Skip to main content

A-hole


 "Are we a$$ holes?"  

It's not a question I'd ever thought about before, and my knee jerk reaction to my husband's query was, "Of course not."  

But then he made his case for why we might be, and I thought, "We might be."  Which is a real bummer because it's something I've never aspired to.  

There was that moment in middle school when I definitely was.  (Melissa Rollins, if you're out there, I still owe you an apology.)  There was also that time in high school...once or twice in college, definitely a handful of moments in my first teaching job, one or two I can point to in my second job, and in my marriage...okay, so there might be a bit of a history there after all.  But it wasn't intentional.  I've never been an intentional a$$ hole.  

So now we are at a bit of a crossroads.  Having determined that we are perhaps the problem in our lives, do we own it and become intentional  a$$ holes or try to fix it?  I mean, Ross has always aspired to be a grumpy old man in his golden years.  We could just start now, but we were kind of hoping to begin that chapter after the kids graduate.  

It's a tough call.  

While we marinate a little longer on the pros and cons, please feel free to call us out so we can decide if we want to fix it or if we are going to settle in and just own it. 

If you want to know the nitty gritty details of what made Ross ask the question in the first place...too bad.  

I will say this, anytime there is a series of moments or events that make you feel like " the people" aren't for you, then maybe, just maybe it's you and not the people.  Maybe.  Maybe you're an a-hole too.  

Cheers!

  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sheltering in Place

In the past three months Corona Virus has more or less turned the world on its head.  I feel almost guilty for not being more stressed or put out by the whole thing.  We have been extremely fortunate. What we thought was a most impractical move on our part, wound up being a huge blessing.  With our two boys and our two newborns, we moved out of our house with no yard in the city limits and into my parents' house in the country while waiting for our new house to be completed.  The weekend we moved "quarantine," "social distancing," and "shelter in place" became the new mantra of our state.   Moving in with my parents meant ten plus acres of play space and two extra able bodied adults to help even out the score with the four kids.  Win for the St. Clair's!  Unfortunately, my parents are beginning to realize they may have made an error in judgement.   Yesterday, Sawyer gave their cat swimming lessons.   Last week th...

For the Love of Kids

I love the contrasting sides of our children.  It's one of my favorite things that I didn't know I was going to love.  I think it's fair to say that when we have kids, we all know we will love the squishy babies, hearing kids laugh, seeing holidays through their eyes, and dressing them in the cute little outfits (I'm told boys don't wear outfits , but it's my blog). I didn't know how much I'd love seeing my loud, dirt loving, gun fanatic, wrestling maniac five-year-old turn into the sweetest and most gentle big brother while holding his baby sister.  He sits and quietly tells her stories about his fishing and hunting conquests unaware of anyone else in the room, and my heart absolutely melts. Then we have my slightly crusty, flannel loving, mismatching three-year-old that will choose a princess dress from the costume closet because although he likes sand and rocks and sticks and filth, he also likes and appreciates things that are beautiful. I lov...

Advanced Placement

 Not to brag or anything, but I think we are raising some very advanced children.  At two-years-of-age, our girls have already worked out the art of manipulation and deflection.  It's the antithesis of endearing.   They went missing the other day - the girls did.  That's never a good situation.  They were in the house, and I knew they were in the house, but I couldn't see or hear them.  Silence is the loudest alarm system.  Fischer took action and found them both in my bathroom.   "MOM!" I met them in the hall.  Carter was covered in clumps and blobs of hand cream. "Emi did it," was her unsolicited response.   "No," I told her.  "I think you  did it." That night I got ready for bed and pulled out my one "self-care" splurge - my face cream .  It was in my drawer where I always keep it.  The lid was screwed on.  And it was empty, wiped clean.  "EmmmeerrrrrSON!" Guilty.  They were both ...