Rotten Tomatoes

I don’t like tomatoes.  heirloom tomatoesBig deal.
Can anyone argue that point? Well, they can try, but it’s futile. My opinion is my opinion, and it’s made at my discretion. No amount of arguing is going to change my opinion about tomatoes – I dislike the taste and texture of tomatoes! I don’t even care for tomato-based products like ketchup, or tomato sauces (pasta sauce, pizza sauce, marinara sauce – whatever name you slap on that jar of tomato guts!), and I’d just as soon not have to deal with explaining myself further, thank you very much!

          yes, I have a point…

So, in the blatantly rude exposition about my seemingly insurmountable displeasure with tomatoes, I discovered this is the secret to my new happiness – or, more joy than happiness, but, semantics

Heart-to-Heart-Key-Ring

I’ve dealt with a lot of self-loathing over the years (decades!), and I’m trying to come to grips with that – I’m a work in progress… Despite knowing in my head the love of the Lord, and understanding, in my head, my worth because of my relationship in Him, and because of Who it is I belong to, I still struggle with self-worth, and allowing the actions of others to dictate whether or not I am worthy of, well, anything and everything: love, recognition, acceptance, rest, peace, joy, acknowledgement, success… Anything. And. Everything. I so often allowed others to define my value, and the worst of it, I failed to recognize that it was through the opinions of others that I was allowing my value and worth to be ultimately decided.
Let me put it to you this way: who should determine the worth and value of a pizza? One patron who walks into the pizzeria and orders a pie with four cheeses, pepperoni, pizzasausage, and black olives? Or another patron who requests Canadian bacon and pineapple with feta cheese? Well, neither, of course! The owner of the pizzeria determines the price – the worth and value – of the pies! Why? Because ultimately the pizzas belong to him. And although each pie may vary – with different meats and cheeses, veggies and fruits – they are all still pizzas, and their appeal is based on people’s preferences.

Now, back to tomatoes (bleh!)…

As we’ve already discussed, I do not like tomatoes. Just so we’re clear on that point. Everybody got that one? Okay, moving on…

My distaste for the fruit masquerading as a vegetable (ah, so deceptive – another reason not to like them! tsk! tsk!) does not discount their value; there are many (poorly informed, highly misguided – I kid!) individuals who have fallen prey to this devilishly plump orb and bestow upon it a place of honor within their kitchens, their gardens, and their nutrition plans. Our varied opinions do not change the value of the fruit; thebasket of tomatoestomato is still a tomato (and for the record, going back to pizzas – those that squawk and wag their fingers, with wrinkled-up noses, about pineapple on pizza, attesting to some cardinal sin being broken when one puts fruit on pizza… umm, tomatoes! I rest my case!) Some love them, others are merely fond of them, and then there are those that toss them onstage during nauseatingly poor performances of “The Taming of the Shrew” (again, I kid!) In much the same way, I should NOT be allowing some other person’s opinion of me determine my value! Someone else’s fondness for anchovies on their pizza is not going to change what I view as a delicious pizza, and in our respective opinions, each of us has perfection on a plate!

Opinions are like belly buttons: everybody’s got Beautiful Belly Dance Of The Universe 2012 (6)one, and everybody’s is as unique and personal as the person
themselves! Holy Moses, what a concept! Okay, I have a feeling there are a lot of you that learned this back in kindergarten. Yay for you! You get a gold star! (No, really, that’s awesome! I wish I were so lucky; life’s been challenging not being able to recognize my own self-worth. You are blessed; you are!) Like I said, I’m a work in progress here, and I’ve not had a lot of success with the self-love stuff… I did, however, make tremendous strides this week in two facets: I jumped on stage, with the future completely unscripted, and threw caution to the wind! (check out my previous post, Detail-Oriented, and this reference will make a ton more sense!) I discovered during a monumentally ungraceful stumble-trip-step-step-trip-stumble-fall that I was mistaken in my assumption of the previous-witnessed kindnesses being anything more than that (i.e., they were apparently not interest), and realized the second act of the play called for my swift and untimely demise. The defeat simmered for a while, but soon developed a lovely aroma and tantalizing fullness within my gut and soul until it manifested itself into the mantra I now carry with grace, dignity, and surprising victory: I don’t like tomatoes…

 

We all make decisions based on past encounters and present situations, which are heavily influenced by our personal preferences and opinions. I can’t fault someone because of their personal preferences, knowing full-well that we ALL have this internal mechanism – water or soda, wheat bread or rye bread, loafers or sneakers, the ocean or the forest, rap music or alternative jazz – and we ALL harbor opinions that play an integral part in our decision-making. If I get upset with someone for choosing a different stage performer over me, that’s akin to them being upset with me for not liking tomatoes, and that’s not right. I shouldn’t have to defend my distain for the veggie-fruit, fending off an attack by some pro-marinara advocate any sooner than a tea drinker waving off the offer of a cupCup-of-black-coffee of java with ridicule from the coffee bean brigade! Opinions are just a simple way of expressing our preferences, and do not detract from the value of the item in question. I need to understand –  to remember!! – that the personal preferences and opinions of others do not in any way diminish who I am, and do not take away from my value as a human being!

 

So I say, “You don’t care for me? That’s okay; I don’t like tomatoes.”

 

roasted tomatoes

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Reverse Psychology

I know I’m not the best parent that ever lived. Heck, I doubt I’m even the best parent on our block! Probably not even the best parent in our triplex, and Brandy and Steve haven’t even been parents for a full year yet… That’s not to say I don’t try, though!

And despite having a completely overloaded schedule, I still allowed my childhood companion, high school counselor, lifelong roomie, and long-time nemesis, Guilty Conscience, to whisper in my ear, “What kid is going to remember that you did this or that task for ‘their benefit’? What they’re going to remember is whether you took the time to spend time with them!” Gee, thanks, GC! You’re brilliant!

So, at the request of my 14-year-old, who oddly enough, broke character and rambled on in the kitchen for over 40 minutes (he’s a two – to – three sentence kind of kid, usually) about this new television program he happened upon, all while I prepared our dinner, I set aside the school books, and agreed to watch the pilot episode with him (thank you, Netflix, for your diverse library of programming). I did, so rudely, though, preface my response with the explanation that it could only be one episode on this particular evening, as I did need to continue on with my homework assignments – obligations are obligations, after all, and even in showing my propensity for taking time for quality time, I needed to also demonstrate that I was a responsible person!

The show was as interesting as he described, and it opened the opportunity for some informed and thought-provoking conversation between the two of us. I promised him we would re-visit the show as time allowed. Unfortunately, he didn’t like the idea of having to wait – although I didn’t exactly ask him to. By the time he invited me to join him in watching the program, he was already at Episode Five (proof positive that he didn’t have to wait for me), and wanted to advance forward. He learned quickly that I was not going to sit and binge-watch with him this time! Sorry, kiddo!

Okay, so here’s where things get complicated…

Remember, I already admitted my failure at “perfect parenting”, so no finger-wagging!

There are those times – definitely not right now, in the midst of these two heavy-homework-laden courses in school, but believe me when I say instances have presented themselves – when I have NOTHING better to do than to let my brain rot away, watching rerun after rerun of “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives”, and my beloved 14-year-old cannot divert his eyes from whatever electronic device holds him prisoner, not even long enough to acknowledge my existence. Do I say something? No. Do I unplug said device? No. Do I restrict future screen time? (I know I probably should, but please refer to previously posted disclaimer) No…

I think the most “reckless” thing I’ve done in such an instance was refuse to cook dinner when I couldn’t get a response to what he wanted to eat that evening. I called – TWICE! – on my way home from the office. I texted and asked for a return phone call. No response to anything. So I came home. And when he continued to stare at the computer screen, I simply curled up on the sofa with the hyper pup, a ginger beer and the tv remote. Was I worried about his nutritional well-being? Not really. He knows how to cook soup, eggs, pizza, potatoes, pasta… And if he wanted to be lazy but still indulge his taste buds, there was microwave popcorn, a variety of cereals available, as well as fixings for black bean nachos. I knew he wouldn’t starve. I just refused to put forth the effort myself since he wasn’t going to acknowledge my existence. On that same night, I even went up to bed without so much as a word to him (it was a Friday night). He didn’t stop to say “hi” or “hey” or “Delilah chewed up another soda bottle cap” (our dog; don’t ask!) Not a word. So I responded in-kind.

However, it seems without fail, the moment I mention I have a cascading mountain of assignments to attend to, and I beg for him to respect my need for quiet time, he all of a sudden becomes a social butterfly, or is absolutely compelled to find the loudest, most obnoxious, disruptive television programming the satellite dish in our yard can siphon from the cosmos. Really?! We have ONE television in our domicile, so it’s not as if he’s holed up in his room, channel-surfing. No, he’s sprawled out on the sofa, bag of potato chips rustling under the weight of his scavenging fist, making sure to ignore the passage of time and continue to fill the air with static noise. And because of the less-than-ideal wi-fi service offered in our area (only one provider, so it’s not like I can shop around for another provider – the only other option is paying 3 times as much to the same provider for “upgraded” speeds…), I’m trapped down in the adjacent dining room area, feverishly working on my laptop.

Not only that, but he’ll decide that on the weekend when I’m utterly slammed with research papers and exams, that he will simply die if he can’t have his long-time buddy come hang out at the house. What drives me up a wall is that despite MY need for solitary time in order to accomplish tasks, I end up having to be the chauffeur, the chef, the entertainment director, the moderator, the maid, and still manage to take care of my own checklist. “You do understand, I have a lot of homework to get done…” The empty promises of silence and respect for my work time; why do I fall for it?? I want my son to be social, to interact with his friends – to have a life away from the computer screen! I just don’t understand why he always seems to choose solitude and YouTube when there are no prerequisites on my time, but when I need a few hours of silence to devour the concept of balanced scorecards and product innovation, he can’t help but ponder, “I wonder how many episodes of this preposterous program I can watch before the sun comes up?”

I think I need to start using reverse psychology with him again, like when he was 4 or 5 years old. Please, make all the noise you want! Why don’t you invite your friends over? You don’t want to just sit there and stare at the computer screen all day, do you? Maybe then he’ll hunker down and not acknowledge my existence, allowing me ample quiet time (aside of the dog’s crazed barking fits, and the cat’s bellowing from the landing upstairs) to complete my assignments! Four and half more weeks to go!

Thirty days, and counting…