A Clear Day With Foggy Weather

Complaining. We all do it. Some of us more than others. Saying  "I hate to complain, but..." is kind of just like saying "I don't like to gossip, but...". Both are self serving, but we do it anyway.

I complain, mostly to myself, or my husband, and no one else.  Usually about life's small annoyances.

I hate laundry. So I often talk to myself in a very 'postal' kind of way while doing laundry. For some reason that makes me feel better. I could either take out a gun and start using my Tide bottles for target practice, or I can just ACT like I am going to. By telling myself I most certainly could, if I wanted to, it quells my desire to throw each little skivvy and every grass stained knee or pen streaked tee, out on the front lawn. The thought of my husband and children going out into the world unlaundered keeps me in line. After all, I still want people to come to my cookouts this summer.

I listen to complaining often. I manage a dental practice and I often hear patients coming in off the street lamenting about things like: "The traffic is terrible" (It's really not that bad - we live in a very small New England town, a car in front of you going the speed limit usually equals "traffic") or my PET PEEVE: "This weather is awful" (really, what's so awful about it? Without rain, we are dead, no water, get it?) OR "Why is my bill so high?" (because your employer elected to take the cheapest dental insurance possible). Complain, complain, complain.

Dinner. Also a pain in the butt. When I get home from work and I am prepping to get my kids to their prospective activities, dinner seems like a major inconvenience. Everything under the sun has been baked, crock-potted and stir fried. I have no imagination left in me. I make the same old tired thing week after week. Chicken...Chili...Mac and Cheese... Even breakfast for dinner has lost its lustre. Can't we just lobby to cut the American meal plan down to two per day? Three balanced meals is so overrated.

Segue to food shopping. That just sucks. A small container of blueberries is $3.99 for Christ's sake! A good loaf of bread is $3.69 and will be almost gone in the shake of a lambs tail to the tune of two days worth of lunches and toast on the fly for breakfast.

I swear we could do it all day, everyday. Complain. I know people, that I truly believe, want something to go wrong, so that they can complain about it. You know those people. They make complaining an art. It's annoying and ridiculous and who in their right mind wants to listen to it?

Last month, my petty ramblings stopped. I no longer mutter to myself while folding jeans and pairing socks. I happily go to the grocery store and now buy extra food. Of the low sodium variety. Because I am cooking for a friend in trouble. Unthinkable trouble. A sick child. Not with the flu. My friend's 16 year old daughter, Brittany, was just diagnosed with level 4 Lupus. The most serious and aggressive form of Lupus.

Now, you hear Lupus and you think, "She'll be fine, Lupus is not fatal. (fact: Lupus can be fatal)" or "Hey, there are kids out there with cancer, those kids are REALLY ill." Well, tell that to Brittany who as we speak is undergoing a chemo treatment to hopefully send her Lupus into remission. The Lupus that is attacking her kidneys. The Lupus that now has her on 30 pills a day. The Lupus that may send her down the road to dialysis. Tell that to her parents. Tell that to her two younger brothers. Who are worried about her. Not just any worried. Mind numbing scared. Heartbroken.

My friend has faith and hope. Her family is courageous. She and her husband are strong. Brittany is fighting hard. They all look into the future and feel that something positive will come out of this experience. They don't look at this hand that are being dealt and complain to people about it. I am sure they have had their moments of despair, but outwardly they realize what good would complaining do? Besides, why put negative energy out there? We need positivity. I am amazed at their fortitude and their ability stay happy, while in the depths of a black hole that is most certainly the worst time of their lives.

What good does complaining do?

As a parent, the worst thing in the world has to be a child who is sick. Not just any sick. A sick that scares you. A type of sick that gives you nightmares. The kind of sick that brings people into your daughter's hospital room in HAZMAT suits. When we assess our own lives, does it compare to that type of 'really bad'? So, your checking account is overdrawn and the toilet just backed up for the third time this week. Are your children happy and healthy? Are your loved ones OK? Are your parents alive? What if they were not? I dare you to picture it.

Now...I dare you to complain about the weather.