It’s funny, but if you asked me to describe myself, I’d most definitely use the word “realist.” Normally I’m pretty darn pragmatic (I’m really practicing not cursing, as Stella is most definitely echoing us more and more). If anything, I’m probably TOO pragmatic sometimes. But every once in a while, I find a situation where there does exist a last vestige of fancy or expectation which leads to conflict both within and outside of myself.
For instance, Will and I have gone several rounds about mornings. When I say he’s not a morning person, there isn’t enough bold print font in this galaxy to emphasize it enough. He sleeps later than we do (Stella and I are still typically up anywhere around 5:00-5:30 AM each day) and he’s usually up howling at the moon later than I am (considering I’m usually in bed between 9:30-10:00 PM). I’ve always tried to let him sleep as much as possible, but I would find myself dreaming of a nice family breakfast every Saturday and Sunday morning. I would try to wake him up. He’d get irritated. I’d get irritated. My irritation was enhanced by the fact that it was 8:30 or so and the baby and I had been up for 3 hours without food and were starving. Finally, I’d just say F-it, cook, and eat with the baby. He’d get cold breakfast whenever he finally got up. I had to let that particular battle go. It just wasn’t worth the irritation (for either of us), and it certainly wasn’t worth tainting our weekends with arguments. So I let go of that particular expectation. It hasn’t been an issue since.
Our recent vacation was another example. It wasn’t fun. I didn’t come home rested. I guess I can say at least I got the experience (learning experience, that is) out of it, but it’s not something I’ll be in a hurry to do again soon. We also had a recent zoo trip which didn’t go according to “plan.” It started well enough. But the kid fell asleep in her stroller after about 45 minutes. She napped poorly for a short while in her stroller and woke up pretty grump-tastic. I will say this: she did recover well. And while I had packed healthy nutritious snacks and beverages, we all had ice-cream for lunch. She loved it although I felt like an awful mother.
The point is, I make myself crazy. I’m like Clark Griswold, attempting to set standards that no family event can ever meet. So what if we don’t have a family breakfast on Saturdays? Of if the kid naps at the zoo? As for vacation, Stella was fine. It was me that was not so happy. I need to find a way to detach myself from some of these Norman Rockwellian visions and try to embrace and appreciate what and where we are. That’s my feel-good warm and fuzzy blog for this quarter. Now hopefully back to blogs about poo or other humorous bodily functions.