The show must go on. Do people still say that? When you have a blog you write for every week and post to every single (insert day here), the show must go on. It doesn't matter what's going on in your life with your house or your spouse or your kids or your health. And so the show goes on. It might not be the best play you've seen. In fact, you might have a good laugh over drinks after the curtain goes down, but at least you sat in the theatre and watched the darn thing.
I've ruined my entire (long) weekend by hurting my back (again), and I'm painfully typing out a "show-must-go-on" post. It's silly. Yes, it really is. And I'm in pain so I'm not sure if any of this is making sense. What I'm pretty sure of is that it won't be terribly interesting. But they can't all be gems.
As an aside, I find it fascinating that even though I did nothing to bring on another herniated disc, the word choice above is this: "I've ruined my...weekend by hurting my back..." Huh. Why am I turning the anger inward? Why do I blame myself for this? This is something else I love about writing. When you freewrite, as I am doing here, I discover my word choice reveals eensy weensy things hiding in dark corners hoping not to be noticed. Just something to chew on.
Anyway. It's Monday. My show must go on.
*takes bow*
Ouch!
Are You Kidding Me?!
Showing posts with label Thought Bubble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thought Bubble. Show all posts
Monday, October 13, 2014
Monday, September 8, 2014
Tiny Bubbles, Timing, and Asperger's
We went to a small café. My husband and I, with our two kids, walked in, ordered, and stepped out onto the front porch of the place to find a table. There were none.
Just as we were about to head back inside, an older man stood up, smiled, grabbed his coffee cup, and said, "It's getting hot out here. I'm going to finish this," he held up his coffee, "inside." He gestured to his table. We said no. He should finish his coffee. We were fine inside. And we thanked him. But he insisted it was just "good timing".
My family enjoyed the gorgeous day in late August when it should have, indeed, been too hot but it wasn't. It was about 75 degrees, sunny, and breezy. Perfect. Partway through our meal, the man who gave up his table for us walked out of the café. I thanked him again. He said he saw a family of four walk in and he was taking up a whole table and wanted to move for us. He was only one person, after all, and his wife was in the hospital. Normally, since she was in a wheelchair, they would have taken up a lot more room. We chatted with this man about his life and where he lived and how often he visited the cafe (a lot) and when his wife was due home from the hospital (in a few days).
Eventually, he said, "I'll let you all finish your lunch."
My husband and I said that it was nice talking with him and wished him and his wife well.
My seven-year-old thanked him and smiled and waved.
My ten-year-old Aspie said, "This cream soda is really fizzy."
Just as we were about to head back inside, an older man stood up, smiled, grabbed his coffee cup, and said, "It's getting hot out here. I'm going to finish this," he held up his coffee, "inside." He gestured to his table. We said no. He should finish his coffee. We were fine inside. And we thanked him. But he insisted it was just "good timing".
My family enjoyed the gorgeous day in late August when it should have, indeed, been too hot but it wasn't. It was about 75 degrees, sunny, and breezy. Perfect. Partway through our meal, the man who gave up his table for us walked out of the café. I thanked him again. He said he saw a family of four walk in and he was taking up a whole table and wanted to move for us. He was only one person, after all, and his wife was in the hospital. Normally, since she was in a wheelchair, they would have taken up a lot more room. We chatted with this man about his life and where he lived and how often he visited the cafe (a lot) and when his wife was due home from the hospital (in a few days).
Eventually, he said, "I'll let you all finish your lunch."
My husband and I said that it was nice talking with him and wished him and his wife well.
My seven-year-old thanked him and smiled and waved.
My ten-year-old Aspie said, "This cream soda is really fizzy."
Monday, June 30, 2014
Forgiven
The wise and witty Geoff Le Pard commented on my Bite Size Memoir over at Lisa Reiter's blog. The topic was Childhood Illnesses and I wrote about my son.
Because he was a baby, we, as parents, had to make decisions for him as all parents do. But because he was sick, some of those decisions involved going to the hospital and being tested and having medical procedures. The last line of my flash memoir was remembering thinking that my son wouldn't forgive me. That is ridiculous, of course, because he was an infant. So, really, it was me. I questioned my decisions and got caught up in guilt and forgiveness.
So, back to the comment that Geoff made. It has been buzzing around my brain since he posted it. It is so rich and so true and so simple.
"My experience for what it’s worth is they [children] forgive pretty much everything if you don’t burden them with your guilt."
If you yell at your kids, say 'no' when you probably should have said 'yes', miss their soccer game, forget to send their permission slip in for a school field trip, or lose their favorite stuffed animal, forgive yourself. Easier said than done. But you must. Because, chances are, your kids don't care half as much as you do. And, chances are, if you are riddled with guilt, you will burden them with it. Then, chances are, you will wind up with a child who doesn't forgive because he is constantly being reminded of this awful thing you did. But, chances are, if you don't continue to remind them and apologize for the next ten years, they will forgive and forget.
Because he was a baby, we, as parents, had to make decisions for him as all parents do. But because he was sick, some of those decisions involved going to the hospital and being tested and having medical procedures. The last line of my flash memoir was remembering thinking that my son wouldn't forgive me. That is ridiculous, of course, because he was an infant. So, really, it was me. I questioned my decisions and got caught up in guilt and forgiveness.
So, back to the comment that Geoff made. It has been buzzing around my brain since he posted it. It is so rich and so true and so simple.
"My experience for what it’s worth is they [children] forgive pretty much everything if you don’t burden them with your guilt."
If you yell at your kids, say 'no' when you probably should have said 'yes', miss their soccer game, forget to send their permission slip in for a school field trip, or lose their favorite stuffed animal, forgive yourself. Easier said than done. But you must. Because, chances are, your kids don't care half as much as you do. And, chances are, if you are riddled with guilt, you will burden them with it. Then, chances are, you will wind up with a child who doesn't forgive because he is constantly being reminded of this awful thing you did. But, chances are, if you don't continue to remind them and apologize for the next ten years, they will forgive and forget.
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