I Have Regrets

I have regrets. I hate this about myself. One day I’m all gung ho and do or say something, like write a blog post about my son, and the next day I think of all the reasons I shouldn’t have done it.

I don’t want my son to leave my home. Heavens no. I love him so. I hope none of you got the wrong impression yesterday or read between the lines that he’s driving me crazy because HE’S NOT. Sure, who wouldn’t want someone to pitch in from time to time, or arrive home before 2 am, or get up before 2 pm, or stick around for more than 2 minutes in his waking hours? Still, he’s a fine young man and I’d punch you right in the nose if you ever said different.

As for the blog about taxes a couple of days ago, I did not mean to imply that rich folks don’t contribute enough to our country. I like hanging on to my own money, too. Not that I mind paying a little extra in taxes to help out the needy, but I’m more comfortable than many people, so who am I to point fingers at the wealthy? You know, Warren Buffet said he pays less taxes than his secretary, and I find that fascinating. But if I’ve in any way implied that the wealthy don’t contribute their fair share because they can afford the very best advice from their tax accountants, shame on me.

I go through the day talking to myself about what I ought to have done. “Why don’t you start a load of wash?” I’ll ask. Then I head for the laundry room and see that the sofa cushions could use fluffing, and since it will only take a second, I stop to do it. I see a dishtowel stuffed in the crack think, “I wonder how that got there?” then pull it out and take it to the kitchen, where I find dishes my darling sweet children have lovingly left on the counter because they must worry I don’t have enough to do. I load those in the dishwasher, then put the toaster my daughter abandoned once her toast popped up back into the appliance garage. Which reminds me I need to run out to the garage and get the pair of new shoes hiding in my car so I can sneak them in while my husband is at work. While I’m out there I grab a light bulb to put in the bathroom, and after I’ve screwed it in, I kick my daughter’s thong like it’s a soccer ball from the bathroom floor into her bedroom, just in case someone drops by.

Eventually I recall the laundry. “You should have done it earlier, then you could be putting it in the dryer by now,” I scold myself. “Why did you get so distracted?”

And by the way, my husband is not a cheapskate. I hope I didn’t give anyone that impression. He loves to go on golf trips with his friends, and likes wearing nice things. What man wouldn’t? It just upsets him a tiny little bit when I bring bags of new wardrobe items in the house. He thinks I’ve got plenty of clothes, and of course I do. I love those sweaters I got back in the 90’s. And I know good and well if I just hold on, my shoes will come back in style again soon, and polishing and buffing them is helping my arms stay in shape. No one would know I was wearing them when I went into labor with my son. I do sneak in my fair share of clothes, don’t you worry about that.

Well, I hope I haven’t offended anyone new today. I do try so hard to be pleasant and kind. Although I do have my moods where I can get just a tad bit cranky, and I aways regret it. Honest I do.