Today I got up and planned on getting ready for work and then taking 10 minutes to sit and drink my tea before I had to get on the road (45 minute drive) and get to work. But that was not the plan of my children. The three-year-old cried and told me that I needed to stay home and make cupcakes with her. She did calm down eventually with little intervention. But the 13 year-old chose this morning to begin to enlighten me about all my parenting flaws as well as my hideous physical appearance. With a firstborn such as this, who needs enemies?
None of this is remarkable except it brought into sharp relief an interesting fact for me. My family has absolutely no respect for me. This phenomenon is not just limited to the angsty teenager, but is also witnessed in my mother, grandmother, and sister, all of from whom said teenage takes her cues.
The interesting thing about this situation is that I am the one who is now scheduled to work approximately 80 hours per week to support them.
Actions may speak louder than words, but my wager is on that other adage: Money talks. And mine is saying that it no longer supports anything it does not believe in, including the tyranny of the dysfunctional.
P.S. The job went fine.
At times Lisa has the same problem with our little sweeties.
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