Part of what is brave about this is that first, you chose to write about it and second this is a window on reality. I cannot imagine yours is the only house in the entire Mid South that hasn’t done the holy shit where the fuck did the maggots come from? dance. That doesn’t minimize your feeling about it but it does perhaps point out that chaos is everywhere, and there are likely all kinds of creatures taking full advantage of it. As a fellow Southerner, once, before air conditioning, your story rings true. And my fastidious mother was also horrified.
You’re wise enough to know that so much of what you share here are your judgements about stuff. Stuff, like the Panera cup, and being too damned tired to put on your Suzie Homemaker apron and clean like a White Tornado. There were days recently, after so much fucking stress, so many injuries and you name it that I felt fortunate to remember to refill the TP.
Our value set, so much of which has been shaped in your case and later discarded by you (smart move) from your mother and others still hangs around like that cloud of flies. Sometimes I wonder if any of us ever gets completely free of that conditioning. However you know it’s a story, rather than your truth. That doesn’t always assuage the pain. It’s a journey, and to my mind, Shannon, you are teaching your little girl and of course your readers that simply…
That is all any of us can ask. And by trying, it usually ends up being worth it.