...but I am trying to reform.
When the going gets tough, I want to go somewhere else.
When the s__t hits the fan, I want a new fan.
But then there is this child. Well, these children, but especially my girl child. And if something is hard, she doesn't want to try. And this child is brilliant, and talented and she could do ANYTHING she tried, if she just put a little effort into it. And she won't try. Until she is dragged kicking and screaming, and then she is brilliant. Until it gets hard again. Then there is crying, and quitting, and convincing. And then she un-quits. Until the next time.
Apparently this is genetic.
But now I must be a role model to my child. So when I order the wrong labels and pay someone to stick 600 of them on, I need to not throw a tantrum and stomp around and talk about what an idiot failure I am. I can't quit. Rats.
I need to be a grown-up and go order some new labels and realize it isn't SO bad. Recoverable. Not a huge disaster.
A small-ish and yet hugely infuriating disaster-like occurrance. That caused my heart to stop momentarily. And lights to flash before my eyes. That can't be good for you.
And then there was a (tiny bit) of crying and ranting (while holding a big sharp knife and attempting to cut up veggies for dinner, which caused my poor husband quite a bit of concern as he attempted to comfort and calm the crazy lady with the BIG KNIFE).
And then he offered to help. I can ask for help. I don't have to do everything.
Which I knew. But sometimes I forget. Because it feels like there's this big THING that is some sort of TEST that I need to complete. But it isn't a test. It isn't a big THING.
It's a thing that I (normally) really enjoy doing. That someday (please, please) will be a great success story.
And then I will look back on the wrong labels, and the crying and the BIG KNIFE and we will laugh.
And I will say, thank goodness I didn't quit.
Right?
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