Staring at the website manager, I felt 15 again. I knew what I wanted; I had no idea how to do. My son had already done the major revamping (in exchange for a new Iphone), but it wasn't quite complete. My skills were beyond rusty, they had reverted to dirt. I felt overwhelmed and under capable. Stupid. I was about to cry.
This is what really happened: I asked my son to help me for the millionth time. He said he was busy. I bitc---I mean pointed out that he hadn't done the work he said he'd do. He claimed he had and had an essay to write. I said he'd just been playing League of Legends. He raised his voice. I mimicked him. He raised the ante, swearing. I paused, remembering my vow to not argue with him or anyone.
But now I'd stuffed in my feelings. The adolescent flashback really hit: the injustice of life; my son didn't understand; no one cared. Wah wah wah. So although I'd succeeded in not fighting on the outside, I was tearing myself up on the inside.
I got up and grabbed the rake. I breathed. If I didn't want to argue with my son or anyone, I had to not argue with the way things were. So I didn't know how to fix my website. So my son didn't want or couldn't help. So what? That's the way it was. Right now. Soon, I had three piles of different colored leaves and fresh air in my lungs and a fresh perspective. I chose to be happy even if I didn't like what was going on.
Back in front of the computer, I buckled my brain in. A couple hours later, the website looked pretty good...and I think part of me grew up.