Patty, The Saga Continues

 For those of you that have never read my post from last July, Patty is my sister-in-law.  If you care to read about the Patty and Selma debacle, start HERE.  Selma is back home in Florida, which is just where she should be.  But Patty lives here, and the problems I have with Patty will never go away.  I may not blog about her all the time, but as far as escalating my irritation level or causing me to slip into an abyss of bad temper, she is always there.  Sometimes it feels as if she thinks up things when she is not with us just to have bossy, nosy, or egotistical comments ready and available at a moment's notice.  

             Patty is my nemesis.  My Waterloo.  My undoing.


Sometime during my teaching career, I heard a funny story about how if you were the mother of 3 boys, you automatically got into heaven.  There was no waiting at the Pearly Gates.  Three boys was like having the American Express Gold Card at boarding time at the airport  Saint Peter just lets you in over on a side door and you

bypass the A, B, and C groups completely.  I knew several moms who did indeed deserve heaven to welcome them this way.  I may have had all 3 boys from one family, but it was spread out over the years.  I didn't have them all at once.

Sam and I have 2 grown up boys ourselves.  I always said that I would agree to a third child if God, himself, would come down and guarantee in writing that I could have a daughter.  When He did not make an appearance, I decided it was time to stop the baby production.  Two boys was enough for me.  But, I digress.

Anyway, where I was heading with this was to explain that even 26 crazy, little 9 and 10 year old children have never tested my patience as much as Patty.  So if there is a way for me to get to heaven, being kind to this SIL ought to give me a head start.

Patty is a well-to-do woman who lives in a fancy retirement community.  She does not want to work, shop, cook, do dishes, clean, garden or do laundry, but she is an expert at all these activities.  Thank goodness, I say.  I simply don't know how I made it all these years without knowing how to fold a T-shirt or scrub dirty pots or plant geraniums.

Several weeks ago when everyone was pitching in with the dishes after a big family dinner, I heard Patty say to the others in the kitchen, "Ella doesn't like me to help with the dishes."  My head whipped around and my eyes narrowed.  I only said, "What!?" but my tone caught Sam's attention.  He just pointed at me with his finger.


In Sam's defense he often thanks me for being kind to her and knows very well how difficult she can be.  And I am most grateful that lately, his HOH powers seem to be showing even with Patty, who is 11 years older than Sam!  I started to wrap a birthday gift to

a little girl we know on a Sunday afternoon with Patty over.  She started right in telling me how to do it.  I didn't engage or look up, and I mumbled something generic about the color of the paper.  Twice more she began to tell me what I was doing wrong and twice more I did not take the bait.  When her mouth opened once more, Sam looked her straight in the eye and said, "Stop."  And she really did shut up!  Amazing. 

Patty Actually Shuts Up

When I know I will be seeing Patty, I talk to myself about kindness and making sure I am a good listener.  Sometimes Mr. Paddle talks to me about it, too.  Saturday morning Sam decided that a "Weekend Adjustment" was a good idea.  This is a spanking dedicated to my keeping a positive attitude, staying focused on Who's The Boss, and the general happiness and peace of our weekend.

While Weekend Adjustments are not quite happy spankings, they usually aren't really serious either.  For some reason, Sam felt this spanking needed to address my patience with Patty firmly.  He chose the Paddle-Ball paddle that has, "It's Fun!" printed on one

side.  (That is a stinking lie, BTW!)  Sam does not really get the point of warm-ups.  He's more of a "Get 'er done" kind of guy.  Lordy, I just about came up off the edge of the bed.  It was very intense from the get go, and tears sprang to my eyes.  Believe me, I answered every question and suggestion, but finally I just pleaded, "Sam, it's just too hard!"

Wrong thing to say, I discovered.  There was a flurry of strokes and that damn paddle came down even harder!  "Who decides how hard?" Sam asked.  "You do!" I quickly replied and then I shut up but good.  In the middle of that type of spanking, I am only in the moment.  The world is narrowed down to just me and the paddle.  It is not like I have trouble concentrating.  I have trouble staying still.

Finally it was over, and Sam pulled me into him right where I want to be.  Our weekend would be happy and peaceful, and I was feeling so "Adjusted" that it was hard to sit down.