangle him downstairs while he kicks and screams, all the while saying, “I love you too much to argue.” Hapa Papa somehow forces Cookie Monster into the car seat. (This is a Herculean task. First, Cookie Monster is very strong for a four year old. Second, when he’s pissed, he’s even stronger. Third, have you ever tried to force a small child into a car seat? How can they simultaneously be so rigid you are afraid you will snap them in two while being so limp that you cannot get a decent hold on them to smoosh them into the car seat? I just. Fail.)

The whole car ride there, Cookie Monster begs, weeps, and screams, “Let me out!! I want to go home! Get me out!” We arrive at the parking lot and Gamera is very excited and comes out of the van like a normal child. Somehow, I remove Cookie Monster from his car seat and continue my tenuous hold on his writhing body and exit the car very carefully. The Asian dude in the car next to mine just stares as this drama unfolds. (Incidentally, I hate the random side hand holds by the door on my minivan. What is the point of them except to provide easy handholds for my hysterical child to grab and prevent me from walking away from the vehicle?)

I stumble the hundred feet from the lot, through the lobby, and into the office. Cookie Monster sees Tangled on the TV and calms down somewhat. Gamera is busy playing Legos in the corner with another little boy. Every few moments, Cookie Monster whimpers and cries and demands to go home. The receptionist asks me to fill out paperwork as she watches me try to get a handle on my son. I resist the urge to smack her in the face because OMG DOES SHE NOT HAVE EYES?

Somehow, we make it to the moment where the dental assistant asks us to go in. This does not go well. I carry Cookie Monster who is of course, screaming and kicking and weeping, and Gamera, who is two compared to her brother’s four, walks in calmly of her own recognizance. The next thirty minutes are a blur of Cookie Monster throwing a tantrum, begging to leave, screaming, “I want to go out! Take me home! Take me home!” He asks for water. He drinks water. He says his tummy hurts. He trembles and shakes. He storms into the reception area. He storms back. I have to juggle holding him and answering inane questions from the dental assistant.

I put Cookie Monster down because I have to hold Gamera as the dentist looks at her teeth. She cries a bit, but overall, lets the dentist (who is AWESOME) do what needs to be done. She is calm and mostly, Gamera just wants to watch Tangled and have a lollipop and take home a purple balloon. Her teeth are fine. She is a fucking baller.

Finally, the dentist looks at Cookie Monster’s teeth and I use all my strength to hold him down and she tries her best not to get bitten by my rabid four year old. His teeth are fine. All she does is look at his teeth and gives him a goody bag and a balloon. I don’t know why he is ballistic.

We leave and I apologize profusely to all the staff and traumatized parents in the waiting room. We are now in the lobby and I am trying to tie down his balloon when Cookie Monster stands stock still and starts to vomit yellow acid all over his pajamas. (Did I mention he was still in his PJs and pullup and also, BAREFOOT because Mom of the Year here couldn’t get him to change or put on shoes?)

It just doesn’t stop.

He just stands there, mouth open, an arc of bile continuously spewing out of his mouth. (An ACTUAL ARC. Like a FOUNTAIN.) It spatters yellow and bubbly all over the nice tile floor, creating a slick puddle all around Cookie Monster’s bare feet. He vomits straight down his nice, white, bulldog pajamas. And he just stands there.

Thank God he didn’t eat breakfast and just had water at the dentist.

Gamera doesn’t move and stares, stunned. 

I freeze. I don’t know what to do. I run to the bathroom and grab paper towels. I throw them on the rapidly widening pool of gastric acid. I do this repeatedly. Cookie Monster takes off his shirt and uses it to wipe his feet, the floor, and steps on it. I valiantly refrain from yelling at him and tell him to stop that. I put his shirt in my purse. He walks to the door and lays down on the ground.

I go back to the dentist office and ask them to call a custodian because my kid has just vomited all over the lobby. A few minutes later, two nice dental assistants in their pink scrubs and face masks come out to clean the floor.

They tell me to go home and assure me that this happens all the time. (Somehow, I highly doubt that but I desperately want it to be true.) One of them gamely says, “At least there are no chunks!” Bless her heart.

I immediately drive to McDonald’s and binge on orange juice and hash browns.

It occurs to me that I forgot to make our next appointments. I think I’ll wait a few weeks for them to forget us and become anonymous once more.

Embrace Empty Space

Up until recently, I always thought the point of cleaning was to get as much stuff as possible into my closets and cabinets. I would clear out and give or throw away items we didn’t use and then, there was all that empty space just burning a hole in my proverbial pocket. I would plot things I could put in the newly cleared area (whether stuff we currently owned or stuff we were going to currently own) and sure enough, within a week or two, that space would be jammed full of stuff and I would have to clear out crap again.

It was as if I was physically incapable of having any “wasted” space in the house. In my mind, if I had an empty cabinet or shelf, I wasn’t efficiently using my house. My possessions were like gas molecules, expanding to fill the whole space of my house. That, and apparently my nature (not the actual Universe) abhors a vacuum. (Nerd alert! Two, count ’em, TWO science allusions in one paragraph! Whooo!)

In reality though, the point of clearing out my house is to have more SPACE.

This concept blows my mind.

In the same vein, before I got a smartphone and kids, I was always late. I wanted to maximize my time and use it as efficiently as possible. Therefore, I hated being early. I always plotted ways to arrive as close to a meet up or start time as possible. Of course, because I never built in a time buffer, inevitably I was quite often late. Apparently it was ok to waste time as long as it was other people’s.

Once I had kids, I realized I hated using my children as an excuse for my poor planning even MORE than I hated being early with nothing to do. (And with kids, I now never have nothing to do.) So then, I started to build an extra half hour to my travel times and still I sometimes run late. (Amazing how quickly that half hour gets eaten up. My favorite is when the kids are all strapped in and ready to go and somebody poops. Explosively.)

Plus, on the rare occasions I go out without my kids, my incredible fears of having the dreaded “Nothing to Do” is ameliorated by my joining the 21st century and finally having a smartphone with internet capabilities. Now, I rarely have Twiddling Thumb Time. (No, I am not talking about texting. If I were, it would be a lie. I text practically every waking moment.)

But now I have to wonder, just what is my problem with empty space (be it literal or figurative)? What is so horrible about being bored or mentally unoccupied?

In regards to the actual physical space, it is hard to break free from a hoarder’s mentality. The overarching fear that as soon as I get rid of something, I will need it. If I give away this toy or this fondue pot (never used after 7 years), what will happen if the kids should all of a sudden want to play with that toy again? Or OMG, if I NEED a fondue pot?

But the truth is, my kids would only think about that toy if I take it out (and even then, they’ll briefly play with it and seem to be ok when I tell them we’re giving it away). Plus, I have NEVER needed a fondue pot. I wish I did. Or more likely, I wish I weren’t so lazy that I would’ve actually used it. Mmmm… fondue…

As for mentally unoccupied times, for awhile, since I was actively avoiding thinking terribly deeply about my life and only living on the surface of things, I hated those still moments where my brain would inevitably go find the one thing I didn’t want to think about and then think about it. Nowadays, I don’t mind the stillness so much since that’s when I come up with blog ideas or insights into my life. However, I don’t make nearly enough room for myself.

I find that when my house or my life is crammed near bursting, I can go weeks (or months, even) without a single deep thought (or if I think it, no time or desire to pursue it). When I am surrounded by things and the stress of finding places to put these things (and the new things I keep buying), I feel crowded and cramped and boxed in. But when I clear out my house, I feel fresh, clean, and free. As if my things no longer own me.

Unfortunately, it seems as if I never learn this lesson and each time I make room, after a few days, I pile on the stuff again. Now in some sense, I suppose that is just the way of things. Clean spaces will eventually accumulate the detritus of five people going about doing stuff and I will have to clean them again. (I try to do a monthly sweep in all the corners of my house. This is clearly an ideal and does not happen once a month, but I do try!) However, other times, I use the clean spaces as an excuse to buy another item since hey, I just de-accumulated – don’t I deserve another something?

Well, this year, I am actively going to try and keep empty spaces empty. I already wrote about not buying new toys in 2014 (that includes new to us toys). But I also think I need to make room in my mental space, too. Instead of always filling my time with reading, surfing the net, texting, and a myriad of other “white noise,” I will attempt to allow my brain to wander and God forbid, think.

What about you? Does your life need more empty space?

Fighting Dirty

Hapa Papa and I fight the most in two types of situations: Traveling (be it by plane, train, or automobile) or when Hapa Papa works from home.

Traveling seems obvious. Even before we had kids, we would always fight (and not just mere disagreements – full on yelling) when we travelled – especially when we drove. Mostly because we actually had a conversation and discovered that Hapa Papa was surprisingly incorrect on SO MUCH of his thinking.

As for working from home, you’d think that would be awesome, right? No three hour round-trip commute. More time with the family. Some help around the house. Win/Win for every body involved. Especially the children. THINK OF THE CHILDREN!

Well. I was wrong. SO. WRONG.

Yes, it is handy that Hapa Papa is around all day (especially in the evening when the kids are tired and hungry and starting to melt down – and okay, in the mornings, too, so I can sleep in or laze about and the kids are downstairs with Hapa Papa busily NOT eating their breakfast). However, we get into SO MANY fights. Mostly, because poor Hapa Papa still has to work and I think it’s Saturday.

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Monday at the office.

He gets mad because every time he sits down at the couch with his laptop to do something, I ask him to get up and get a tissue/napkin/juice/water/small child/wipe a bottom/change a diaper/just do one more thing. (I can’t imagine why.) I get mad because he expects us to just IGNORE the giant lump of a man on the couch and pretend he isn’t there and not speak or talk to him, or have a conversation, or ask him to do one, tiny thing (though, honestly, it never ends at one). THAT’S WHY WE HAVE AN OFFICE/SPARE BEDROOM. 

I have told Hapa Papa time and time again that if he has to get any work done, he needs to disappear. I cannot think, for even a second, that he is home. Otherwise, I will harangue him ceaselessly because I am selfish and when I see a Hapa Papa with nothing child/home related on his hands, it signals to my brain that CLEARLY, Hapa Papa needs something to do. (Working to pay the mortgage is NOT ENOUGH. Far too abstract.)

He, of course, gets annoyed and sad that I’ve confined him to the office when Hapa Papa really wants to see the kids and play with them for a bit. No one likes to be lonely. But geez! How can he even imagine he’ll get anything done when he does that?

Anyhow, here are my tips for how to survive a spouse working from home when you have small children:

1) Have a set start and end time. Since Hapa Papa is working from home, it is very easy to have work and personal time bleed into each other. Since I am lazy and selfish, I assume Hapa Papa is working with the kids downstairs, but really, he’s not getting much done in between getting the kids breakfast and managing the morning chaos. It is helpful to me to know when I have to be downstairs to relieve him as well as when he will be officially done with work to relieve me!

2) Have a designated work area that is out of sight and has a lockable door. It’s true what they say. “Out of sight, out of mind.” As long as I don’t physically see Hapa Papa, I rarely holler at him to do something for me. I can be good all morning and not need his help with the kids but as soon as he comes down for a beverage or sustenance, all I see is an extra pair of hands that clearly is not being properly utilized.

The lock on the door is when Hapa Papa is on a conference call and actually needs to participate. There have been times when Cookie Monster or Gamera miss their Papa and come storming up the stairs, yelling out, “Papa!” and burst into the office, disturbing a call.

3) Have grace for each other. Obviously, grace is necessary in all situations, but just because it’s a generic thing doesn’t mean it’s not applicable! I have to remember that just because I don’t think Hapa Papa is doing anything, doesn’t mean he’s not. Plus, he’s actually very helpful and feels really torn between helping me and doing the work he’s paid to do (you know, to provide for our family). I have to remember to be grateful for his job, his work, and his presence.

Hapa Papa has to remember that I am selfish and if he doesn’t look like he’s doing anything, I will find something for him to do within half a second. He also has to forgive me ALL THE FRICKIN’ TIME.

That’s it. It’s a short list – but let’s face it. If you’re anything like me, you probably can’t remember to do more than three things at a time anyway. What do you think? Did I miss anything?

Why Do I Always Ruin Things?

Before I get started, I just want to say that I know I am a horrible, ungrateful person. With that caveat out of the way, here we go.

My house has a giant tub of Legos (many of which are Star Wars sets) that I got used on craigslist. I have a hard enough time keeping track of those pieces so we don’t pull them out much. Besides, Cookie Monster is barely four. He plays just fine with the Duplos.

Well, I just pissed off my mom because she bought Cookie Monster this huge plane Lego set for $100+ and we already have a ton. Now Cookie Monster wants to build it and Hapa Papa has to cuz I sure as fuck don’t want to.

None of us want to.

And I’m annoyed because now I have to find room for this shit and she didn’t buy Gamera a birthday present but she bought Cookie Monster one!!! Good thing Gamera thinks it’s her Lego set too. (The benefits of me forcing them to share everything. My house is Communist central.)

My mom said I could return it. REALLY? How can I return it after she has shown the thing to him?!? She says I take all the fun out of giving gifts. Blargh. I know I’m an ass but wtf. Boo.

Then let’s say he actually builds the damn thing. There is no way he’ll let me take it apart. So wtf am I supposed to do with it?! I fucking hate Lego sets.

I am a horrible, ungrateful person.

She did this I bet because she feels jealous that Hapa Papa’s mom buys them crap every time she visits. She tried to justify it by saying Cookie Monster’s love languages are presents and time.

Really? So we have to give him even more stuff now? (Rants the person who has like a million toys stuffed away for the kids to share for Christmas.)

To top it off, Cookie Monster’s birthday party is this weekend and despite me saying “No Gifts,” about a third will bring gifts anyway. Which he will rip through with Gamera with great delight (as well as remember who gave him what with startling clarity).

All this to say I may have the kids give some of their Christmas presents to Toys for Tots before I give them anything. Thin the present pile out a little.

I know. My heart is apparently two sizes too small.

Wait, so am I the only person who hates Lego sets? I’d much rather they just play whatever and make their own designs. Or am I missing something? (Besides a soul.)

So, now that I’ve shot off my mouth ill-advisedly, I feel awful. I ALWAYS do this to my mother and my MIL when they get presents for my kids. I get annoyed and mad and instead of just SHUTTING MY GORRAM MOUTH AND SAYING, “THANK YOU.” I am a jerk and then feel bad. Then, I try to soften my criticisms with belated gratefulness, but really, that’s just like taking a fat shit on a cake and then complimenting the cake and trying to eat it but all the while, THERE IS SHIT ON THE CAKE. I’ve ruined the present and the giving and nothing I can do will fix what I’ve spoiled.

I am utterly selfish.

If someone else other than my mother or my MIL gave my kids these presents, I’d be over the moon to their face. Effusive in thanks and excitement. But instead, I rob my family of the joy of giving.

Even before I open my mouth, I feel a minor struggle about whether or not to say anything but before my common sense can intervene and help me be a good person, I barf out meanness. *sigh* Because I am a mean person, people.

Just by saying this, people may comment and say, “No, you’re not mean!” and perhaps cite all sorts of evidence. But truthfully, I am nice to people who are not my immediate family. They can choose to not be your friend in an instant and I want people to like me. But my mom or MIL? They’re stuck with me for LIFE, suckers! So, I don’t bother being kind at all. I am an ass of monumental proportions. A selfish, cruel ass.

*SIGH*

Sin is hard on a person’s ego.