Early one morning after we had just gotten our tree up, before all the lights starting acting like morons....
CB jerks away from the tree as I walk into the living room, he looks guilty.
A- CB, what are you doing over there?
A- Are you sure? Cause your eyes tell me another story? I won't get mad just tell me. I promise I won't get on to you if you tell the truth. (we are now face to face- eye to eye)
CB- I broke something. (points to the tree)
A- Well where is it so I can see, cause I don't see anything Cole.
Cole heads off towards his room and I follow him. He gets underneath his train table and brings out a hand full of broken elongated glass Christmas ornament. I rush over...
A- Cole, baby, you can't have broken glass under your train table, give me that. You could have cut your hands.
Cole holds out his other hand which he has in fact cut, something like a long paper cut. I am astounded that he has cut himself and not told me and also that he hid the broken glass under the train table in his room.
A- CB, why did you hide this glass under your table? Why didn't you throw it into the garbage can, or tell me?
CB- I didn't want to get in trouble.
I am now under the train table myself picking up tiny pieces of broken ornament out of his carpet. I head back to the Christmas tree to look for more glass within the tree and on the floor around. I ask him how the ornament got broke, assuming he picked it off the tree and dropped it. um, no....he thought it "fit perfectly" into his baby grip, so he just squeezed it as hard as he could. It busted in his grip.
A- Cole! Gosh Son, that is madness. Look at your hand. Do not do that ever again.
CB- Well....I broke some more stuff too.
....heading back to his room and under the other side of his train table that I had paid no attention to before. I am like Oh Lord, what else God, what else?
Cole drags out a birage of broken crap toys(Happy Meal type toys and the likes) that he has taken apart and not been able to put back together.
He has always taken apart his stuff....and ours too. Like our air purifier...he totally took it apart when he had just turned three, filled it full of hot wheels and then put it back together. When I went to move it one day, I noticed it was heavy as all get out. I could hear stuff moving around inside but it wasn't in the area that you would change the filters, which perplexed me. He had filled a section that I didn't even know existed or even came apart.
I swear when he was little if I would 've given him a fork he'd have pried my baseboards off with it.
A- Wow CB. I can't fix this stuff, just throw it in the garbage.
CB- Are you mad Momma?
A- No cause I said I wouldn't get upset if you told the truth. Plus, now I get to throw some stuff that I hate to step on in the garbage (which I am happy about secretly). CB stop taking all this stuff apart, do you understand? Next time I find a pile of treasure hidden like this I will be upset.
Later that morning as all the other kids are getting motivated, CB is feeling good about himself telling the truth.
He starts to spill his honesty all over the breakfast table.
CB - Zachary, I am sorry I broke your Easter Egg. Maysie I am sorry I broke your swirl pen.
Maysie and Zac looking at each other - "What?!"
CB- I broke your stuff but Mom said it's okay today. I threw my pile of treasure in the garbage. I didn't get in trouble for breaking the glass cause I told the truth.
M & Z - What???! MOM!
I am pumping gas at the shell station, the same gas station that my car battery quit working for no apparent reason and the one legged man wanted me to show him some love. They dang have TV's to watch while you pump gas. It's idiotic and yet entertaining at the same time. I mean for real, are we so in need of entertainment 24/7 that one has to watch freaking TV while pumping dang gas.
Television is everywhere. On it's mission to contaminate our minds and destroy what shred of decency our minds have left in some tiny corner. Let the brainwashing saturate us...even whilest thou pumpeth the freaking gas.
Dig on this...this white dude hippie with dreds that have food and other unknown pieces of white crap in them, pulls up in his car with his girlfriend, a couple pumps down. He gets out, PUMPS THE GAS, THEN starts asking people around him, including me, if we have a dollar we can spare for him to get gas. I am like, you idiot, NO! No money hippie = no gas. you shouldn't have pumped till you could pay for it.
A- Dude...didn't you already pump yer gas??
Hippie -(distant far away look like he may be missing his time spent in rainbow & glitter Never, Never Land) uh, no.
A- Yer lying...
Hippie - (not affected by my calling him out, almost as if he has not heard me at all) - Do you have a dollar I could use to buy some gas.
A- No, all I have is my card. (Which is true, I may have had a quarter and dime stuck in my seats somewhere visiting with the stale, hard french fries)
The hippie continues on to ask some others, that also tell him "No." Hippie is in dilemma now and confers with his girlfriend in secrecy.
I finish pumping and rotting my brain with the gas station television and pull off. I have no idea how they paid for that gas or even if they did pay.
Those kinds of folks agitate my well being intensely in about 100 different ways. While one side argues I should have pity, feel for those in need, and help, help, help, give, give, give, do, do, do.......it's these exact folks that make me feel like this....
I think this is a sure sign I am getting older and less tolerant. The thing is I don't even feel guilty about it anymore either.