Dear Children: Being A Stick-In-The-Mud,

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Call it a fuddy duddy. Stick-in-the-mud (which by the way sounds better than being mud, doesn’t it?). A party pooper.

These are all society’s acceptable names that seem to be okay to call someone who does not give into peer pressure.

Guess what?

Your mommy is proud to have been called all of them.

Because sometimes, well sometimes, it’s important to stand up for something you believe in.

And people are going to feel threatened that you might not agree with their actions.

By you refusing to do an action with them, it calls into question their own morality.

People don’t like that.

But you should “stick to your guns anyway.”

This will probably lead them to result to name calling. Those words will hurt. Don’t think they won’t. But not as much as your soul will hurt if you go against it. The names they will call you may cut deeper than a “stick in the mud.” And as hard as this will be, you must ignore them.

When I was a child there was a nonsense little saying that went like this:

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me.”

That saying is ridiculous. Words are the most powerful thing in the world.

You might also notice that in Mommy’s time people were kind of obsessed with sticks.

I can’t explain this.

There must have been more trees back then.

This probably explains the many leaf idioms, as well.

But even back then, people fought the word, “no.”

Maybe they never learned differently. Maybe they just want to make their own choices. And that is okay. As long as you get to, too.

Because you should respect the use of someone else using that word, too.

Otherwise, we might as well all be made of sticks and leaves. And even stones.

Being human is more than that.

At least, it should be.

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If your friends or adversaries still will not understand your decision to not conform to their decision, well, I guess they “got the short end of the stick.”
Maybe you could, “Help them turn over a new leaf.”
If not, have more confidence than one can “shake a stick at.”

In today’s terms:

IOW, JTLYK, YOLO.

YKWYCD?

JSN!

ILY,

Mommy

“This Is Not Really Happening

Yaaaaaaa-wow.

You bet your life it is.”

That is the song by Tori Amos that I am sure was playing through my dog’s head the moment I picked him up for these pictures.

In fact, I think he even sang that weird twangy part, “ya-wow.” Or he growled. One can’t be too sure.

I don’t blame him.

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I finally got to wear my Forever 21 Utility Jacket that I purchased a few weeks ago that I thought was a fantastic representation of Elsie’s jacket from the blog, A Beautiful Mess.

I was trying unsuccessfully to copy Elsie’s wonderful picture of her holding her tiny pug in her dining room.

But my dining room table was cluttered with children’s art projects.

And my tiny dog. Well, he ain’t so tiny anymore.

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This picture makes me laugh so hard. Look at the pathetic look on Murphy’s face.

I love it.

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My hair wouldn’t do an up-do that day. We had gone and seen “Catching Fire” at the discount theater the day before and my hair thought it was channeling its inner Katnis.

So, this is what I get for my sad recreation.

A dog practically singing to be put down.

And my hair that thinks it is much more bada** than it actually is.

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I felt like “General Jenni” in this jacket.

There’s only one thing to say about that:

“Ya-Wow.”

I mean.

“Grrrrrrrrr.”

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* P.S. I shared this on The Pleated Poppy!

Yellow Vest, Yellow Vest

What are you made of?

Corduroy…corduroy.

But it’s not your fauuuu-llllt.

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Actually, I love the corduroy of this vest. I love this vest. I first reviewed it here and noted that it would be an impractical full price purchase for someone living in Southern California. Unfortunately, that someone would be me.

And in my true fashion, I waited for this Corduroy Puffer Vest to be a price I could justify. For me this ended up being second cuts. So, $40 instead of $118. It is sold out, but I just got mine last week. There are probably still a few in store if you want one. I would just call customer service.

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And I love it.

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And my husband loves it.

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And smelly dog loves it.

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And I have gotten to wear it all of one time so far. Good thing winter is right around the corner. I mean after Spring, Summer and Fall. But then, I will get to wear this vest again!

I can’t wait.

Good thing I’m patient…

Yellow Vest, Yellow Vest

You’re obviously not my favorite vest.

Sorry, it’s only ’cause we live out west.

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Do you have a favorite vest? Please tell me you could guess which lyrics I massacred for this post.

Dear Children: Entitlement

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First, let’s start with the definition from Google. Entitlement: “The fact of having a right to something.”

The FACT of having a right to something.

Oftentimes, we confuse opinion with fact.

There are going to be moments in your life, Dear Children, when you are going to feel entitled to have something. And that is okay. That is human. To feel like we are sometimes owed something, even if we are not. I, myself, struggle with this all of the time. You, yourselves, struggle with this. Remember when we go to the movies and the feeling you get when I sometimes refuse to visit the concession stand? That is the feeling I speak of. Or when your teacher decides that there will be a pop quiz and you feel that you should have been allotted more time? That, too, is an example of what I write of today.

I often feel entitled to a cookie after vacuuming the house. That cookie is my reward. I earned it. I singlehandedly fought the floor for its hold on dandruff, dirt, crumbs, and flakes. And I won. I schooled that carpet. It owed me.

But do you see how ridiculous that sounds?

I mean does a carpet really owe me anything? Or do I owe the carpet a right to be clean? Or dirty, if it wills. Is the carpet entitled to be as dirty as it would like to be? Is the vacuum entitled to refuse to clean it?

And so you see, children, how very, very tricky the word “entitlement” can be.

Now, imagine we are not talking about one human being and two inanimate objects, but rather three human beings instead. Can you imagine what the world would be like?

I imagine it would be a constant shriek and rumble of these three sentences:

“It’s mine!”

“I earned it!”

“I got it first!”

I recently went somewhere and I was appalled by the behavior of persons that would call themselves adults. And I was appalled by my own behavior. Because I sat there for a time and agreed with those people.

Yes, you are right. We do deserve this. I found myself nodding in agreement. I was entitled to be mad. I was entitled to feel that somebody owed me. I became a wretched human being. I heard, This is what we were promised.

And Everyone knows you can’t break a promise.

I went into the situation feeling very entitled. And I left feeling disgusted. And confused.

Because didn’t I have a right to feel this way? Wasn’t I entitled to it?

I decided to break it down to avoid confusion. For both myself and for you.

Here is what you are entitled to:

A lawyer if you are arrested (and an inconsolable mother if that is the case).

An opinion. As long as you recognize it is not a fact.

An item if you purchased it.

The air you breathe if the Earth allows it.

Your feelings.

A refund if it states so on the receipt.

Your Constitutional Rights as provided and dictated by the law.

To be compensated for the work that you do. Except for volunteer work.

To make your own decisions when you turn eighteen.

Your body.

That about sums it up.

Doesn’t it seem like there should be so much more?

Unfortunately, there is not.

And that is what leads to the chaos that is that word.

Because everyone thinks they have more rights than they do. They are entitled to more.

The world is full of entitled people. Who are raising entitled children. Who will grow up to be entitled adults. Each of them, kings and queens of their domains. Each of them entitling each other to be the best. Have the best. Fight for the best. Because it’s their right.

Who am I to think any differently?

Shouldn’t my needs come before his/hers?

Because I earned it. I got here first. It’s mine!

And around we all go on this ferris wheel of words. The unfortunate repeats of the “I’s” and the “M’s.”

Until the whole world explodes with the Me’s. The Mine’s. The I’s.

It is not a coincidence you can find all three of those words in the word, “entitlement,” itself.

It is corrupted.

Corruptible.

Corrupting.

Other words that can be found in “entitlement”:

Lie

Need

Intent

Mitten

Just wanted to see if you were paying attention with that last one.

I will have many more opportunities to redeem myself with that tricky word. And more probabilities of failure. And you will, too.

It seems as though us humans are wired to feel this way.

Much like the vacuum cleaner that was wired to clean the floor.

I will try harder in the future to fight my programming.

Too often when I feel I have the right to something, it turns out that I am entirely wrong.

Even the word “entitled” feels entitled.

Entitled often insists it is the twin of Deserved.

It is up to you to be able to spot the differences. They do, too often, get confused with each other. I will give you a few clues.

Deserved is the one without an “I” in it. And it is usually standing next to Earned.

Standing next to.

Not hiding behind.

May you make the right choice and not demand the choice as your right.

Love,

Mommy

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* My children read my blog. Which is sweet. Very sweet. But I also want to know that they are learning something from me besides simple recipes and pretty clothing. These letters are real letters to my children. From their mother. You might not agree with my message, but please respect my sentiment.