The Blame Game

Have been steadily blogging for weeks and weeks and then yesterday, for no good reason at all, just wasn’t able to post. Probably God was trying to show me that I am not “all that”. You know, how you can go along in the wreckage of your house and plans and think, well, I didn’t do laundry or email that person back or get to that appointment on time or get that list made for church, But At Least I Blogged. Every day I’ve been able to say to myself, At Least I Blogged. And then, because I am a frail mortal, God took even that away from me so that yesterday I spun around in circles and tried to discover in what manner I have gone so terribly astray. And I think I found the answer. It wasn’t hard to come to. It’s All The Fault of Baseball! It can’t be that I am a sinner who makes terribly wrong choices every day and carries around the wretched burden of my own ego. It is baseball. And in two weeks, when baseball is all over, my life will turn into a glorious rainbow unicorn dream once again, just like it was before baseball.

Hey, be grateful I’m not blaming my husband and children, which I am regularly inclined to do. Where would we all be without the ability to blame others?

Don’t give me an answer to that question. Instead, here is a funny thing. Well, not really funny but more evil.

It’s very hard to see in this grainy and terrible picture, but there is not just one cat there. The dark form of a second cat, if you look carefully, can be seen lurking behind. These two cats have had nothing to do with each other for years. They do not speak At All, ever, yet here they both sit, in the open doorway, ready to sneak outside if we turn our backs. The dark one at the back recently spent a whole night outside, for the first time in his life, and now seems to be emboldened to just walk around in the day and interact with other cats. This is not good. I need to get myself a screen door. I had to take the picture from far away because he spooks so easily, a fact I have heretofore relied on as a safeguard against his going out. It’s worked well for almost eight years. Tragically, screaming at the children to close the door hasn’t worked ever. I don’t know why Matt doesn’t want us to have a bunny. It makes no sense at all. A bunny and another dog and maybe some more cats and some birds….what could possibly go wrong?

When something did go wrong, we could blame God, or each other.