The Deep End of the Kool-aid Pool

Over the course of this blog, I’ve talked about several genuinely well-meaning people who attempt to parent me. I understand and appreciate these people because I too suffer from an incurable urge to “Mom” folks; you know, reminding them of appointments, picking up after them, supplying them with band-aids or Tylenol, or going to the Grown-up Girl Scout’s Bag of Everything to pull out a sewing kit or a screwdriver when they need something mended or repaired. And, yes, there really is a screwdriver in my pocketbook and yes, it really has come in handy more times than I can count. Recently, I realized that the line between “helpful” and “all in the Kool-aid and don’t know the flavor” (as the saying goes) gets quite blurry.

Recently, one of these mom-type people tried to dive headfirst into my Kool-aid pool without her water wings and without going into all the details of the splash her belly flop made all over my brand new white beach towel, let’s just say, I was significantly less than pleased. And, despite knowing better, I let it be known.

I fumed, I fussed, and yesterday, I wrote what some would call a scathing blog about it. But after posting the blog, I decided that the sugar in my Kool-aid pool must have clogged the filter because it was clearly not working to separate my thoughts from my words. And so I deleted it, and this blog has returned to its normal state of happy bliss.

Because there’s a lesson to be learned from how poorly I managed the situation, I’ve decided to choose to believe that the mom-types in my life are trying to be helpful, even when our definitions of helpful aren’t the same. I’ve decided that just because someone doesn’t treat you in the way you want to be treated doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t treating you the best (or the only) way they know how. I’ve decided to believe that perhaps it’s not always the mom-type’s giving but my receiving that’s the problem. Maybe I wasn’t open-minded enough to see the bigger picture and to realize the helping was well-intended even if misdirected. Geez, who knew that a little Kool-aid on a beach towel could teach you so much?

I hope that in your corner of the world today, you have a mom-type person, or several of them, who love you, mean well, and know when to dive into the deep end of your Kool-aid pool and when to stay on their beach chair, reading a trashy novel by the lifeguard stand. I hope that when you get unwanted splashes of Kool-aid on your beach towel: 1. That you remember that it’s just Kool-aid and that Shout makes wipes for that; and 2. That you are open to the idea that maybe your beach towel needs a little colorful splatter every once in a while to help you remember that life is not always black and white; sometimes it takes an occasional splash of cherry or grape or orange to remind you that life is too short to be anything but sweet.