(I don't remember where this term came from. I think it was what my sister and I called the one who didn't call shotgun.)


I don't have to be great, I just have to love.

My family, raised with alcoholism, lives to backseat diagnose. Armchair diagnostics, if you like. Well, a hypothetical me to them: I don't care WHY you think my kid is bad when you babysit him. I already know the answer: he doesn't like you! The other reason is because they are two little boys almost the same age. It's work, for God's sake!

I do care about you, however. How do you feel when the boys do this or that? I don't like hearing about your hard time by speaking through them, as if you come to my house perfect and they taint you. Watching them can be difficult. Rewarding too. It's OK to say you feel bad because of things. I understand that. I don't understand your dooming self-righteous opinion being so important that you have to share it with me.

It's sad that things like this are learned late or never by some. Love, that is.