June 29, 2005
the unbearable rightness of being me
Yeah, blah blah blah, I’m boring and lazy–whatever. I also have a hard time GETTING TO THE POINT (see why I never finished my dissertation???). I was still mulling the whole what-do-I-do-all-day question this afternoon (while running my errands ALONE and wishing, oh just wishing, that SOMEHOW our budget could include a new laptop with wireless access–do you KNOW how great that would make my boring lazy life?)–anyway, as I said, I was still thinking about this whole mommy thing when it hit me: I’m fine with lazy. I’m fine with boring.
What irks me is ALWAYS BEING RIGHT.
Example: Henry had a long day of not remembering simple things, like, we don’t put our feet on the table while we’re eating. You know, the usual. So I spent the day saying, oh so nicely, feet go under the table! when we’re eating, we keep our feet under the chair! where should your feet be? can you put your feet back under the table? I see your feet again! feet go under the table! And so on. (This is, by the way, an EXACT recreation of my part of our dinner conversation. I swear.)
As we were winding down and getting ready for baths and bed, I suggested that Wade think about bathing the boys SEPARATELY, because Henry was having a hard time remembering simple things like feet go under the table! and he might do better in the tub by himself, without any distractions (actually, I just said, ‘You might want to think about separate baths tonight.’ I had ALREADY explicated Henry’s tough day in what seemed to me to be PLENTY of detail. Oh, and there was that whole charming interchange about the feet! the feet! during dinner, which Wade witnessed firsthand).
In his wisdom, though, the father of my children put both boys in the tub together, and lo and behold, Henry hit his head on the faucet no less than THREE times, because he couldn’t remember, I don’t know what, not to swing his head around like a bobblehead doll, I guess (I was in the kitchen drinking–um, I mean doing the dishes. Yes, the dishes). With each successive thumping, Wade got more and more annoyed (because really, it IS annoying, what with all the head banging and subsequent whining and moaning)–and, oddly enough, SO DID I. Not because Henry was killing valuable brain cells or damaging the plumbing, but because I WAS RIGHT. Again. And I just hate that.
It’s not so much the being right that I hate, it’s the pressure to always be right. I love the moments when I say, ‘Try this or this,’ and Wade says, ‘I did it; it didn’t work, so I did the other thing and it was great.’ Such a relief to not be the one with the answers! And sadly, so rare. And recently, to really make me feel like I’m carrying Mt. Everest on my wee shoulders, EVERY SINGLE ONE of my crackpot theories about Henry has been confirmed by a medical professional. So ha ha ha! I was right! And you wonder why I drink.
I’m tired of being right, so instead I’m just going to be fun (and maybe drunk). Because being right sucks (but lazy and boring? Now THAT’S a good time!).
Posted by Susan @ 9:04 pm • Uncategorized
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