"Well you did it to yourself"

I remember being a little girl and hearing my father say to me "Well kid, you did it to yourself". At the time I was 10 and OH, the injustice of it all. How dare he say that to me. It was NOT all my fault. Nothing was when I was little. Growing up in a military home with a single father was different to say the least. There were strict rules, chores, and self responsibility was pounded into my head. The 2 lessons my father taught me were *clean as you go*, and, *it is better to be thought of an idiot then to open ones mouth and remove all doubt*. The latter took me some time to learn. To this day my father says I was born without the Cooth gene. Heck, I don't even know if that is how you spell cooth, much less have the stupid gene... I blame him 100%. Of course at 10 I didn't see my life as different to the other kids. My life as a kids was my normal. It was not until my teenager years I started to realize my childhood was not every ones *normal*. The year I turned 16 was not my best year. It was then I started to wonder why I didn't have a mother? Having a family that was and is by all accounts crazy helped a little. When my father would go away for long periods of time I would be sent to live with my grandparents. My grandfather had a job working in Germany after he retired from the Army. My step grandmother was half his age, and a busy bee. I remember she put pepper in EVERYTHING she cooked. Maybe she thought my grandfather like it. Maybe she was just crazy. My grandfather was a POW for 5 and a half years, when he returned home he was a different person. Or so everyone said. I remember they had a huge yard, and my grandfather drove very fast. Spending time with them was always interesting..
During the shorter deployments I would stay with a neighbor. There always seemed to be a nice neighbor lady who took me in from time to time. My childhood was fun, and loving, BUT!
When I found out I was pregnant with my first child I swore I would not do X,Y &Z, or say X,Y & Z to my kids! I sure thought I knew it all at 21, when I brought my first born child home to my fathers house. Christopher had colic for months. There were many nights I would have to drive him around until he fell asleep. And, he would always be up at 6. He is STILL always up at 6. Of all my boys Christopher is most like me. We quickly found out it was his formula, and he was put on neutrogamina. Talk about nasty stuff. It was the consistency of Elmer's school glue and grey. Turns out I was the same way as a baby. Both my son and I are blessed to have what I term *funny stomachs*. If we eat to much sugar, or starchy foods (that turn into sugar) we shall pay the price.
Now as my son turns 12 I have found myself saying to him from time to time *well kid, you did it to yourself*. Most notable after he returns from the movies with his friends. After eating half the candy the snack bar has to offer, along with a large soda. A few weeks ago he came home and I could see it in his face. Way to much junk had been consumed. He was up all night sick. I sat with him, while he sipped water swearing "I will never do that again". Oh, hun, you are my son. Never say never. You will do it again, and again, and again. That is just who we are.
Which brings me to yesterday, The joy in my heart, and love I felt for my first born son as he looks at his mother (who is dying on the sofa) and with all the love he could muster says "well kid, you did it to yourself". And, boy did I. I think my sugar binge started about Christmas Eve. I blame all the people who stopped by to drop off cookies, and cakes. They have to be eaten don't they? I mean that is the only respectful thing to do, isn't it?
The next life lesson I hope to pass on to my oldest son is going to be "101 excuses". I sure have that one in my repertoire.