I am mama bear, hear me roar.
It's a pretty good mantra, and I've certainly terrorized baby interns with it in the ER. Shoo, little intern, my child is too complex for you and I am wise enough to know that you are but a peon. Shoo. And they do, as the nurses smile quietly to themselves. I've bullied my way into doctors' offices, shoved my opinion into medical policy, and generally been a maternal pain in the ass. And should I fail to have an impact? Well, then look out o medico, because I've got Grandpa Attending, hanging fire, in my back pocket. Tremble, ye masses, for I am mama.
But when my child's well being isn't quite at stake, somehow I tend to crumple. Which is probably why we've had a broken window since October, when the neighbor's kid broke it. And which is why I haven't pestered the other neighbor about the tree that's scraping the siding off my house, or the service people who promised to fix the floors they scraped up. Sigh. Sometimes I almost feel as if the endless confrontation isn't worth it, and yet I look at what is fair: they scraped/broke/failed to trim it, so they should fix it, no? and I see that what is fair will only happen if I pester, bully, and generally threaten to become extremely unpleasant. But then again, I already knew that the world isn't fair, and that the meek, well, to misquote, it's a damned good thing that they get the kingdom of heaven, because they ain't getting nothin in this world other than footprints on their backs. Toro, toro!
My task for this week was to call the neighbor - one of them, at least, and I now hope to have an unbroken window by the New Year. At least I won't then have to wash my dishes in front of a glass symbol of my avoidance of conflict... On the other hand, if the window isn't fixed by then, I could always ask my dear, dear man to wash the dishes for me. (sucking up shamelessly here, I know)