Thursday, June 08, 2006

Aretha ... sing it, girl!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T ... what a funny word.

1. To feel or show deferential regard for; esteem.
2. To avoid violation of or interference with: respect the speed limit.
3. To relate or refer to; concern.

Do you think you get it? Do you think you get enough of it?

I don't.

My kids look at me crazily when I ask them to do something, like clean up their rooms or the living room.

My husband gets mad at me that I don't want to give up MY room for his parents when I have a ton of work left to do.

And I think this is the one that irks me the most. Respect for this job that pays the bills, carries the insurance, and carried us for quite a while when Ace was out of work.

And it isn't just Ace who doesn't respect the work. My family doesn't, either. My mother will get half-ticked off at me when she calls, and I can't devote the time to a phone conversation with her. My sister mentioned that they don't respect my job, and she sees it.

So, how does one command respect?

Be a bitch about it, I guess.


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The Lovely She, that is me!

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

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The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
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The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
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The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

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The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.

And the walls came tumbling down
Two more days
Hometown celebrities
One week away from people looking at me crazily
Good f'ing riddance, my arch nemesis!
I think I want May back
I think he is a glutton for punishment
Hell hath no fury like an insured scorned
Nosey kids


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