Concentrate on having healthy relationships (familial, social, professional, and romantic)

My son’s skin has been a little dry, and I’m trying to get him to use lotion after he showers to help with that. He’s old enough that he should be the one putting it on, but young enough that he avoids as many steps in the daily hygeine maintenance routine as he can get away with.

So anyway, I brought the bottle of lotion into the bathroom while he was showering, and I said, “Don’t forget to use this after you get out. Look, I bought it because it’s for men.” Thinking, maybe he thinks using lotion is too girly.

Him: “There’s a man in this house?”
Me: “That’s you, baby. You’re the man of the house.”
Him: “Cool! (Then in a deep voice from behind the shower door) Bring me a soda, woman!”
Me: “I regret to inform you that it is not that kind of house.”
Him: “Oh.”
Me: “But I was getting ready to warm up some milk to help you sleep, how ‘bout that?”
Him, cheerily: “OK!”

Does anyone know what became of reignbeaulefem? Her profile is still here, but she’s not been active in a few months. I sent her a message, but got no reply. I don’t know if there’s a reason to worry or not.

I have a soft spot for that girl.

It’s about feeling beholden to anyone.

I hate it.

And it partly comes from the fact that I am just overwhelmed enough with keeping the plates that I already have spinning. I mean, I’m giving and I’m helpful, but there is not a whole lot of me left to give, it seems. So it’s easy for me to feel like the scales of friendship get easily out of balance. Like I owe someone something. Whether they feel that I owe them or not. (There is a history behind this, but I won’t unzip the cover on that bit of psychoanalysis here.)

So after my surgery, My New Man came over to stay with me. He changed the ice in my Slurpee machine. (I don’t know what else to call the gizmo that circulates ice water around my knee). He cooked. He shopped. He washed and folded laundry. He massaged my shoulders. When I said, “Oh, my gawd, I haven’t been able to wash my hair in days, I am so scuzzy!,” he said, “I don’t care. That doesn’t bother me.” When I had a bad reaction to the medication, he listened in while I called the doctor, he researched the meds online, he sat with me late at night in the ER and made sure I was comfy and settled when I got home.

After several days of this, I said, “I feel like you’ve been doing so much for me and I haven’t done even half as much for you.” To which he replied, “I’m not keeping tabs. We’re in a relationship. This is what you do when you’re in a relationship…you just do what needs to be done to support the other person.”

Which was nice. Really nice, in fact.

And, because of the aforementioned past history, I am trying very hard to believe that he is sincere. He seems to be. Now I guess it’s up to me to take it at face value and accept this gift graciously.

So.

My son has been wanting a dog for years now. After the divorce, there was no way, because the place I moved into is too small to be a happy place for a dog.

Three weeks ago he asked if he could have mice. A classmate’s mouse had babies that needed new homes, and they were so cuuuuuuute, Mom!

I considered it. Since my place is too small to be a happy place for a kid his age, either, I thought it would give him something fun to do when he is here, as there are no kids to play with in my neighborhood and no good places to ride bikes or run around. We looked up information on the internet about mice, and found that the life span is 1 1/2 to 3 years (so I won’t be stuck still taking care of mice when I’m a grandmother) and that if you get two girls, they don’t stink and don’t multiply. Repeat – they don’t stink and don’t multiply.

Well, okay then.

He chose two, guaranteed by the classmate’s mother to be two girls, and chose a three-story, colorful, high-end cage as an end-of-the-school-year gift. That was, mmmmmmmm, two and a half weeks ago.

The gestation period for mice is 20 days.

Last night, the stink from the cage was too much, and I told him he had to clean the bedding more frequently. As we were removing the offending fluff we found a cozy little cluster of baby mice buried beneath it, curled up along with the little grey mouse.

And this morning, the little black mouse mysteriously escaped from the bright three-story luxury home, running as fast as its legs could carry it, away from domestic bliss and into the arms of the dark unknown that is the crawl space under my kitchen.

I think I can guess who the father is…

In fact, I just ended a relationship because the gentleman in question repeatedly pushed on and overstepped my boundaries. I was clear about where the line was, clear about my concerns and priorities, clear whenever I didn’t like something. I gave him some chances, gave him the benefit of the doubt, but the man pushed on me one time too many.

When I ended it, he was angry because supposedly I did not sit down and talk with him about it and give him a chance to change.

The fact is, I did talk. You just weren’t listening.

take things at face value and don’t project past experiences onto current situations. Reading too much into an exchange is emotionally draining, pointless, and a waste of energy. Besides, we are all responsible for stating our own needs. It is not up to me to second guess what another person’s ‘real meaning’ might be, it is up to that person to clearly state it.

Boy, this goal seems to be very interconnected with this one.

my current gentleman friend left in a very bad mood. I kept hitting the snooze button on the alarm, though I told him twice it was time to get up. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was 1/2 hour after he was supposed to leave to get his sons to their game. So he stormed around in a pissy huff packing things up and left without a kiss and with only a cursory “I’mouttahereseeyoulater…”

The Old Me would have called on his cell phone to do some poking and get some reassurances. It would have gone like this: “You seemed mad/irritated when you left. Are you mad/irritated about something?”

The New Me didn’t call. The New Me thought, “Don’t call. Of course he’s mad/irritated, he woke up late. That’s how people are when they are late.” And the new me also thought, “I’m not responsible for cajoling him into a better mood, he can fix his own mood.” And after mentioning it to bedhead2, who pointed out that he could have set his own alarm, I also thought, “And furthermore, he could have set his own alarm.”

I took a detour around the stress route. I avoided the over-acceptance of personal responsibility and remembered to share accountability when appropriate. And he called on his own later anyway to apologize for being so grumpy when he left. See? I gave him an opportunity to accept responsibility for his behavior.

Progress.

that the only thing you are responsible to other people for is your honesty.

It’s not the honesty part that’s hard for me. It’s the responsibility part.

you can’t trust your own feelings?

for my friends.