Read, See, Hear

Ever read something someone else wrote and think “who let you in my head”

Ever see something and think “eerily familiar”

Ever hear something and think “I’ve heard that before or I’ve had that conversation”

Life is funny that way…we may think for a moment that no one gets us….but in the blink of an eye clarity sinks in….others have walked a similar path as ours…and many more in our wake will walk our path.

I read so many stories from different women, young and old, black and white, any given nationality, race…whatever and sadly the experiences we share can bond us in an instant.

We can build friendships with people we may never meet face to face but the bonds we build thru our writings are just as real and just as strong as if we had built them sitting face to face having a cup of coffee or lunch, walk in the park or any other activity.

Life is funny that way, not everybody gets it.

From inspiration given, inspiration is borne

So I posted a blog, that inspired a follow blogging friend, and in turn she inspired me.

Tools ~ that is the one word that struck me and inspires this. It may not make sense to the world at large, but again, it need not make sense to all.

Back in the day, way back when the world was black and white, the TV world that is, well there was color, but not in our house, we were still a few years away from that. Anyway we used to sit around and watch all those wholesome shows that portrayed the ideal family, dad goes out, works, takes care of the family, mom stays home, takes care of the kids and the kids, well they are kids. I didn’t get all my ideas of what I thought a perfect family looked like by simply watching what was churned out in Hollywood. I was a voracious reader and I was a casual observer into the lives of others.

I had enough sense to know that something wasn’t right in our house, but the freedom to put things on the table back then aren’t the same freedoms our kids today have. Not just that, but we were of the keep it in the closet variety, the skeletons that is.

And boy did we have skeletons, where to begin…abuse, neglect, hate…those were but a few of the issues we grew up with. I used to retreat into the fantasy world of make believe, hoping against hope I would wake up with a different family, in particular a different mother.

To paint a picture of what our world was like would be to combine the reality of some of our current reality shows, and throw Jerry Springer, Dr. Phil and any other crazy host to show you around and narrate the shenanigans. There was constant screaming, fighting, hitting and filth. I believe the word hoarding is an appropriate word to use for describing the chaos our world was like.

I never felt comfortable having anyone come over to visit, our house was always a mess, I remember trying to clean, I knew how to do chores, how to organize, but it was a lesson in futility to even engage in trying to maintain a clean home. It was me against my mother, and to some parts my brothers and even my dad. I would look at other people’s houses and see how other houses looked; I wanted that, I didn’t particularly want a big fancy house. Clean, I would have settled for clean, now that isn’t asking for much.

I cannot claim to have the cleanest house, and right now it needs a lot of attention. Sure the kids can do it, but that requires me getting after them to do it, and I simply don’t have the energy to nag them to do things the way I want them done. They do the dishes; take out the trash, sweep, mop and vacuum. That is okay with me, I’m looking forward to when I can get to feeling better and I can dust, and get everything back in order.

So back to tools….there really isn’t such a big need for tools, in my case it has been more of expectations, I expect them to keep their crap out of certain rooms, games, movies, toys and personal belongings do not need to be left all over the place. Their bedroom is a reflection of any typical boys room, stuff strewn all over the place. I am okay with keeping that door closed, which is about the grossest room in the house, but if they want to live in that filth, they have to keep it contained to their room. Sure it gets bad enough that every so often I go in and give them fair warning that it needs to be cleaned, and I give them a time frame and if it isn’t done in the time allotted I go in with a trash bag or two. They don’t like my offer of help, so they get after it, it just doesn’t last long. Funny thing is they complain about having to share a room, but I have to point out to them that I do enough bitching about one filthy room, I don’t have the energy to bitch about two dirty rooms. So we have a guestroom. The older they have gotten the more care they are giving to their appearance, I hope it lasts, and how I wish that would be extended to their room.

Somehow I got totally off track from what I had originally intended to write, blame it on the meds. I’m sticking to that. But I will get back to painting pictures of my former black and white world…I’ll be sure to add plenty of color, somehow I believe adding color won’t be a problem.

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