I feel guilty about a lot of things. I feel guilty that I don’t use cloth grocery bags even though I have a thousand of them stuffed in the back of my car. In fact, I have so many of them back there that when the little guy from Fareway helps me carry out my massive amount of items, he has to move the cloth bags to fit all the plastic, earth-killing, pet-suffocating ones in. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not really the environmentalist, tree-hugging sort, and I only drive an electric car because my husband makes me. And sometimes, I drive it too fast and the little green ball (that tells me when I am being the most efficient with my battery life) turns yellow. Don’t tell Brent. But I do like pets and I would be so sad if my cat decided to commit suicide by using a grocery bag that I brought home. I’m not sure why I can’t remember to use the re-usable bags. Maybe it has something to do with being old now.
While we are on the subject of pets, I feel guilty that my dog now weighs 138.8 pounds and has asthma because of his girth. Last summer, we put him on a diet and he got down to a svelte 125 pounds and was breathing freely. I was nervous about taking him to the vet last week because of his obesity. This might have something to do with the last time I took him to the vet. You can read about that here.
I feel guilty about being addicted to Diet Coke. I’m not sure why I like it so much, but it makes me feel happy. especially if it’s fountain pop and has really good pellet ice (Sonic!). Diet Coke pretty much goes against every thing I believe in—like eating healthy and trying to avoid foods containing ingredients I can’t pronounce. I think the whole addiction thing started when I had four kids six and under and nothing to look forward to each day—except pop. (I exaggerate here. I’m sure my children and I had many lovely days together at home. The entire decade of the 1990’s is a little blurry). Anyway, now I’m addicted and I try to act like I’m not even though all the waiters at El Azteca greet me with “Diet Coke?” when I sit down to eat there. That’s always a bad sign. It may also be a sign that I am eating at El Azteca a little too often.
I feel guilty that my teenage and young adult children have trouble telling time on an analog clock. They can do it, but it takes several minutes of squishing up their eyes and grimacing until they can figure out which hand points to the hour and which to the minutes. I didn’t know they couldn’t tell time until our electricity was out recently and they kept looking at the cat clock, whose eyes and tail no longer move, and asking what time it was. It’s probably my fault for never buying them watches with hands. It’s one of those things, you know? I felt really good if I could keep them all alive when they were young. I guess time-telling lessons just kind of got pushed into the non-urgent quadrant—the same place as teeth brushing and fingernail clipping. I used to feel guilt about those things too but I’m past that now since they can all groom themselves. and they seem to have pretty good teeth.
I also feel guilty that none of my kids makes their beds in the morning. I tried. I really did. I even fined (as in money) them for not making their beds for a period of time. This seemed to get their attention, but then they started saying they didn’t have any money to give to church so I stopped making collections. I demonstrated to them how easy it was to make a bed. I gave them heavy comforters and a sheet…only two items to pull up to their pillows…and they still leave them looking disheveled and messy. They don’t seem to mind the messiness—none of them. I have learned to just close their doors to keep the peace. One time, though, Cole had a long stretch where his bed was made perfectly. I would walk in his room and be so happy. Then I found out that he was sleeping in the tree house every night—on a futon—in a sleeping bag.
I feel guilty about not being more disciplined in my writing. which is why I am writing now. and why I am going try to start posting twice a week again. even if it’s about me and my guilt or my fat dog. Speaking of Neo, I am planning to write a post very soon about bathing him. because it’s a big event. because he’s a big dog. and because I took pictures of his very sad face last time I bathed him. Bet you can’t wait.
But now, I need to go. I think I will go buy some Diet Coke to assuage my guilt. But I will put it in a cloth bag to carry it out.