Christmas Zen

We’re all in a festive holiday mood around here. Bonus Baby merrily ripped open all the wrapped presents her sister had bought at Santa’s Workshop for us that we foolishly placed under the Christmas tree.  Bonus Child was focused on torturing me all day, putting her cold feet and hands all over me and deliberately blocking my view of the computer screen.  She claims she’s certain I’m not getting her the kid’s laptop that she wants for Christmas and she’s mad at me for that.  And Big Daddy’s singing Christmas Carols.  After the Red Cross rejected him when he went to give blood Saturday because his blood pressure was so high he was about to burst, he came home singing in his finest baritone voice, “I’ll be deeaad for Christmas…” Funny guy!

Despite all the everyday hustle and bustle, torture and annoyances, I still haven’t been fired up enough about anything to post a rant lately, although I came really close after Black Friday shopping.  So I’m wondering, have I reached the end of the line?  And I’m not talking about the blogging thing…I’m talking about my life line.  You know how they say we’re here for a purpose…to work things out…to grow and change?  And now it seems I’m so zen about things,  so uncharacteristically mature and calm about things that would have sent me through the roof not so long ago, that maybe I’m the one who should be singing that Christmas tune.  Have I worked out all the kinks in my psyche??

For instance, I was reading a post by my brilliant hilarious blog friend Robin who was suffering some angst over her teenaged son’s somewhat slacker ways.  This brought back so many memories of my own endless struggles with my Oldest Son’s apparent willingness to just “get by.”  I pleaded.  I yelled.  I bribed.  I stressed.  But still…he was content to work well below his awesome potential all through school.  I bought him planners and organizers to teach him how to remember to turn in assignments and pay his bills on time.  Still, he ended up losing his full tuition scholarship and frequently paid ridiculous credit card late fees, not because he didn’t have the money, but because he “forgot” to open his mail or write a check.  I stressed.  I agonized.  I pleaded.  He usually took the path of least resistance and took out loans or paid for classes with his own funds rather than go through the paperwork hassle of using his GI bill benefits that he earned by risking his life in Iraq.   I nagged.  I begged.  I foamed at the mouth.  But now that he’s moved out, found a young lady who is happy to take care of marry him, I’ve just learned to let go.  Even when he still gets overdue bills sent to the house.  Even though I’m pretty sure he’s screwing up his classes.  I have finally learned to just take a deep breath and let go.

Then there’s mom.  She used to really push my buttons.  She doesn’t try to do this.  It’s just the way she’s wired.  But it used to piss me off soooo bad.  Here’s a scenario my sis texted me yesterday…substitute her sweet smart daughter–she really is one of the good kids–for my three generally well-behaved sons–and it’s a classic mom soliloquy:

Fourteen year-old niece was going to a formal Christmas dance with her super-nice clean-cut boyfriend wearing heels that mom deems too high and grown-up.  Mom is clueless about these things.  But for weeks she’s railed about these shoes and and how slutty they look.  Sis invited mom over to see how cute lovely niece looked for the dance.  She immediately goes into Sis’s dining room and focuses on the mini blind the dog cracked trying to fix it, then she starts in on the heels, the length of the dress and the pouf it has (I saw it–it’s adorable), how it looks all bunched in the back, BLAH BLAH BLAH, then she starts railing on about the TV show they had on about brides wanting plastic surgery and when niece tries to explain it she cuts her off, then start ragging about Sis not having any decorations on her tree yet because her girls didn’t feel like decorating (like really, who does?) and calling her girls the laziest people God ever made (I told Sis I thought it was my boys that were the laziest because they didn’t hang their jackets up when mom came to visit) and that my sister should have MADE them do it and she should be ashamed etc. etc. etc.  and I just sat here and had to laugh (and sympathize) with poor sis because I’ve lived that scenario so many times…and it finally doesn’t bother me anymore.

Have I mellowed out?  Am I just too old to care?  Or did I finally grow up?  I don’t have it figured out just yet.  But I plan to enjoy the holidays with this new found inner peace.

Merry Christmas, all!

Men Bite…And Stab

Sooo…the other night, I’m finishing up with dinner preparation.  We were eating rather late because Big Daddy was spending the bulk of the evening on one of his marathon bicycle rides.  I heard him come in through the basement after his ride, so I got the slotted spoon to start taking the cabbage out of the pan of water and into a serving bowl.  I don’t know if he came home super hungry or what, but for some reason, he starts taking over without saying he was taking over.  I mean, you know, had he said, “Go sit down. I’ll finish up here,” I would have gladly left the room.  But instead, he gets in my way, knocks the slotted spoon off the counter and as I lunge to catch it before it hits the floor, he stabs me with some sharp utensil that plunges through my hand near the base of my right thumb.

“AAARGHHH“…I grab my wrist and ran toward the powder room, crying and screaming “I’m stabbed, OMG he stabbed me,” and started running cold water on it to stop the blood and hopefully numb the pain.  I ran right past Oldest Son, lying on the couch playing some hand held video game.  I don’t even think he looked up.  Big Daddy comes moseying in, looked at my hand and said surprised, “Oh, it’s bleeding.”  Like, no shit, Sherlock, that’s what happens when you pierce living flesh with a sharp object.  A minute or two later, Middle Son J comes downstairs and says, “I thought someone was being killed down here.”  Well, so proud and happy you came down to intervene on my behalf.  At least you didn’t wait until I started to decompose.

Big Daddy was kind enough to bandage my hand with some gauze.  “I’m done in here,” I muttered as I left the kitchen and sat in front of the computer to cry and feel sorry for myself.  Big Daddy finished getting the corned beef and cabbage to the table, and we all ate.  My hand throbbed, but I managed later to put the leftovers away before the food spoiled.  I was wondering to myself why hubby wasn’t so eager for kitchen duty now when I actually could use the help.

I left the bulk of the dishes on the counter.  My hand hurt and I was feeling depressed.  I plopped my butt on my recliner, leaned back, and went to sleep.  To his credit, Big Daddy had cleaned up the rest of the kitchen by the time I woke up.  I woke up the next morning with a huge headache and some major depression.  For some reason, this injury pushed me over the edge.  At the risk of sending hubby on some week-long pouting session, I will try to dissect what sent me into a downward spiral, one that caused me to spend the bulk of a beautiful Saturday afternoon in bed, and the rest of the day a snapping bitchy wench.  Stay tuned.

Relationship Questions for My Blog Friends

I’m a stress-avoider.  I’ve made that clear many times.  Now that the busiest (and most stressful) time of my year is coming up, I’m wondering how far I should go to keep myself in a stress-free zone.  Am I denying myself opportunities for growth, or am I just pruning dead branches that are harmful to my well-being?  Here is my dilemma:

When people who you know are inexplicably nasty, yet you’re tied to them in some way, is it best to just cut them out of your life completely?  I tend to avoid people like that, but sometimes it seems like you’re throwing the baby out with the bath water if you cut off all ties.  Even though I know in my heart that I haven’t done anything to deserve their disdain, it still kind of hurts when they attack.  If  it was a deserved or retaliatory attack I can make sense of that.  But when people who you cared about only pop out of the woodwork to dismiss you or belittle you, what do you do with that?

There are different levels to this.  First are very close relatives.  If my mother wasn’t my mom, we wouldn’t be friends.  She automatically sees the negative in most situations while ignoring the positive.  She’ll make irritating comments.  But I know that’s just the way she is.  If I get irritated, there are plenty of people I can complain to and compare stories with and get over it.  Mom is also good-hearted and I know she cares about us.  She’s there for the good and bad, and she’s rooting for us.  People like mom are here to stay.

Then there are people who aren’t really a part of your life that make you scratch your head.  An acquaintance of one of my sons made a snarky anonymous comment on my blog once that didn’t make sense.  She barely knows me.  Although she had a huge crush on my son, she never even tried to interact with us like most of the other girls that my sons bring home.  I attributed it to shyness, and I always was pleasant to her and wished her a safe drive home.  I’m baffled by her hostility, but I realize it’s her problem and I have no reason to deal with her.  It doesn’t matter if I ever see her again.

The gray area for me is people who have ties to people I love.  When I think of cutting them completely out of my life, I feel no regret.  They were never there to share the good times with us, and in fact, seemed to go out of their way to avoid even acknowledging them.  When I think about never having to be irritated by them again, I feel relief.  But am I short-changing my loved ones?  Am I just being selfish by avoiding confrontation?  Should I just maintain essential contact?  Do I need these irritations in my life to help me grow and learn to be a better person, or are they just aggravations that serve no purpose that I should just avoid?

I would appreciate opinions and thoughts on these questions, even if you have never commented before.  At what point do you distance yourself from someone?  How far away do you go?  Is it helpful or harmful?  Am I just protecting myself, or am I just a coward?

Thanks in advance for your insight!

I DO Appreciate Him

While my biggest peeve in our marriage may have been my perception that Big Daddy didn’t always defend me as he should or validate my hurt and anger with some action on his part, he seems convinced that I don’t fully appreciate him.  I can honestly say that this is not reality.  I know he’s one of the good guys and I really do appreciate all the things he does for me and our family.  I do what I can to show him that I care, but alas, I’m not the demonstrative touchy-feely person that I think he needs.   (I’m thinking he may not be truly satisfied unless I greet him at the door in saran wrap every night, like some loser with no life.  Umm, not gonna happen).

Although I appreciate hubby all the time, my need and appreciation has been even greater lately.  He is not only my partner in life, father of my children, and bff — he is the killer of BUGS.  And for some reason, bugs have decided to start bugging us!

As much as I like to pretend I’m a hard-ass, itty-bitty bugs freak me out.  It’s pathetic.  I still scream like a little girl when I see a swarm of bugs.  Although a lot of people hate spiders, those critters don’t bother me.  They’re single solitary creatures and I can handle them.  But great big social clusters of ants or gnats send me up a wall.  I’ve been brought to tears upon spying a giant teeming mass of squirming piss ants on a sidewalk outside.  Even a tiny fraction of that amount of insects in my home will send me into a panic.

Last week, it was the attack of Mothra and her clan.  I’ve learned it is not wise to buy and store grain products in bulk.  No matter how clean you keep your cupboards, too much rice or noodles is an invitation for an insect party.  So I keep things lean and mean in the pasta department.  However, there’s not much you can do when a freaking bag of rice that you just purchased harbors a little flying moth, which somehow multiplies into seven or eight despicable little rice-dwelling moths that fly around in your cupboard.  When we figured out where these things were coming from, I summoned all the courage I could and threw away the bag of rice with the visible moth inside.  Big Daddy said I’d have to clean the entire cabinet to get rid of all of the bugs.  I knew he’d done more than his share of the housework that day but I begged him to PLEEEEASE don’t make me deal with those bugs.  I had tears in my eyes.  I am eternally grateful that he finished cleaning out the cupboard that night.

Last night, Oldest Son spied an ant in the kitchen.  About the same time, Big Daddy saw one crawling across the family room carpet.  These rooms are not connected.  Big Daddy told me to keep an eye out for more of these creatures.  Now, these ants are not the tiny piss ants that found their way in last year due to my leaving sticky fruit juice on the counter.  And they don’t look like the giant destructive carpenter ant variety.  They’re kind of medium-sized reddish things, and so far we’ve just been spotting one at a time.  There are no crumbs or sticky substances attracting them.  We don’t know what the hell they want!

I’m keeping an ant chart so we can figure out where they’re coming in at.  So far, I’ve spotted two more by the family room fireplace, one more on the kitchen floor, and one wayward little freak all the way upstairs in my master bathroom.  It makes no sense.  I’m getting scared!

It’s time for Big Daddy to put on his bug-huntin’ gear.  He’ll have my undying gratitude.  But I’m still not buying any saran wrap.

Wiring

As I unloaded the dishwasher for what seemed to be the hundredth time this week, I was cursing J’s college landlords under my breath.  He was supposed to be moved into his cozy little college apartment last week, the one they assured us would be completely constructed and ready to move in before the first week of school.  Instead, the poor kid has had to commute the 30 some miles every day, while I have had the pleasure of cleaning up the aftermath of his non-stop cooking and eating, and running the dishwasher every single day so we have glasses for him to mix up his various protein drinks and muscle-building concoctions.

According to some old-school gents on Dr. Phil yesterday, they just aren’t wired to do housework (implying that we women are!).  Their fragile little egos were damaged because instead of being out in the big wide world earning a paycheck, the recession has relegated them to the world of dirty dishes and laundry, while their wife brings home the bacon.  I’m not saying that losing one’s job wouldn’t be a blow to the ego, but these guys were mostly upset that now their wives were earning more money than they were (gasp!), and worse yet, they had to take care of the housework while she was out working!  One of them insisted that no way would he do that, and I wasn’t sure if he meant his wife would not work outside the home, meaning they would all go down in a sinking ship with no income at all, or if he expected her to not only go to work but then to take care of all the “menial” household duties that were so beneath his macho existence.

I did feel sorry for one newly retired man, however.  His wife seemed a bit anal and hostile over the idea that he was home while she was still working and going to school.  While I agree that if one spouse is working full-time and the other one is not, the bulk of the household duties should fall upon the one who is home most often to do them.  She nagged him about not doing more than he was doing, and criticized the way he cleaned house.  She bitched about the dust bunnies on the floor and bugged him about vacuuming the couch.  If I was married to her, I’d be in a heap of trouble!  In my world, as long as there is a decent meal ready sometime in the evening, clean clothes to wear and a pressed shirt for work, we’re doing okay.  When both of us are working full-time, we split up the household chores.  I launder and iron, hubby cooks and shops.  The household chores need to be done, and it’s all equally beneath both of us.  However, we suck it up and do it.

I find it hard to believe that in this day and age, there are still men out there that have never changed their child’s diaper or that expect their wife to do all the housework with no help from them because it’s “women’s work”.  I’m no more wired to clean a toilet than anybody else, and  it’s pretty obvious that these guys that think they’re too “manly” to scrub a floor are just too lazy and looking for an excuse.

Twenty-Nine Years Ago Today

We met at a party on the night I was determined to ignore the male of the species.  I had found out a guy I had a major crush on had decided to go another less complicated route.  He asked me to dance.  I hate to dance.  But I had enough beer in me and was tired of acting like a hard ass, so I figured what the hell.

We were young and immature.  He used to nonchalantly ride his bicycle around the building where I had my Econ class, at about the time when class let out.  He would stop by my dorm in the evenings after working out at the gym.  My parents liked him.  My dad thought he looked like Mark Spitz, the Olympic swimmer.

Fast forward quite a few years.  He still works out and rides his bike.  Our kids tell me I’m immature.  Still.  They’re usually laughing when they say it.

Me and Big Daddy.  What a long strange trip it’s been…

Family Loyalty

One of the very few things Big Daddy and I fight about has to do with family loyalty.  We both are very loyal to each other and to our children; our little family is the center of the world — for both of us.  But how we show that loyalty, and how we react to someone perceived to be slighting or attacking our family — that’s a whole different story.

It may have to do with our very different upbringing.  His father was very authoritarian and Big Daddy learned it was best to just obey and not make waves.  Meanwhile, I sometimes felt like the exasperated parent to my somewhat child-like folks.  If they pissed me off, I let them know it.  If you’re being a douche, it’s really hard for me to zip my lips, no matter who you are.

When someone messes with my little brood, I get irate.  If they slight them, I get hurt.  I’ll lash out, speak out, or get even.  When Big Daddy has a particularly bad day at work and comes home to vent and tell me about some asshole trying to make his job tougher or screwing him over, I get angry.  I get indignant, my eyes tear up, and I bitch about how much I hate the pricks screwing him over.  How dare they mess with my husband!  And then…hubby gets mad at me for getting mad!  What does he expect?  He just wants to vent these things and expects me to be able to listen and not get upset.  Well, obviously, I’m just not that mature folks.

On the other hand, when I feel our kids or I have gotten short shrift from someone, I want him to be indignant along with me.  I want him to snort and rage and tell somebody off.  I want him to stick up for us!   He gets mad for sure.  He’s been hurt and disappointed, too.  But it’s always a quiet mad.  I can almost see him choking it down and swallowing it, while I just want to spew it right back at the jerks.  It’s especially bad when it’s his side of the family; he’ll act all calm and unruffled like they haven’t hurt his feelings.  He’ll pretend like nothing wrong has happened.   He’ll let me vent and rage alone, and he doesn’t always have my back.  This hurts me way more than the original slight.  This is betrayal from someone I care about.

Bigger Damage Control

I hesitate to write this post for many reasons.  I want to entertain, inform, and express myself through this little blog of mine.  Sometimes I need to comment on the idiotic things going on in the larger world around me.  I try not to get too personal.

If you’ve read my blog for a while, you may have caught some comments that hinted that my mom gets on my nerves.  I feel bad about that, but that’s the way it is.  I love her but I can’t relate to her.  What’s worse, I know that what she does, and what she’s done, is not intentional.  It’s just the way she is.  So of course I feel even worse, because I know some people have terribly abusive parents.  And some people have no parents.  And I feel like I have no right to feel annoyed.

The big storm we had the other night caused a lot of damage in these parts.  Many local homes and businesses were flooded by the nearly 4 inches of rain that fell.  I found out late the following day that my mom’s basement had flooded, ruining her dryer, hot water heater, and all her Christmas decorations.  This is how she broke the news to me:

“Your brother and sister-in-law just left.  I don’t know what I would have done without them.  They’re angels.”  I asked what happened.  She told me how water had started seeping into her basement up to the second or third step.  She told me how the fire company had ended up at her house and how her hot water tank was damaged.  “I just don’t know what I would have done without[L] and [S],” she mentioned again.  “Who would I have called?  What would I have done without them?” she mentioned about three more times, just in case I hadn’t heard her the times before.  Ummm, of course, she could have called us.  She knows she could have called us.  We’ve never refused to help her.  We’ve shoveled her walks in the winter. We’ve changed our Friday night plans when she insisted her pine tree branches had to be cut down that night. But we’re not psychic.

My jaw tightened, like it often does when I talk to her.  But I wasn’t going to play into this little game.  “Just who would I have called if they weren’t around,” she said, yet again, and I said, perhaps a bit icily, “Gee, I can’t imagine.  Good thing you got a hold of them.  How did they find out about the flood?”  She informed me that she had called them because they had some of their stuff stored down there.  No one ever called us to ask for help or tell us there was a problem.  And I can’t stress enough that we’re always willing to help.  In fact, my husband is a saint like that.

She does stuff like this all the time.  When my late uncle was very sick and his daughter-in-law took care of him, we all heard over and over how she didn’t know what would happen to her if she ever became sick.  Who would take care of her?  She had nobody to depend on to do all that stuff for her.  It was a slap in the face to me and my sister-in-law, who had in fact, done everything possible for her several years ago when she had major heart surgery.  We visited her every day in the hospital and stayed with her when she came home.  Even though we each had three boys in school, we spent a lot of time with her at home just to keep her company.  We did her laundry, talked to her doctors, made sure she took the many pills she had to take at the various times of the day.  We got her groceries and cooked her meals.  We checked on her wounds and tried to make her comfortable.  My sister also did what she could after work and taking care of her two young daughters.

My brother called me the following day.  We need to coordinate our schedules to take care of things mom needs done around the house.  I talk to mom several times a week on the phone, but they visit her more so he has a better idea of what needs to be done.  I ask him how he can put up with her constant negativity.  He said she’s done the same thing to him many times when my husband has done some heavy work for her, commenting about how she doesn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t have Big Daddy to depend on.

This isn’t the effects of aging.  If anything, mom’s mellowed out.  We were never good enough, popular enough or quite what she wanted.  I don’t know how many times I was compared with some random acquaintance and asked why I couldn’t be more like her.  So, yeah, I don’t visit so much.  We’re like day and night.  We have nothing in common.  And when the conversation turns negative, it’s easier to say, “Gotta go.”  And then hang up the phone.

Just What Would They Do Without Me?

Big Daddy likes to pretend that I think that I know everything and that I think I’m always right.  Got that?  I know I’m not always right, just a huge percentage of the time.  It’s bad enough that he scoffs at my incredible reasoning and discerning skills, but then, do you know what he does?  He expects me to KNOW EVERYTHING!! The same thing goes for the younger members of my family.  They mock me, roll their eyes when I try to tell them something, but then they expect me to know exactly where everything in the house is located, when they’ll need a particular item of clothing washed, and every other detail of their lives (except, or course, for the interesting stuff, like the juicy details of their latest date, etc.).

Case in point:  I keep track of all our expenditures in my Quicken program.  It makes things really easy at tax time and if we’re ever so inclined to want to know, we can tell exactly where our money is being spent if there’s ever a problem.  If I get a receipt, it’s in Quicken.  If we need to locate that receipt, I can find when we purchased an item so I know which year’s shoebox to find it.  But…if I don’t get the receipt, it’s not in Quicken.  It’s probably in one of Big Daddy’s umpteen piles of crap–on the fridge, in the garage, somewhere “safe,” in his car, etc.

Last week he was looking for the receipt to some bath faucets we bought that had a lifetime guarantee.  We needed to order a replacement part.  I checked the Quicken program to find when we bought it.  I found kitchen sink faucets, other bath faucets, but nothing for that particular faucet.  If I would have ever had that receipt in my hands, it would have been recorded, I kept insisting, although I could feel the doubt just emanating from hubby.  Luckily, he was able to get a duplicate receipt and detailed paperwork  printed at the store where we had purchased the item.

The ordered item comes, and it’s not the right part.  Big Daddy needs the copy of the receipt to check what we should have gotten.  Of course, even though I never held this new receipt in my hands, he insists that I must have taken it and put it somewhere.  Because I think I mentioned that when he was through with it, I’d like to have it so I could record it.  But I never got it.  If I did, I insisted, it would be with all the other paperwork on my desk right now.  Which it isn’t.

This is just the latest example.  If anyone in this house can’t find something, they automatically expect me to know what they did with it.  Like I actually go around putting things away?! Ha!  And then they actually blame me for the item mysteriously disappearing, like I have nothing better to do.

Youngest Son always needs me to find something for him when I’ve just settled into the most comfortable spot.  A lot of times I’ll tell him where the item should be, and then he insists that it’s not.  So I’ll get off my comfy seat, wondering why the item is not where it should be, and there it is.  Exactly where I told him to look.  He’ll insist he looked there, several times.  I guess only Mommy’s magic eyes can see certain things.

Being that they expect me to be a mind-reading all-knowing goddess, you’d think they’d at least try to treat me like one!

Creeping Toward My Side of the Story

“When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose” – Bob Dylan

Unlike what my hubby might think at times, this is not directed at him or our marriage.  It is, however, directed toward several of my in-laws.

I’m sometimes hot-heated.  I’m often opinionated.  But I’m not, and never have been mean.  I try to give people the benefit of the doubt.  If someone really annoys me and I don’t have to spend time with them, I’ll avoid them like the plague.  It’s just self-preservation.  I hate that knotted-up feeling you get from stressful situations.  I don’t start fights.  I hate fights.  But I’ll stand up for myself and my kids to my last breath.

Last week, after a grueling last week of tax-season work, I’m puttering around on the computer.  And I see this typically emo, self-centered status blurb on one of the sister-in-law Facebook profiles.  Nobody knows the trouble she’s seen, nobody knows the sorrow…Yadda. Yadda.(not her exact words).   And God help me, out of nowhere (so I thought), I made a rude comment.  It was an uncharacteristically uncalled for action.  For some reason, I went beyond the usual private eye-roll and gag me reaction, and we ended up having a lovely pre-teen like cat-fight via e-mail.

It’s complicated with hubby and his family.  We were raised in completely different environments.  Hubby’s father was a domineering autocrat.  Wife and kids submitted to his every rule or else.  In my home, there was no boss.  My dad suffered from depression and slept a lot.  When we were engaged, rather than spend a summer apart before we were reunited at college, I took up hubby’s dad’s suggestion that I spend the summer with them, working in New Jersey.  It was a mistake.

Toward the end of the summer, when they got tired of feeding me and saw I wasn’t subject to control, it turned ugly.  I was told about my every nasty offense to mankind, such as sitting and reading while I watched television with them.  How I dared not march up the aisle every Sunday for Communion like they did (I’m hard on myself and sometimes thought I might want to go to Confession rather than be a hypocrite).  Big Daddy’s REALLY big intimidating daddy actually threatened to hit me, and I threatened to call the police.  I (gasp) dared to talk back.

This may have been the beginning of my position as family villain.  It hurt me at the time that hubby left me standing there alone to defend myself, but I kind of understood his position.  He was still somewhat dependent on the man.  There were years of intimidation in his history.  He was every bit as offended as me, but he was between a rock and a hard place.

What I haven’t been able to get over, and I’m surprised at this myself, is the years of slights we’ve received from a few of his siblings.  And it’s not because I’ve been mortally wounded by any of them.  I don’t have the relationship with them that you need to have to be hurt by them.  I’ve been disgusted, and disappointed, but mostly by hubby’s inaction.  He’s been every bit as disgusted and even more disappointed because supposedly he had some kind of relationship with them at one time.  And he lets them slide.  Over and over.

I may sometimes overreact.  But he does not react at all.  Except to me.  He pounds home that villain label on me, the label I feel nowhere else but hanging on the outside fringe of that clan.  It’s the one and only wedge I see between the two of us.