Skip to main content

Just Say No

First, thank you everyone for indulging my Gettysburg Address fetish. Because it is. I covet that speech. And have actually spent the last 3 months trying to memorize it. Okay, one or two times I've sat for 5 minutes and tried to memorize it. But anyway. Yes, I'm completely aware this makes me a geek.

But my main point tonight is to say that it's turning cold in New York which of course means it's time for me to go insane with planning parties, making cookies, cards, and other such nonsense that I actually adore. But here's the deal. This year I actually decided to make some limits. "What!" I hear all of you mouthing. "Manhattan Mama saying No?!?!?" That would be a big uh huh. Because I realized that saying to yes to everything does not make everyone like you. I'm just going to write that again so it even sinks in to me:

SAYING YES DOES NOT MAKE EVERYONE LIKE YOU.

What it actually does is make your husband stay out late to avoid you, makes your daughter cry when you ignore her, and makes your hair turn even more grey.

So what have I said no to? In the past 3 days?

1. Baking 2 dozen cookies between my Christmas party and Christmas Day for a fundraiser at school.
2. Being secretary on the School Leadership Team where I was just elected to serve. (Don't start.)
3. Having Thanksgiving at a stranger's house, uptown, when I just want to make a turkey at home for the 3 of us.
4. Calling my parents back when it was not a good time for me.
5. Sending chocolate milk everyday to school in The Rabbit's lunch.

And while some of this was small, some were very very hard for me to do actually. And can't say I'm not squirming. But you know what? It's got to be better than the alternative. Right? Right? R-i-g-h-t????

Comments

Anonymous said…
In addition to the points you made, saying yes to more things only gives me more balls to drop, so to speak, and more chances for more people to get upset with me. Kudos to you for saying no!
Manhattan Mama said…
Thank you devilish! (and so good to see you!)

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...