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Some people love me for my big mouth.
They say they admire how I call it like I see it.
That I don’t pull any punches.
Not so much.
I think the people that don’t appreciate my candor fall into 2 categories.
First there are the people who don’t want to be honest with themselves.
And I think that is a big problem these days.
Everyone is so concerned with not hurting anyone’s feelings and being politically correct that we are raising a bunch of pussies.
Every single thing your kid does is not amazing.
Sometimes your kid sucks.
Sometimes her project looks like it was done by a 2-year-old.
Sometimes he messed up in a game because he screws around at practice.
Or doesn’t even go.
And I think it is doing a child a big disservice not to be honest with him. Or her.
Then there is the second category…
You know, of people who hate my big mouth.
They might have a valid reason.
Sometimes that little censor in my brain that says keep your fucking mouth shut isn’t functioning properly.
Or at all.
I’ve had quite a few bouts of foot-in-mouth disease.
Many of these flare-ups occurred at end-of-year staff parties when I was a teacher.
Like the time I told a fellow teacher that her husband must feel really bad since she was hitting on every single unmarried male at the party right in front of him.
And that was after I asked everyone else at the party if that same woman knew her husband was gay.
I don’t know if he was or not. But I had a feeling.
I probably shouldn’t have said that.
Then there was the time that I yelled out, “YOU HAD A BOOB JOB???” to another fellow teacher in the middle of a crowded room.
A room which consequently fell completely silent.
That one is kind of a long story, and I still maintain someone else suckered me into the conversation…
And I’m still not sure if she did or if she didn’t.
You know, have a boob job.
But I wish I had a rewind or delete button for that one.
And maybe a few less glasses of wine.
Anyway, as I get older, I’m getting better.
I don’t think I’ll ever be completely in remission from the FIM disease, but at least I’m beginning to recognize it.
And acknowledge it.
Nobody likes to admit they are wrong.
That they did a bad job.
Or said something mean.
It doesn’t feel very good.
And trust me, I come from a long line of women who are NEVER wrong.
So this whole self awareness thing is not easy.
But I’ve got seven kids here, and I don’t want to teach them the same thing.
So anyway, I just had another FIM flare up the other day.
And I can’t even blame the presence of alcohol for some (or all) of it.
Because there wasn’t any.
I posted this picture on the facebook page, along with the caption “This probably isn’t going to win me any Mother of the Year awards”:
Number 5 and 6 had gotten ahold of some plastic bags.
They came running into the kitchen like a couple of lunatics.
The sound of the bags, those two dancing around like idiots and bumping into each other, and Number 7 standing there wondering what the fuck was going on was hilarious.
So I took a picture.
And then I took the bags away.
Because I know that kids and plastic bags don’t mix.
Anyway, I received quite a few comments, including these:
“…I busted out laughing. BAD!”
“Fun for a few minutes. At least you know where they went with the rustling of the bags lol.”
But then there was this one, from Beth:
FIM disease began tingling in my toes.
I replied with:
“I know Beth, that was kind of my point ;)”
Adding any sort of smiley face makes any comment okay…
Anyway, then Beth replied with this:
“Then please take them away. Feel free to use the “f” word about my comment. 🙂 ”
Apparently Beth knows that rule about the smiley faces too…
Well now I was pissed.
So I replied with this:
“You think Beth? I was going to leave them in there until they either got a concussion or suffocated. Oh well. I guess I’ll tie them in knots and throw them in the garbage. Oh wait. I already did that right after I took the picture.”
Not always the best option.
But I can only tackle one major personality flaw at a time.
Anyway, Beth wrapped it up with this:
“Wow is all I can say.”
Had I gone too far?
Beth clearly had a stick up her ass.
She was the wrong one, and I had proof.
That sarcastic retort to Beth got 6 likes.
So take that Beth!
And then a few people jumped on the Beth Bashing Bandwagon.
Someone told Beth to lighten up.
And that comment got a bunch of likes too.
So clearly, I was completely justified.
I had lots of support.
But then I got that feeling.
It wasn’t good.
And I found myself searching for the delete button.
I couldn’t find one, so I wrote this:
“Ok Beth. Sorry if I came off as a bitch. But my point was that I realize playing in plastic bags is not safe. But it was very funny. So I took a picture and then I got rid of the bags. And if I could have recorded the ensuing temper tantrums that resulted from that, well then you guys really would have had a good laugh.”
I still felt bad.
But acknowledging my snippy comment made me feel a little bit better.
I sat there staring at the number of likes on the facebook page, waiting for it to decrease by one.
But instead, a red “1′ appeared over the message icon.
To click or not to click.
I went for it.
It was from Beth, and this is what it said:
“Thank you for the apology. I guess I am over sensitive to the picture. When my youngest was about 5, she was at a friend’s playing. They thought it would be fun to have (my daugher) get in a small suitcase and close the cover. Needless to say it was a suitcase with the locks with the numbers. She was stuck in there and couldn’t breathe. Finally the mother figured out the combination and released her. I love your blog and have been voting every day for you. If you weren’t so far from me, I would even volunteer to help you a few hours a day. With love and kindness! Beth. You are doing a great job!”
Beth wasn’t the asshole.
She wasn’t being judgemental.
About my kids.
After having a traumatic experience with one of her own.
And so, another lesson is learned.
Thank you Beth.
Really, thank you.
For loving my blog.
I love this blog too.
It is making me a better person.
One snotty comment at a time 🙂
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