Reconciliation

Sunrise

from my driveway, 7 AM this morning

Reconciliation

rec·on·cil·i·a·tion

NOUN

1.

reconciling of people: the ending of conflict or renewing of a friendly relationship between disputing people or groups

“a series of quarrels and reconciliations”

2.

achievement of consistency or compatibility: the making of two or more apparently conflicting things consistent or compatible

“the reconciliation of such action with his pacifist principles”

3.

christianity sacrament of penance: the sacrament in the Roman Catholic Church whereby a person’s sins are absolved through confession and penance

 

Tonight Fuzzy will make his first reconciliation. We are Catholic. It’s a big-ish deal.

For him it’s a piece of cake. We talked last week about what he may want to confess to the priest and I gave him a few ideas. He accepted none of them. He, instead, suggested that maybe he did not have to go at all, because he was a pretty awesome kid. His words exactly “pretty awesome kid”

WHICH GOT ME THINKING (dunn dunn dunnnnnn) I also think of myself as a pretty awesome kid. I feel like a good parent most of the time. I feel confident that Fuzzy will represent me well for the rest of his life. Most of the time I feel like a good girlfriend to my guy. We have few tiffs and when we do they are almost 100% his fault! I am certain that I make a good daughter to my parents. I recently moved over 800 miles to be closer to them. Clearly I am a better daughter than I was this time last year, from so far away! And as far as being a friend goes…I am top notch !

All in all I would have to agree with Fuzzy. I’m an awesome kid.

Except, maybe I’m not.

When he proclaimed in the car that he had no need for First Reconciliation, that he was too good….I put him right in his place. I pinpointed a dozen (small) things that he had done just this previous week that would be worth mentioning to the Heavenly Father. I am sure he was relieved that I am around to make notations for him, because like me, he had forgotten so many of his wrong doings.

Problem is, there is no polite, grown up, acceptable way to remind me of my wrong doings. Right? You can not go up to your main squeeze and say something along the lines of, “Honey, here is a revised list of the stuff that has been aggravating…today…please fix these, ask for forgiveness and then we will be straight again.

HA! That wouldn’t work.

Maybe it would be easier with parents? You have known them much longer!! However, if my dad came to me with even a short list of things I have done to hurt or offend him I would become so defensive the cause would be lost.

And girlfriends?? Imagine the blow up! Imagine the angry text messages that would derive from THAT confrontation. Ugh, I shutter to think!

Maybe I am an awesome kid only because no one is brave enough to tell me different. What if I were Fuzzy, with a grown up in the front seat who had a list?

Uh-oh.

So maybe I am not the perfect girlfriend I think I can be. Most of our tiffs are caused by me. My main squeeze is a terribly easy going guy who is content to ‘just be.’ I am the goof ball constantly trying to fix things that are barely broken. I could learn a lot from him. I could learn to let things just be.

As far as my parents go…I could be better. Being in the same town probably isn’t enough. I could pick up the phone more, I could close the gap more. I could be thankful that I have two people that love me no matter what. I have tested that ‘no matter what’ in the past, it’s true. They do.

I take friends for granted, always have. Haven’t you? We just assume there are people out there placed on this planet to follow us around, laugh at our jokes, keep our kids, listen to our whining and respond to our texts. I could easily pick up the slack on the friend department. I never plan anything, I’m always the invited. I do not respond to calls as quickly as I could. I can be a terrible listener. Etc, etc, etc.

I need fixing.

I need to be more thankful, to remember that I could be worse.

I need forgiveness.

I need to sit my shiny hiney in that seat in front of (or behind) the priest when Fuzzy gets done.  And I probably need to pick up the phone and talk to a few people.

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About fuzzysmom

Mom to one 8 year old fondly refered to as Fuzzy. He's smart, funny, smelly, intelligent and the wind beneath my wings. Besides raising an amazing son I'm also quite crafty.
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