…except for stupid cockroaches…

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“Tell me something nice?” I asked Bones the other night.

I ask him that a lot, when I’m feeling sad or insecure.  He never questions why I’m asking.  He just answers.

“I think you are the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever met.”

I kissed him, said thank you, and snuggled up close, wishing I could see the me he describes.

I have been thinking a lot about Chris, and Ant, and so many other people.  People that I think are amazing and kind and thoughtful and patient.  People like my friend Heidi, who has this way of showing me that there’s always a little more compassion to find when looking at a situation.  And I’ve been considering how I talk about stories.  I catch myself not being kind or patient; I catch myself being demanding, expecting a lot, being easily frustrated by things rather than taking the higher road.  I complain and point out a mistake that I could just as easily fix and stay quiet about, knowing that I’m just as likely to make a similar error.  More often than I want to admit, I am not the best helper at home, finding it easier to work on cross stitch than to get up and help Bones with something he’s working on.

I know, I know.  We’re all only human, right?  We all get frustrated and impatient and annoyed and discouraged and stressed and…

I really want to do better.

I want to be the person my husband says I am.

You and me, Opus.  Let’s go do better.

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “…except for stupid cockroaches…

  1. Oh, you are, truly you are. And you are very kind to say that about me but I’m not a saint. I have my own evil thoughts and I have my own times when I am unkind. Lately referring to a vendor rep as a B*tch and such and then yesterday, she wasn’t so now I feel bad. Those are the things that make us human. Beating ourselves up about it is counter productive. Plus, if you believe you are, even a little bit, you will be even better. Much love.

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