Reality is that which remains

I used to work for a company whose president constantly quoted the refrain, “Perception is reality.”

And that would royally piss me off.  It still does, actually.

Because it was his way of saying that it didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, all that mattered was what people thought of me.  So what if I killed myself trying to meet an impossible deadline.  If the client thought I was stupid, that was all that ultimately mattered.

It really killed any desire I had to go above and beyond the call of duty.  I mean, what did it matter?  I had no reason to knock myself out if the perceptions weren’t going to align with the reality.  And what if it’s in someone’s selfish interests to ignore facts in order to maintain their false perception?  I don’t quite buy it.  Sure, we all have our own viewpoints which will almost always slant in our favor.  But there has to be some common facts on which reasonable people agree.  Something hard and fast, not subject to interpretation.

Nowadays I find myself in the unenviable position of trying to explain this theory to my kid.  Her perception is that some of her teachers hate her.  My perception is that some of her teachers are really lousy teachers, and that she is so disorganized that she pays a huge penalty on that front.  It doesn’t do any good to do homework and forget to turn it in.  Her teacher’s perceptions are that she doesn’t give a good goddamn about the classwork and why should they try to change her point of view.  Sadly, they’re at least partially right.

So how do you explain this theory, when you rail against it personally?  Do I take a jaded attitude, tell her life’s inherently unfair, and she needs to learn to play the games or pay the price?  I don’t want her to learn the hard way, the way I did, that following the rules and having personal integrity simply isn’t enough to make it in the big cruel world.  Hard work isn’t always appreciated or rewarded.  Sometimes it’s even punished.   Being right and speaking your mind won’t always garner you respect.  Fight for justice but don’t expect it.

When my own parents tried to teach me these lessons, I scoffed at them.  I didn’t believe them, I thought they were old and had already surrendered and taken the easier path, not the righteous one.  I guess we all want to protect our kids from harsh realities.

$56 at Hobby Lobby

Here’s what you can buy for $56 at Hobby Lobby.

1.  Four neon pink feather boas.

2.  One small bag of plastic jewels.

3.  Two disposable fountain pens.

4.  Two plastic vines of pink flowers.

5. One roll of poster paper (15′).

6. One large container of neon pink stencil paint.

7. One set of 8″ alphabet stencils

8. One package of six plastic tiaras.

9. Two wooden dowels.

10. One package of three sponge brushes.

The jewels and the fountain pens were part of a different project, but all the rest is for the team banner parade.

It’s going to be awesome.

The Yellow Knight

My kid had her 12th birthday party at Medieval Times Saturday night.  She spent the entire day with her team, competing, and then I took them to the mall to window-shop and Medieval Times for the party.

What a place.  It’s a big chunk of change but you definitely get a performance to remember.  We were sitting in the red section, and the Red Knight was even so kind as to throw flowers in my daughter’s direction (the girl the left caught one, and the girl to the right caught one…I think he was surely aiming for the girl with bright pink hair).   But for some unknown reason, the girl-herd became fixated on the Yellow Knight.   They cheered.  They booed.  One girl who looks much younger than the rest, but isn’t, jumped up and down like a crazy thing, screaming for the blood of the evil Lord Chancellor.

Afterwards they waited for the cast to autograph their placemats.  You can’t read a single signature, but they decided the Yellow Knight’s name was Alex.

Alex the Yellow Knight, thank you for being a good sport.  You made eight little girls extremely happy, and gave them something to daydream about.

He had the flu

My ex-husband is diabetic, and, he’s an alcoholic.

When I went to retrieve our daughter from his house the other day, he was having a diabetic episode again. I didn’t know he was back to drinking (he had supposedly quit), but, I know now. The beer bottles lying around everywhere sort of gave it away.

The last time he had our daughter overnight, she called me at 3 a.m. in hysterics, because he was having a serious diabetic reaction and he was talking and crying and telling her stupid shit and not letting her sleep. When I went and got her, I called his mother and she said he’d been fine lately, but maybe this was triggered by a bout of the flu he’d just had.

Then he claims to have had the flu last week, too.

Unless the flu virus is transmitted via Becks Dark, I don’t think so.

Diabetes + alcohol = The Big Stupid. He was in the hospital six months ago, and his sister told me he was down to 25% liver functioning and was on a liver transplant list (but his sister is a drama queen, and not above stretching the truth to serve her own purposes). Whether or not his liver is shot, he’s going to die if he keeps drinking. While it’s sad, it’s his choice, and as an adult he gets to make his own choices.

I thought once we divorced I’d be out of his sucky whirlwind of craziness. Now I can’t even sleep at night when our daughter is over there, for fear that I’ll get another middle-of-the-night panicked call and have to get her. I don’t think he’s drinking while she’s there, but if he drinks a couple of days before she goes over, it triggers the diabetic reaction. She only stays over two nights a month…you’d think it wouldn’t be that difficult.

He wants me to sign The Document, a fictional piece of paper he’s supposed to be creating that will let him move his girlfriend into his house, which is contrary to our custody agreement. And I’m considering it, because at least if she’s there, my kid won’t have to deal with his nonsense on her own. Besides, it’ll be interesting to watch that relationship implode as a spectator. What kind of woman starts dating a still-married alcoholic diabetic? Odds are ten-to-one that she’ll get sick of being his babysitter in a damn hurry.