Fabulous, Darling!

When we were leaving the birthday party yesterday, a cranky and tired Sneedlet One wanted to come home with me and the lovely Mrs. Sneed, rather than his mom. In an effort to placate him, I said yes when he asked if he could come to our house tomorrow. Big mistake. I assumed that by tomorrow, he meant sometime in the future, not literally tomorrow. I was quite wrong about his ability to conceptualize time. Bright and early this morning, Daughter Sneed called to thank me to telling him he could come over today. He was confident that I was picking him up from daycare after his nap and bringing him home. When she told him that he wasn't going to Grandpa's house today, all Hell broke loose. She wondered what I was going to do about it? I picked him up at two thirty and as I type he is playing with his bug collector set on my living room. Daughter Sneed will be here shortly to get him and I am sure it will get ugly. What I have learned is that when he says tomorrow, he means it. Here;s something else. There was a special section in our afternoon paper today devoted to forty young community leaders, all under forty years of age. They were nominated for this recognition by their employers or, and I love this word, their mentors. They are all young, pretty and energetic and they do fine things for our community. What's not to like? I'm not completely sure why this annoys me so much, but it does. I am a bit put out by this because this is just a parochial love fest. The older generation of business leaders anointing the next. Our young climber's good deeds tend toward, board member or committee member, and away from the drudgery that goes with helping the less fortunate. They are leaders, not workers. Their causes range from community-wide things like serving on the board of the United Way, to obscure ones, like membership on the Lutheran hymnal task force. These are people who are successful, some worked their way from nothing, but many are the children of privilege. To paraphrase Jim Hightower commenting on the first George Bush, many of our fabulous forty were born on third base and think that they hit a triple. Self promotion is a huge part of being a big fish in the pond, but it makes me uncomfortable. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky