We had a lovely weekend planned. J
and I were going to take M and “Little J” to Portland for Disney on Ice and a
fun stay in a hotel. This was an “experiential” Christmas gift we gave “Little
J” since she receives far too many presents each year to really appreciate
everything she has. And, what kid wouldn’t love a chance to see Disney on
Ice!?! All of us were really looking forward to the opportunity to get away and
enjoy some time as a family. We should have known better.
Around midnight I received a text
message from “Little J’s” mom that she had been throwing up for an hour, with
no stopping in sight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that we wouldn’t be
able to take this sick child for a 2 ½ hour car ride to Maine. J started to
pout, visibly upset that the expectations he had set for this trip got trampled
on. And me? I was surprisingly calm and accepting. When J asked why, I realized
it’s because I’ve been re-setting expectations since the day I became a mother.
Don’t get me wrong – life is
good. It’s just that, when doing anything where a small human is involved,
there is always an element of chance. Will they be napping? Will they get sick?
Will they throw up on your clothes as you are walking out the door? All of these
things hang over your head, teasing you every time you want to leave your
house. So, sure, I guess I can say that my predisposition to create
expectations for every situation has been, well, neutralized. I still get
excited, but there’s always a small bit of doubt that we won’t be able to pull
it off. And that small bit of doubt saves me from throwing myself on the floor
in a rage of disappointment, and helps me see the opportunities that exist
within the wreckage. Unfortunately for J, those opportunities include a lot of
hands-on housework.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s
why he was so upset.
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