This post brought to you by my chickens who are deep in reading and are delighting in picking out mistakes in the text.
One of these books is a Frank Baum book (Wizard of Oz series). One of these is a Beverly Cleary book. Both have either typos or grammatical errors in them. Isn't that amazing?
Children love telling someone they are wrong. If I had a dollar every time I tried to explain the children's homework, only to be told that was NOT the way Mrs. So-and-so did it, I could retire. And probably pay for my nerve pills. *laughing*
Why do we insist on being right and assume everyone else is wrong? I'm guilty of this. I rule this house. Period. And when there is a wrong of some sort, I right it. Usually with eye-rolling and gritted teeth. What's wrong with these people? Don't they know how to do anything?
I think this stems from a point in time when I was it. I HAD to do everything, and it had to be right. And thus it's evolved into this monster now.
I need to let some of this go. So the plates aren't put in the right spot. So what? So someone missed a corner of the rug with the sweeper. Who cares? As long as the basic need was met, why must I insist on it being done a certain way? My way.
There are things I insist on. Clothes to be folded nicely and off the floor. Dishes with nothing left on them. Stuff like that. I won't let these go. But maybe I'll realize something about the little stuff.
No one's perfect. Not even me.
3 months ago