Let ’em Get Their Own Damned Cheesecake!

A simple comment can say so much.  For instance, I overheard a comment from my seventeen-year-old son that cleared things up for me far more than hours of counseling ever could have. He was trying to enlist his sister in some planned mayhem, probably because he had no money for gasoline, and she replied, “Now, Mom and Dad aren’t going to be happy when they find this out.”

His reply:  “Well, if Mom and Dad wanted to be happy all the time, they shouldn’t have had kids.”  It changed my whole approach toward parenting him.

My mother is “not tall” and very sensitive about it.  When nosy people ask, “How tall are you?” she comes back with the zinger.  “How much do you weigh?”  Her six-foot seven inch grandson has been accosted about his height so many times; he is ready with this one, “Five feet, nineteen inches.”

Mother has been widowed over thirty-five years.  Many times people have asked why she never remarried.  Her reply, “I’ve thought about it many times, but there’s only one thing wrong with most men.  They keep breathing in and breathing out.”

My husband does not like to share food outside the home.  Once, long, long ago, I made a dessert to take to work and didn’t make one for home.  When I got ready to take it to work in the morning, a big piece was missing. I confronted him, self-righteously with, “You got into the cheesecake I made for work!”

“If they want cheesecake, let ‘em get their own damn cheesecake!”  It cleared things up so much.  I never made that mistake again.  Choose your battles carefully.