An Exercise in Self-Care

You know, I’ve learned a lot about myself during this sober journey of mine.  But I think the most important thing I’ve learned is that self-care is not the same as self-ish.

I come from a very long line of selfish and self-absorbed people.  As a result, I tend to shy away from anything that says “me” and if I do occasionally indulge in some semblance of self-care (how’s THAT for an alliteration) then I feel guilty about it.  I remember how I felt when it was all about my mom or my dad and never about me.  I went a long way to making sure none of my children EVER felt that.

Maybe I went too far.

I know I went too far.

But now I realize that exercising a little self-care is not only a good thing, it’s essential for making me a whole and healthy human being.  It’s okay to say no sometimes and to take a little “me” time.  It doesn’t mean that I’m not available for my kids (or friends or whomever), but it does mean that they get to see me take care of myself and maybe, in turn, they will learn to take care of themselves as well.  They will learn to set healthy boundaries and turn out even happier and healthier than they are now.

At least I hope so.

It’s not easy though.  I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt when I do anything for myself.  For example, I’m working long and crazy hours right now.  Last night my family waited for me to eat dinner but when I got home I wasn’t hungry and I wanted an hour of yoga time (which is better on an empty stomach).  I didn’t say anything at first but after everyone got their dinner, I let them know that I was going upstairs and to go ahead and eat without me.

Oh the GUILT!  I felt awful (at first).  I am a HUGE proponent of the entire family eating together and since the kids are older that doesn’t happen very often anymore.  To have them all there…waiting for me…and then have me ditch them!  Oy.

Here’s the thing…they could have cared less.  They were just happy I was home at a decent hour AND that they didn’t have to wait any longer to eat.  Everyone kissed and hugged me and told me how glad they were to see me and to enjoy my yoga session.

Now I ask you, who is the fucked up one in this scenario…THIS GIRL!

But I’m learning.  I didn’t let the guilt stop me (because I REALLY NEEDED that time) and by the time I was done I felt 100% better.  I was more present than I would have been if I had ignored my needs and isn’t that what’s important?  Not just that I’m there, but that I’m actually present when I’m with them?

See…told you I was learning.

So this weekend I will repeat my behavior of last weekend.  I will do exactly what I need to do for me while still being there for my family.  I will put on my own oxygen mask before putting on theirs. 

Because we all know that the world will stop spinning on its axis if anything happens to me.

Okay…so I still have a little more work to do.


Coming to Terms with My Alcoholism

I was well into 18 months of sobriety before I could say “alcoholic” out loud when referring to “my problem”.  In fact, it wasn’t until I went into the AA rooms and said, “Hi, I’m Sherry and I’m an alcoholic” that I really came to terms with it.

Up until then I was a “problem drinker”.  I fully expected to get sober, figure out what my problem was (childhood trauma, empty nest syndrome, stress, whatever) and then I would be able to drink like a normal person…you know…the way I used to drink.

The only flaw in that logic was that I NEVER drank like a normie.  Here’s why…

  • Normal people don’t watch other people’s wine glasses and mentally comment on what is left in the glass.
  • Normal people don’t worry about getting “enough”.
  • Normal people don’t try and convince everyone to keep drinking when they want to go home.
  • Normal people don’t dread last call.
  • Normal people don’t plan their entire day or weekend around when and how they will drink.
  • Normal people aren’t devastated when an event is cancelled, not because they were really looking forward to the event, but because they were really looking forward to an excuse to drink.
  • Normal people don’t look for excuses to drink.  They either drink or they don’t…end of shory.
  • Normal people have no reason to lie about their drinking – especially to themselves.
  • Normal people don’t lie to their doctors about how much they drink – they don’t have to because it’s not a big deal.  (Okay..maybe some do but it doesn’t have an impact because they are normal.)
  • Normal people don’t blackout on a nightly basis or everytime they drink. 
  • Normal people don’t write notes to themselves in said blackout that say, “Normal people don’t drink like you do.”
  • Normal people don’t make their children cry because of their drinking.
  • Normal people don’t consistently Google, “Am I drinking too much?” and take the tests over and over again hoping for a different result. (That’s the definition of crazy you know.)
  • Normal people don’t hoard alcohol because they’re afraid that they’ll be a snowstorm, blackout, monsoon or apocalypse and they might run out (I am not even kidding about this).
  • Normal people don’t spend all day looking forward to that first drink in the evening like it’s Christmas.
  • Normal people don’t have tryglyceride levels of 580 (they should be lower than 150 – mine are now down to 118…woot!).

This is how I FINALLY admitted that I was a full blown drunk.  Didn’t matter how “high functioning” I was.  Didn’t matter that I went to work everyday, cared for my children, loved my husband, cleaned the house, cooked food…none of that mattered.  What mattered was that I was not one of the normal people.

And the feeling that I had once I made this admission?



A Letter to My Disease

Alcoholism –

I will not begin this letter with “Dear” because you are not dear to me…you never have been and you never will be.

You and I have had a long and interesting journey together.  I met you as a child – you and my father were well acquainted.  You lived in my home alongside me everyday of my young and vulnerable life.  While I was the first born, you were the most loved.  My father put you before me and cherished your relationship with him more than mine.  You almost killed him three times but not until the third time did he decide to end his love affair with you.

I hated you and because of that, for a time I hated my father.  I cared for him.  Stood by his side when no one else did except you.  I tried to save his life while you tried to kill him.  It wasn’t until you had almost succeeded that he turned to me.  By then he was old and you had exacted your toll.  He only had 13 years left for me.  13 out of 35…even I can do that math…you won.

Because of your relationship with my father, I avoided your company for many years.  I drank beer on occasion and tried wine from time to time.  Since my first husband had lived with you when he was a child as well, there was no alcohol in our home.  Because of you I invented rules to keep you at bay.

No drinking alone.
No drinking at home.
No drinking before 5:00 pm

But you were always below the surface because you had already taken up residence in my soul.  You slept…for a time…until my life changed and I stepped over the line and woke you.

Like the abuser that you are, you began by courting me.  You were warm and inviting after a hard day at work.  You gave an insecure and beaten young woman the confidence she desperately sought.  You made me witty.  You let me fit in to a world that I believed belonged only to the most successful.

But soon you began to show yourself…slowly…and I wasn’t paying attention.  Or I ignored you.  I suspect the latter to be true.

Because of you I was not capable of only one drink.  I was the one who always got drunk.  I was the life of the party.  I thought about alcohol all the time.  I became obsessed with when and how I would drink.  I organized my life around when I could drink.  And I rationlized and made excuses for you.  I lied for you (mostly to myself).

And then you woke completely and we came face to face.  And, after all you had done to me, after all the hurt and heartache you gave me, I embraced you!  It was like I had forgotten all of your ugliness.  I had forgotten all of the pain you brought to my life.  I think it was more like I dressed you in different clothes and called you by a different name in order to co-exist with you.  I could not deal with my father’s lover.  I had to figure out a way to live with you on my own terms.  I called you fun.  I called you coping.  I referred to you as temporary.

Until I didn’t.

When you were finally unmasked and I saw you for what you were I was ashamed.  I hid my face and pretended I was fine.  I negotiated with you to try and pretend you didn’t actually exist.  But you persisted.  The harder and louder I denied you, the stronger you became. 

And then one day I gathered my courage and brought you out of the shadows and into the light.  I exposed you for what you were.  Cunning, baffling and powerful.  I decided to fight you. 

I began fighting you alone but learned quickly that you would not go quietly into the night.  I needed help.  I didn’t want to need help because it meant I would have to admit I let you in and I was still ashamed.  It meant I would have to call you by name and that I would have to admit to myself that you lived within me…I had to say, “I am an alcoholic.”  I wasn’t ready for that.

As with any abusive relationship, people tend to look from the outside in, shake their heads and say, “How could she put up with that?  Why doesn’t she leave?”  I was still ashamed because those of us that live with abusers know…it’s just not that easy.

Finally I put aside my pride and stretched my hand out for help.

And there were hands!  Hands from AA that taught me not to be ashamed.  Hands from therapists who are trained to fight you. Hands from bloggers who have had the same experiences as mine and who taught me that I am not special. My relationship with you is not special.  I am just a drunk and you are just a disease and you CAN be defeated.  They had and continue to defeat you every day.

They also taught me that you never go away.  Like polio you are only sleeping.  Thanks to those helping hands I have learned to be hyper-viligant and to recognize my cravings for what they are, your attempt to come back into my life.  Keep sleeping – you are not welcome here.

Most importantly the hand of God was there.  By His grace I was able to put you in your place within my soul.  I gave you a tiny, tiny little piece of me because you will never go away.  You will always be waiting to reawaken our love affair and assert yourself as my abuser once again.  But God occupies the remainder of my soul and as long as I stay connected to Him…you can never hurt me again.

So remain in that small part of my soul, alcoholism.  I no longer hate you or what you did to my childhood, or my adulthood or the childhood of my children.  I do not hate you for what you did to my body and the work I must now do to regain my health.  I do not hate you because hate and love are strong emotions that sit side by side.

Rather I respect you.  I will never underestimate your power.  I will keep you close because that’s what you do with your enemies.  But I will not give you any more power.

Sleep you bastard of a disease…you can’t hurt me unless I allow it…and I no longer allow it.

My name is Sherry and I am an alcoholic.

“The real sin against life is to abuse and destroy beauty, even one’s own –even more, one’s own, for that has been put in our care and we are responsible for its well-being.”
~ Katherine Anne Porter


I’ve never been much of a dreamer.  Not the sleeping kind of dreams because, in that way, I am a vivid, crazy dreamer.  No, the kind of dreamer that says, “One day…”

When I was selling Mary Kay, we used to have these rah-rah meetings that were meant to inspire and fire us up to sell more (of course).  Many, many times I was asked about my dreams.  What were my wildest dreams and how did I plan to get there?  We were supposed to make a “dream board” that had all of the things we dreamt about having with the idea that if we could see it and visualize it every day, we were more likely to make it happen.  It’s a very effective way of helping a person realize their dreams.

Unless you have no idea what yours are.

I used to struggle with this so much it would make me anxious.  Pop quiz kind of anxious.  New kid kind of anxious.  I mean…really?

Why don’t I have any dreams?  Instead, I have wants.  I have a sort of bucket list.  I want to go to Europe.  I want to take the kids to Hawaii.  I want to have a house by the beach.  I want to learn to speak a foreign language fluently.  I want to learn to play the piano.  I want to find peace.

But dreams?  I’m not even sure I know what that is?  What differentiates it from wants? 


[dreem] adjective:  most desirable; ideal: a dream vacation.


[wont, wawnt] verb (used with object):  to feel a need or a desire for; wish for: to want one’s dinner; always wanting something new.
Hmmm…sounds an awful lot alike to me.

For me the difference is control.  I have no control over my dreams.  Dreams are things for which you wish.  They are made of spun cotton and air. They are ethereal.  Smoke and mirrors.  In that way they are like their counterpart that occurs during the night.  When you wake…they are gone. They are fantasy born of a desire.

Wants, on the other hand, I can make happen.

I believe that I struggle with this because when you’re hanging on by your fingernails as a child you don’t have time to “dream”.  You’re biggest dreams revolve around just wanting your family to be normal so that you can be a kid…and in your heart of hearts you know that will never happen so why bother.
So I learned that if I wanted something it was up to me to make it happen.  I wanted a home and a “normal” family and a career that would provide for them.  With the help of my husband (who is also my life partner, soul mate and best friend) I made it happen.  After 4 years of out of control drinking I wanted to be sober…I made it happen.  I want to find peace…I’m on the path to making that happen.
Of course your wants can also hurt you (to quote my mother-in-law).  I wanted to party.  I wanted to be able to enjoy a glass (bottle) of wine at home.  I wanted to try smoking.  I wanted to get married two weeks out of high school in order to get out of the house.  I have to learn to watch that part.

So for today what I want is to get back into shape.  (And I don’t want that shape to be round.)  Now here’s the difference for me between dreams and wants.  My dream is to get back into the shape I was at 35…however, since I am no longer 35, I want to get fit and in a reasonable shape for a 51 year old woman.  No amount of wishing will make my dream come true.
But I can make that want come true.

“Some people follow their dreams, others hunt them down and beat them mercilessly into submission.”  ~Neil Kendall

Exhaustion + Success = Craving?

I have had one of the toughest weeks I’ve had in a LONG time.  Not physically exhausting (although there was some of that) but mentally and emotionally exhausting.  And I am REALLY glad it’s over and that I’ll have two days to recover…because I have to do it all over again each week for the rest of the summer.  Welcome to my world.

It’s not all bad.  I really love being productive and seeing the results of my efforts.  In my case, it’s kind of immediate gratification since I run training programs and you know on a minute by minute basis how you’re doing.  In my case it’s been a great week.  We started a new program and it’s a hit!  That feels amazing.  Amazing and exhausting.

Last night as I sat in yet another cocktail reception, smiling, drinking Diet Coke and eating tidbits of steak, shrimp, scallops (or was it chicken fingers, chips and salsa and crudite – it all runs together after awhile) I felt the familiar feeling of, “Oh would it be good to have a glass of wine” and, as usual, it got me thinking.

It seems that exhaustion that is born of a good days work is a trigger for me.  Who knew?

I remember when I used to travel.  While I was on the road and we would finish a great day in the classroom and immediately head to the bar of the hotel.  There was nothing like that first sip of a cold Chardonnay after a hard day.  Then we would sit around and talk about the day and what we could do better or what went really well.  There was a feeling of camarderie and satisfaction that made the drink all the sweeter. 

When I would return home from a trip I would put the kids to bed and poor a large glass of wine (which usually turned into a bottle or two) and sit and tell my husband all about my trip.  Again, what went well, what drama occurred, who got angry and who did really well and how much I missed them.  It was a ritual and I looked forward to it almost (maybe more?) than I looked forward to coming home.

As I left work this evening I was really craving a glass of wine and it made me sad.  I’m sad because I can’t have a glass of wine and relax the way I used to.  I’m also sad because I haven’t figured out what to do instead.  What’s the replacement?  When I first quit drinking I was unemployed and selling Mary Kay so I wasn’t exactly exhausted at the end of the day.  Then I had a series of contracts that, even with the travel, didn’t give me that exhaustion plus success feeling.  This is the first time I’ve been in a role that mimics the feeling I used to have soooooo….trigger.

Now what?

I have no freaking idea.

I’ve got to figure out how to replace that glass of wine and that feeling of ahhhhhhhhh.  Until then I guess I’ll just sit in this chair, feel exhausted and get over my sad.  Not the first time…won’t be the last.

The Mom Thing

I love being a mom.  It’s the one thing in the world that I know I do better than most.  It’s why God put me on the earth.  I nurture.  I rock The Mom Thing.

Part of me rocking the mom thing, means that my children are first no matter what.  Sometimes I like that and sometimes I’m resentful (and, I’m embarrassed to say, they know it because I wear my emotions like I wear makeup…all the time and all over my face); but it’s always them first. Their needs are paramount and I will set mine aside in a minute for them.  Not in the spoiling sense but in the you need this more than I do or I’m the grownup and that’s my job kind of way.

For example, I didn’t watch anything that wasn’t animated until the kids were in bed when they were little.  We watch a lot of TV but it was always their shows and not ours.  I remember watching re-runs of Friends once they got a little older and thinking, “Dang…has this show always been this risque?”  I hadn’t seen the show in years and I was amazed at how your perception changes after kids.

We never took a vacation without our children.  We went for weekends away from time to time but never a vacation.  We did all that before they were born.  I wanted to see things through their eyes.

I didn’t read a book until they were about 10 or 12 years old.  There was no time!  Occasionally I would squeeze in a book or two during bathroom time.  It took me years to finish Harry Potter when my son was reading it because I had to read it in such small doses.  (And yes…I am guilty of hiding in the bathroom from time to time…who isn’t?)

I also didn’t see a live action movie until they were old enough to go with me.  Why waste the money on a grown-up movie for two, when you can spend the same amount on a matinee for 5?  Plus, I love Disney and Pixar.

So it’s established – I’m a mom and I love it.

Except when the phenomena happens. 

Why is it that I can be gone all day working, leaving the house at the crack of dawn and not getting home until after 7, but when I walk through the door I am instantly “on duty”?  It’s truly insane.  What is it about a mom that dictates two, completely full-time and all consuming jobs, is your destiny?  Why is there a double standard that let men “get off work” and women simply transition to their second job?

Now that the kids are older I don’t really notice it as much.  Yes, I wonder why they wait until I walk through the door to ask a question when their father has been home the entire day.  Yes, I wonder why they wait until just before I’m about to go to bed to announce that they need something for the next day.  But overall, things have lightened up quite a bit.

But boy that Mom Thing has a long memory.  We are watching my friend’s 6 year old while she’s away on business.  This kid is wonderful.  He’s quiet and obedient and a joy to have in our home.  Plus I just love the hell out of him.  However, I come rolling through the door last night about 7:30 pm and all eyes turn to me!  I’m expected to get his teeth brushed and get him to bed.  No one said anything and all I had to do was ask for help but I was really taken aback at the feeling in the room.  Mom’s home!  She’ll take care of EVERYTHING.

So I went on strike.  I let go of all control and went into my room and did 40 minutes of yoga (it wasn’t completely guilt free but it was good).  By the time I came out, my minature houseguest had his pj’s on and was almost in bed.  I kissed him goodnight and tucked him in and off he went to dreamland.

Letting go is good…even if it’s letting go of The Mom Thing.

Remembering to Breathe

a : to draw air into and expel it from the lungs : respire; broadly : to take in oxygen and give out carbon dioxide through natural processes b : to inhale and exhale freely

Sometimes I get going so fast that I forget to breathe…literally.  Of course eventually I remember, and I take a big, gulping breath so I don’t, you know, pass out or anything, but I really wish I could slow down and remember to breathe on a regular basis.

All my yoga teachings, meditation education and self-help books always emphasize slowing down…be in the moment…breathe.  Um yeah.  That works when I’m home, in my pale blue and white bedroom with the billowy white curtains (it’s the only girly place in the house) or when I’m in a yoga studio with a big Buddha head on the wall and new age music playing softly in the background.  Not so much when I’m doing 14 things at once and I’m juggling another 20 more plus lining up the world so it goes smoothly tomorrow.  That’s when I seem to forget to “be present”, “be still” and “breathe”.

I often wonder what these “present” and “in the moment” people look like in real life.  Do they ever get stressed out and forget to take a deep, cleansing, ojai breath?  Do they ever just lose it?  Somewhere, is there a formerly serene yogi going off on her teenage sons because they forgot to mention a party that 1) they need a gift for and 2) means they won’t be home for the dinner you just spent 2 hours of your time making when you and your husband could have made due with peanut butter and jelly? 

I hope so…it would make me feel so much better about myself. 

If I really, really practice all my yoga and meditation principles, will I be a serene yogi?  Or will I just be able to recover quicker and get back to my happy place faster?  Even that would be an improvement.

I feel scattered and overwhelmed and like I need to take a breath…hold on…ahhhh….that’s better.  Now I won’t turn blue.  It is my favorite color but not when it’s in my complexion.

So I’ll use this brief post to remind myself to stop and breathe. Then, if necessary, I’ll go ahead yell at my kids or my husband or the dog because really, that can be therapeutic as well.

Oh What a Beautiful Morning

The view in my backyard this morning.

We have been experiencing some GORGEOUS weather the last few days.  As a native of the southern half of the east coast, I am not used to weather like this in the summer.  The lack of humidity makes me think of when I was in San Franciso many years ago.  I remarked that all of the restaurants were open air and that it seemed there were no screens on any windows.

“Where are all the bugs?  How come they don’t have any bugs?” I asked.

“They can’t afford the rent,” my friend deadpanned.


In my “normal” drinking days, waking up on a day like this would have me plotting a way to get to an outside cafe for dinner so that we (I) could drink alfresco.  I would have us start with lunch and then just keep drinking the day away.  I can’t tell you how many beautiful days like this I spent in a dark bar drinking the day away and remarking how nice the weather was….wait…what?

Now you see why I put “normal” in quotation marks.  I’m fairly certain that normal people don’t wake up on a beautiful day and think about how and when they will get to drink.  I could be wrong but I don’t think I am.

After I started drinking at home, I used days like this to start drinking earlier than usual.  Usually I waited until sometime between 5 and 8 to kick off my festivities; but on days like this I’d justify an early glass of wine by saying I was going to relax on the back porch and enjoy the weather and before I knew it, I was off to the races again.

Now don’t get me wrong, while I was waiting for an appropriate happy hour I might give the day a half hearted attempt by walking the dogs, or sitting on the back porch reading or gardening or, when we lived in our old house, making a trip to the beach with all the windows down.  But it was all to make me appear more normal than I was.  The entire time I was thinking about how and when I could drink.

Newsflash…”normies” don’t spend a beautiful day thinking about drinking.  They DO stuff…or not.  But they don’t sit around obsessing about how and when they are going to drink. 

Here’s the worst part – I still think that way.  My first thought upon waking the last few days has been, “What a great day to have a glass of wine on the porch.”  Really?  30 months of sobriety that’s STILL what I think on a beautiful, God blessed Sunday?  Sigh…

Of course it may be the best part as well.  It keeps me humble and reminds me that my alcoholism is a part of me just like my cowlicks, oily skin and wrinkly thumbs.  It’s in my DNA and I can’t get rid of it any more than I can get rid of my olive green eyes or slow metabolism…it just IS.

And the sooner I accept that fact, the sooner I can give myself a break and get on with my life as a sober and recovering alcoholic.

You Know What That Means…

I didn’t post yesterday because work was INSANE and I was exhausted when I got home.  Today?  I can’t figure out what to write.  Soooooo, you know what THAT means!

It’s time for GRATITUDE!!!!

(and the crowd goes wild)

Today I am grateful for:

Beautiful weather.  We had a really hot and muggy Spring.  Most of the time it felt like August and August in the Southeast is not pretty.  Now?  It feels like May in the Southeast.  Glorious.  Windows open, breeze blowing…just glorious.

Not giving in to my cravings for wine and that they are so infrequent that riding them out is not a problem.  Driving home last night I rolled down the window and turned off the air-conditioner.  I took a deep breath and thought…ahhh…drinking weather.  Sad but true.  But I rode it out (pun intended) and it was gone almost as soon as it started.

That we are over the half-way point in our busy season at work.  My biggest part starts Monday.  I need some prayers that all goes well (if you have a minute).  Please and thank you.

My family and my husband.  They are my heart.

My openness and acceptance to other religions and cultures.  #1 twin’s best friend is a Mormon.  He’s visiting for the summer after moving away last year.  He has embraced his faith over this last year and in teaching me more about it, all of the “boys” have become interested.  #1 twin is considering converting.  I am thrilled.  Anything that brings my family closer to God is okay in my book.

My Groupon at the local yoga studio.  I can’t afford to join but having these 10 sessions at a much reduced rate has been great.  I practice at home but it’s nice to go in and get “checked” every once in a while.  How’s my form?  Can I still keep up with a class?  Does it really matter that I’ve gained so much weight? (It doesn’t.)


Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

“Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to realize how good things really are.”
 ~ Marianne Williamson

A Sense of Entitlement

I grew up with women who harbored a sense of entitlement. 
My grandmother felt everyone in the world owed her something because…well I don’t know why but I think it’s because she was vain and believed that she was better than others.  I’m not sure.  I only just realized that about her.  She passed on about 20 or so years ago and I still miss her…in spite of looking at her through the eyes of a middle aged (if I live to be 102) woman vs. those of a child. 
My grandmother’s younger sister was a brat of epic proportions and felt the world owed her a living.  I really didn’t like that woman.  Mostly because she called me fat and ugly as a child and a little because she ALWAYS gave me ugly socks for Christmas.
My mother was the queen of entitlement.  I believe it came from her narcissistic disorder and the fact that she was totally unstable but it really doesn’t matter – it drove me batshit.  She was the one in the grocery store that would park her cart right in the middle of the aisle and expect you to either wait for her or go around her.  She was the one who would park her car wherever the hell she wanted just because she didn’t want to have to walk too far.  She would sit on her ample behind and bellow for us to come out of the bedroom, walk past her into the kitchen to get her a snack (or a soda or whatever) just because she worked all day and shouldn’t have to lift a finger at home.  Seriously people…it drove me batshit.
So I have always followed one mantra that I repeat to my children over and over and over and over…
Now I am surrounded by interns and new hires, right out of Ivy League colleges, many of whom were born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths and have spent the last three or four summers of their lives backpacking through Europe, or skiing in the Himalayas or sunning themselves on a Greek island.  I am not even making this shit up.
Most of them are perfectly lovely, have impeccable manners and I really like them a lot.  They are bright and ready to work and eager to please.  They are excellent conversationalists and the product of good grooming and great parenting.
But some…
Let’s just say they drive me batshit.
They expect to be catered to and picked up after and babied.  They want what they want when they want it and they can’t understand the word NO.  They whine.  They complain.  They show up late and expect the instructor to start over for them.  They decide they are not going to attend mandatory events simply because they may be bored.  Again…I am not even making this shit up.
This may help them later in life.  They may be able to bully and cajole their way through their careers and be really successful.  But if they do not stop plucking with my last freaking nerve they will never make it out of training. 
And if you don’t believe me then just keep trying my patience because this middle aged mom of six will take you apart and put you back together and I will have parts left over…namely, those that say “entitlement” on them.
Remember kiddies…
Have a nice day…right after you pick up your coffee cups and water bottles and put them in the trash!
I’m telling you…batshit.