You keep lying, when you oughta be truthin’
and you keep losin’ when you oughta not bet.
You keep samin’ when you oughta be changin’.
Now what’s right is right, but you ain’t been right yet.
Now, I know Nancy Sinatra sings of an angry break-up, romance-style. This blog is not about romance. But is about lying, not truthing. And somehow, as I deal with my anger of what is about to come out on the page, this is the song that comes to mind. I love Nancy’s blonde, cherubic look juxtaposed with her anger and clear message of someday, you piece of shit liar, you’re going to get yours. Because, that is how I feel about the woman who wronged me. Us. And I know that once I get this anger out and on the page, I will no longer need to have A, for I will simply call her “A,” in my life, in my heart, in my energy field. She will be left with how she treated us, most specifically my son, and someday, she’ll pay for that. For I do believe what goes around comes around. I don’t need to “make her pay.” I don’t need to rage at her. I don’t even need my own boots to walk all over her. I like my boots, I want to keep them in good condition. What’s best for me is to, after this post, have nothing more to do with A.
I’m a planner, so when I realized we’d need someone like A in our life, I got on it. Scheduled far in advance. Summer came and A threw us the first curve ball. She needed hip replacement surgery, she’d be out a few weeks, didn’t know when. OK, I thought, we made a commitment to her, what’s a few weeks in the scheme of things? I’m flexible. We worked around it. We kept our word. That came and went, and then A began to act slightly off, in hindsight, of course– everyone’s favorite and most elusive kind of sight–red flags should have waved. A seemed frustrated with my son. She began to blame him (but she’s the adult, you say), seemed to reprimand him, when in fact, her role was to work with him in a very different, accepting capacity.
Time passed and A said nothing more to me. She allowed weeks and weeks to pass in fact, and then suggested that her work with my son would be best served if they took a break; she was more than happy to continue to work with him, but could we do XY and Z first and then we’d regroup. I was willing to do those things, despite (hindsight again) a nagging feeling that A might have addressed this somewhat differently.
More time passed. A still vowing her commitment to stay with our family. Then, an email one morning this week from A with a proposed schedule. Terrific, I thought, and I replied. “Great, I’m arranging other things around this schedule, as you know, the school year gets busy, so this is helpful.” Three hours later, A replies “Well, no, I’m still not committed to working with you.” Why did you send me a schedule, I wondered, especially after having already jumped through many hoops to make that schedule work? So, I seethed a bit. I’m a direct person. I don’t like mixed messages, I don’t like to be strung along. If you want to tell me something, just tell me.
I sent A a very carefully and kindly worded email asking her to clarify her message. I even read it to a friend over the phone to make sure I wasn’t unknowingly sending “you’re a cowardly bitch” messages between the lines. I said I was confused, she’d indicated she was happy to work with us, sent us a schedule and then said she wasn’t committed. How should I proceed at this point? We needed to know. And then a three sentence email, she quit, plus two referrals with names of people that would not even remotely work for us geographically. This vacillation from “happy to be a part of your family,” to “here’s a schedule,” to “I quit” spanned one day, eight hours. To say I was angry and felt betrayed is nothing compared to the sadness I felt for my son, who trusted this person and expected her to come back. I can handle that, and he’s young enough that he never needs to know the whole story. But shame on you, A.
Just so you know A. Just so you know, reader, this is not about me, my family, or my son. I realize this. This is about A. However, that A, an adult, a provider for children, was unable to see or say this shows an astounding level of immaturity and unprofessionalism. Good fucking riddance and you did us a favor, despite the enormous hassle you have caused in the short term. Lesson learned on my part. Even a tiny hint of a red flag that might wave in the corner of your eye . . . put on your walkin’ boots girl.
These boots are made for walking, and that’s just what they’ll do
one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.
These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ written by Lee Hazlewood and recorded by Nancy Sinatra.