it doesn’t even matter

Some of this is a few days old, some is new. In the haze of sleep-depravation and a few other things this is a bit edgy and jumbled up but stick with me. It makes sense in the end. I think. I hope. It does for me anyway.

I’m having a bit of trouble getting my head around some stuff at the moment. It’s stuff that I desperately want to blog about but yet again I don’t want to bring it up at all. It’s usually my style to blog first apologise after but lately I’ve really been trying not to offend people. Yet sometimes “writing it out” is the only way to get my head around something. It seems a lot of effort to write something and not publish it. I’m a dork sometimes.

There’s something I want to say. I want to be a voice, to be heard, to speak for those unable to speak for themselves. At the same time I want to run for the hills as fast as I can and never look back. 

It’s really hard now that people who I know in real life read my blog. I always knew I had friends and family reading it but it was always people who I knew would forgive me no matter what or people whose opinions didn’t greatly concern me. Now there’s people who I’m not so sure about. I care about them, I want them to like me, they say they do, but I’m not convinced. So I should behave. Behaving is exhausting though.

The bible says if you have a problem to try to get it solved privately first. It’s hard when trying to speak to people privately is about as difficult as obtaining an audience with the Queen. Everyone is far too busy. Perhaps it’s easier to rant and make a scene so they can then attempt to solve their quarrel with me. If they decide I’m worth it. I can’t make people like me but I sure am talented at making people hate me. In a way I’d rather have people be openly hostile to me than not know where I stand.

I spend far too much of my limited time and energy wondering what people think. I spend far too much precious time, energy and brain power trying to be well behaved and trying to  keep my children well behaved. I spend far too much time and energy caring about what other people may or may not think about me and my little family. People who, quite frankly, just aren’t worth it. People who probably, truthfully, don’t really think about us at all.

I’m done. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being concerned about what so and so thinks or making sure I do such and such or making sure that my darling two year old doesn’t upset what’s her face. I’m sick of worrying myself sick trying to keep Alexis under control so she doesn’t break something that shouldn’t be there or hurt someone who keeps pushing her or worse hurt someone just because she’s in a feral mood. I’m sick of being the only one trying to act on it. Maybe I should let her fight her own battles or pretend I don’t notice what’s happening. How could I not see? Does anybody else care?

While I’m on the touchy subject of toddler politics, I’m sick of seeing her heartbroken when she isn’t allowed to do something the other kids are allowed to do or isn’t allowed to have something the other kids are given right in front of her face. I know she has to learn sometime but at two? Am I being a precious over protective mother here? If kids are given a reward for something and Alexis hasn’t earned the award then fair enough but am I an idiot to think the reward should either be given at the time it is earned so Alexis understands why she is missing out or in private so she doesn’t feel invisible? And if she wants a turn at trying to earn it why is she not even given a chance when other kids get multiple assisted attempts?

Perhaps I over think things. Perhaps I am over reacting. Perhaps I am emotionally scarred from bad experiences as a young unpopular fat kid and would do anything to make sure my kids don’t feel the same. Anything, that is, except verbally string a decent sentence together to plead her case. God forbid I’m actually able to talk face to face with someone about anything important. That’s far too bloody hard.

Instead I just sit in the corner, seething, anxiously waiting for someone to come yell at me, judging their glances, wondering what it is they will tell eachother about me this time. For what!?

They’re not judging me. They’re not even thinking about me. They’re thinking, “what am I going to have for lunch?” Or “I hope it doesn’t rain on my washing,” or, “what is that strange stain on my skirt,” or, “one child, two child..  where’s number two child?” If they are thinking of me at all it’s very rarely, “can’t that stupid (*expletive*) get her (*expletive*) together?). If they are thinking of me it’s probably either, “I hope Karlee hasn’t noticed this strange stain on my skirt,” “I wonder if Karlee knows where number 2 child is”, or perhaps, “oh poor Karlee she looks absolutely exhausted. I remember those days.”

Even still, what does it matter if some old fuddy duddy does have the nerve to say, “why can’t she control her kids,” “why does she wear jeans” (pockets), “pull your pants up love, can’t you afford a belt” (not this week. The kids needed medicine. Sorry.), “where’s her hairbrush” (that’s a good question), “Omg mono-brow”, “still got some baby fat hey love”, “don’t you make any effort to teach Alexis the bible verse” (no, I don’t. She might be tall but she’s only 2), or heaven help me, “still can’t go through a sermon without needing to pee hey love?” If somebody does think or even say these things, what does it matter? People’s opinions of me don’t control me, or at least they shouldn’t.

My value as a person is not measured by anybody other than God. Even His opinion of me is based on himself rather than anything I achieve or fail to do. Sure, having a nice opinion of myself would be good, and I want my husband and kids to “rise up and call me blessed.” Nobody else’s opinion of me matters. Isn’t that nice. Isn’t that refreshing. Doesn’t that free up a whole lot of energy wasted on angst?

If you’ve laughed at this or found this inspiring then good, I’m glad. I’d love for you to post a comment to let me know. It would greatly encourage me. If not, or if you’re too busy, that’s fine too. In the end, it doesn’t even matter.      


Does this face look like I have the energy to care? My baby boy is sick. I’ve been up pretty much all night. I’ve had maybe two lots of one hour sleeps, the first of which was in a chair. I’m so glad hubby brought home pizza last night now because the leftovers I had prepared can feed us tonight. Yay! If I need to spend the day feeding and watching tv I can. Sounds good to me. Now to snuggle in for another nap. I have expectations of what I feel I should achieve everyday but they don’t matter either, especially not today.

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