Twisting the Knife

After the drama of last week, it was nice to have a quiet weekend at home. Of course, by quiet weekend, you know I mean a weekend of housework, errands and chauffeuring my children hither and yon but, still.

The Cub accepted my apology and the speech that went along with it. He has a slight understanding now that adults sometimes do ungracious things and that we sometimes have to deal with the repercussions. That is a tough lesson to learn at the age of nine.

When I told him how sorry I was that his father and I had been so hard on him he said, it was ok but, really, Mom, it wasn’t Dad; it was you.

And, of course it was me; his father breezed over the complaint with a stern “Save it for the wrestling mat, son.” Because he is a man. I am a mother and want nothing more than for my children to be responsible, upstanding citizens of the community, which, apparently, is the difference between the sexes (no offense, if you are reading this and happen to be a man).

Save it for the wrestling mat, my ass.

Anyway, the knife wound through my heart should heal any day now.

The Girl did come to my defense, however. In fact, The Girl was a huge help this weekend, cleaning her room as well as the bathroom that she and her brother share. She even informed him that the bathroom cleaning would be their responsibility from now on and she cleaned the toilet. All without my even asking her.

I’m not sure who this child is but when the Mother Ship comes back for her, I am not letting her go.

Speaking of space cadets, I mentioned last week that I was training New Girl at Old Job. It went…ok. She is um…different and I have my concerns about the future of a program that I worked so hard to build but, on the other hand, I wouldn’t go back so; it’s all good.

Also, this weekend, I spent a couple of hours on the phone with one of my best girlfriends. Nothing can make you feel better about your parenting than talking to friends who laugh at your mistakes, admit their own and help you plot revenge against those who have wronged you.

It's the best medicine for those pesky knife wounds through the heart; shame modern medicine can't put a patent on that.