Remember my screen dilemma? How I wanted them replaced but, in a season of flaky people, I found a guy who couldn’t remember when we had appointments, set vague appointments and didn’t show up, etc.? And how I let him repair my screens anyway?
I want to get screens repaired before we have houseguests. It’s been a contentious repair, between Mom and me, because she wants me to do it and I absolutely refuse to do it and insist that we pay someone to come to our house and do it for us. But with her family coming to visit, I’ve got the leverage I need to get ‘er done, after two years.
I usually don’t say the hardest things. This isn’t news to anyone who’s been reading this more than a hot minute. I censor myself.
I forget if I shared that, in the middle of a not-unusual late April blizzard, I got a missive from my HOA, threatening to fine me if I didn’t do something with the xeriscaped portion of my lawn. We’ll set aside for a moment that I actually already had planted decorative grass in the area (it mostly died— see “blizzard,” above, and that wasn’t the last blizzard or hard freeze of the season.) And hand-aerated, and weeded, seeded and fertilized, and mowed a couple of times, and cleared out the bed. My lawn, while not the most spectacular on the block, was far from the worst.
My mother has a way with fractions. Makes me crazy. She’ll empty 1/8 or 3/4 of the dishwasher, but I can’t think of a single time she’s ever emptied the entire dishwasher. She’ll eat a fraction of something, leaving a spoonful or two in the container. And then eat another fraction of that. It seems like, with many things, she’d never ever get to the end of a thing, because she could always split it into a smaller fraction. Our cupboards constantly have bags with three pretzels in them. My female cat does this too— she’s not ever going to clean out her whole dish, but she’ll complain when it’s emptier than she’d like.
It has long been my issue that my filter is far too good. Like the Meg Ryan character in “You’ve Got Mail,” my struggle is going mute in the face of outrage. Like she finds, in the movie, I truly acknowledge that most of the time, my filter helps me not to be cruel, but there are a lot of times when my inability to speak out in the moment just means that issues don’t get addressed when they should.
To torture a metaphor.
The theme for this week is “enough, already.” Mom went shopping on Saturday, after we got our hair done. To her credit, we did not repeat the situation where I told her to call me, she said “oh, just come back at x time— I’ll be done then,” and I came back and she was another 45 minutes, and then set me up to shame me to strangers. I don’t normally go off when angry, but as I possibly wrote about, I was sure she was going to get my rage all wrong, and if we were going to fight about something, I wanted it to be about the thing I was actually mad about.