Perspective

We'd been gone most of the day.  I walked into the house and immediately recognized the crime that had been committed.  I understood, by the damages, it must have happened soon after we'd left that morning.  The throw rug in front of the door was soaked through.  There were splashes of standing water under the dining table and the table cloth was a dark, wet version of itself.  Flowers were strewn across the floor.  The vase that once contained them, miraculously unbroken, was laying askew near the wine rack.

Starting Young

I knew who had committed it too. Obi's relentless quest for alternative drinking sources has often led him to cram his head into vases, lapping up the water inside.  Foolishly I had left him alone that day with a vase full of flowers (and their water) right out in the open.  (You know - like how they do in normal households where one doesn't hide their fresh flowers in a pantry or a linen closet... )  This tradition of actually displaying flowers was where I went wrong.  I knew better, and I paid for my oversight.

Assessing the water damage on my 1) wood floor and my 2) wooden dining table and my 3) wooden chairs ... was more than I could stand.  I just lost it.  "AAAaarrrggghhhhh!  Feck! Feck! FECK!" I roared out.  Despite frantically pulling up the linens and rugs and sopping up what lay underneath, I knew my efforts to save the floor boards was futile. They were already done-in having been sitting in pooled water for four hours by this time.  It was just one more thing.

That was the thing.  It was one more thing.  Mopping up the mess, I started ranting about how this was so not what I needed.  My poor house already has two broken sliding doors, a leaky garbage disposal, a doorframe that needs to be finished, walls that need touch-ups, others that need re-painting, and carpets that are begging to be replaced.  Oh, and my car has taken to screeching with every cold morning start-up...

My finances do not currently allow me to fix any of these matters. My little company is struggling to survive it's late start-up stage despite all of our constant attention, so salary increases must wait...and wait.

I'm listing off all of these things under and over my breath while Dia was literally cat wrangling to keep him out of my crazed way, assuring him he's "in a heap of trouble and should stay hidden for the rest of the night."  I didn't think she was listening to me.  But she's always listening.

"...and when I DO spend money on extras, it's never a trip, or new clothes, or a night out or something FUN, it's dropping $600 on the rheumatologist!" 

"Am I not WORTH it?"  she interuppted.

I looked up.  She had a grief-stricken look.  "Isn't it worth it to have ME?" she reiterated.

If you have never felt like a complete and total asshole, let me tell you it is unmistakable.  It storms through every vein in your body, courses through your system and seeps out your pores.

"Oh, no! Of course, you are worth it sweetie!"  I dropped the cloth in my hand, scooped her into my arms and held her in the biggest hug of our shared life.  Though the words that followed were reassuring and confessional that I was, indeed, a big jerk and that there was NOTHING more important to spend my money on and so on..., my thoughts were on wishing so much for a time machine.

Whoever believes in 'sticks and stones' and the crap that follows is fooling themselves.  Words do harm us and worse, they don't heal like a bruise.  They stick.  They become part of who we think we are.  That's why - even when your ridiculous rancid-water-drinking kitten ruins your new(ish) wood floors, you just have to count to 20, or 2000, and find your center, consider what's really important and shut the f*#$ up.

Lesson learned.  Again.

-kec