My mom has Huntington's Disease. She is currently living with me until we can find a permanent solution for her care.
When you walk into my house with your cigarette because you forgot that it was lit, I want to scream and tell you to get out.
When you ask me to light your cigarette for you, I want to snap and tell you that you shouldn't be smoking them anyway. The holes in your clothing prove it.
When you slam your coffee cup down again and again at lunch, I want to do more than sigh and remind you to be quiet while the baby is napping.
When you complain and demand to get your way, I want to send you to little man's room for a time out.
When you wake me before the sun is up or in the middle of the night to help you turn the TV on or unlock the door, I want to push you out of the bedroom.
When I have to set my son aside to help you because you can't wait, I want to cry in frustration and ignore you.
When you do things that are improper and then say you can't help it, I want to gag and show you my disgust.
When you refuse to listen in public and almost get hurt, I want to scold you and tell you that you are not in charge.
But I don't.
I'm linking up with Shell for Pour Your Heart Out. Thanks for giving me a space to share the Things I Can't Say.