I'm trying to keep my business, my triplets, and my waistline under control. I excel at one of those, fail at another one of those, and one is a work in progress. Which is which is day dependant.

Saturday, August 5, 2006

Conspiracy Theory

My parents are convinced that there is some big, evil, awful SECRET in my life which I am not telling them about. I'm hiding something. Something which, clearly, is making me secretly upset and miserable but I am choosing not to tell them about it. Why do they think this? Firstly, because I never seem to have time to call them back. They leave messages, and I don't call back for two days. (*shock* *horror* It's called having a life/husband/kids/job/house, people!) The second reason my life must be in secret turmoil is because, when I DID call them back (and left a message), they thought I sounded like I was crying. Hmmmm. Now here's the thing. I rarely share major news with my parents. It's not that I don't love them, it's that their communication sucks. They are loving, wonderful people who really only want what they think is best for me. But on the listening front? Fuhggedabouduit. It's not just my parents, my siblings (who I adore) are also like this. On Monday I'll tell BigSis about feeling like I need a new challenge at work, and by Tuesday morning my Mom is calling me in a panic asking me why I have quit my job. I tell Mom she's wrong, and I explain what I meant. Wednesday my Dad is calling me from his office to tell me I need to get a Real Job and to 'cut out the bullshit' and tell him the real reason why I quit so suddenly. On Thursday morning my brother is txt'ing me to say "What's with you quitting your job?" By Friday I am ready to pull my hair out as they send me job ads from Los Angeles. See? There is just no point in telling them anything major - because by the time that something major has blown over, I might as well spare them the coronaries in the meantime. Next time I do have something to tell them about (in a major sense. and I would only do this if I were close to death in the first place), I think I'll call my BigSis on Monday and say, "Hey, BigSis? I've got this runny nose..." I figure by Friday they'll work it out for themselves that I am suffering from the world's first terminal case of CryingOnAnsweringMachinesForAttention Syndrome.

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