I have steadfastly held the belief that stupid people should speak as little as possible, and yesterday, I fell rapidly down a shame-spiral of stupid. As to not violate my own rules, I took the night off from writing last night. I could think of no compelling reason to broadcast my stupid across the public domain.
In my own defense, yesterday’s stupid did not even remotely approach the magnitude of my December stupid, when I obliviously drove away from the gas pump with the hose still attached to my car and didn’t realize it until the gas station owner told me about it. I hadn’t yet had my coffee. It happens. I’ve since bought a new car, and I still haven’t mustered the courage to revisit that gas station. Again, it happens.
I’m sure you’re curious. Evidentiary support of yesterday’s Project Stupid follows below:
Project Stupid, Exhibit A: Kicked off the day by washing my hair with conditioner and not realizing it until midday when I noticed that my hair (which is normally pretty dry) resembled an oil slick. Yeah, I’m a looker.
Project Stupid, Exhibit B: Grew increasingly frantic over the course of 15 minutes as I searched in vain for my car in my office parking lot. I covered virtually every inch of the 2nd floor of the garage (P2, for those in the know), peeking around corners, even dropping to my knees and looking up (presumably to see if I parked the car on the ceiling). Convinced myself that the car was stolen, even though only a really stupid criminal would steal my car when there are so many more appealing options in the lot. Remembered that I parked the car on P1. FML.
Project Stupid, Exhibit C: Did a good deed and drug out the recycling bins, which are still at post-Christmas levels. Opened the empty side of the garage to drag the bins out. Closed the garage door---or so I thought, until husband walks in the door and asks me why both garage doors were wide open. Go me.
In lieu of writing, I spent a good 2 hours watching re-runs of “The Big-Bang Theory” on TBS in the hopes that it would make me smarter. It didn’t.
(On a side note, how did I NOT know about this show until a few weeks ago? This show rocks. Being a proud, card-carrying dork, I love dork humor. PS- I’ve developed a massive dork crush on Jim Parsons, and I’m okay with admitting that publicly.)
The old me would have written the blog entry anyway---powered through and scrambled to piece something together for the sake of meeting a self-imposed obligation. Little Miss Sunshine version 2012 opted for a new experience instead---using the good sense that I was born with and rarely use, and taking a break at a reasonable break point. I don’t know how well it worked. I feel like a total slacker. I also feel like a total slacker if I take time to eat more than once a day, fall asleep with dishes in the sink/unopened mail on the countertop/unfolded laundry in the dryer, arrive at work at one minute past 8 AM, skip a workout with a torn rotator cuff, or leave work without having every single item on my to-do list under control. Calling me a Type A personality is an understatement. I’m only a Type A when I’ve taken a handful of Benadryl and am in a mellow state. Is A++++ a widely recognized personality type?
I am admittedly a complete nutjob perfectionist- but it’s almost exclusively self-directed. I really have few standards or expectations with respect to others. (I’m not sure what that says about me, either). In general, I tend to assume that anyone who hasn’t kicked me in the face in the last week is a nice person with their act together, which kind of leads me to my next point.
In the last week, I’ve either been privy to, or have heard about, some rather heated discussions about what it means to raise kids the “right way”, and more specifically, some finger-pointing and name-calling toward those who aren’t perceived as being up to the task.
Hold up. There’s A right way to raise kids? I read all the time, but somehow, I missed that title on my last trip to the bookstore. I’m fairly junior to this whole parenting thing, but still….I’ve said for years (3 years, 5 months and 22 days to be exact) that an instruction manual would have been really useful.
I’m joking, but I really don’t see much that is funny about this kind of thing, which I kind of view as parent-on-parent crime to a certain degree. The way I see it (and please take this with a grain of salt because I am someone who drove away from a gas station with the gas pump still attached to my vehicle), all parents have one thing in common: we all want what’s best for our kids. In my (teeny-tiny) mind, I view that definition of “best” as a highly personal decision, and I can’t imagine for one second that there is one singular definition of what is “right”.
I can’t lie, though- it drives me crazy when I hear of someone getting browbeaten by another who has taken it upon themselves to make the concepts of “what works best for my family” and “right” synonymous. Being a parent, and for that matter, being an adult is hard enough without the additional stress of tearing each other to shreds. What’s the point?
Trust me. I am a mom with two jobs- one in the home and one where I collect a paycheck. I don’t know which job’s harder. I can tell you that I am exhausted beyond the point of recognition virtually all the time and I’m trying my best and I’m constantly questioning whether I made the right choices. I need a nap, or better yet, a 2 day vacation by myself to just sleep. Frankly, what I don’t need is someone making me feel worse about my own inner conflict when all they’re trying to do is reconcile their own choices and the self-doubt that comes as part of the package deal.
Little M- Mommy loves you, and I have no idea if what I am doing is the optimal solution or not. All I can promise you is that you get my best- -every single day. Some days, my best is pretty good. Others, my best pretty much sucks. Know that I'm trying and running on faith to a certain degree.
I know you’re all doing the same.
I know you’re all doing the same.
Hoping that TV will make me smarter,
Little Miss Sunshine
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