Life Lesson #56:
Make a plan, then know when to change it.
You always need a plan, right? Goals, organization, a definite direction to go in. Without a plan you can find yourself running in circles.
But what if when you execute that plan it doesn’t work? Do you close your eyes, forge ahead, hoping for a different outcome eventually?
They say that’s the definition of insanity.
Or do you re-group, tweak, change direction all together?
We should do the later.
I know we don’t always.
For me it’s often because I’m afraid a change in plans will be perceived as a failure. However, being inflexible can lead to real failure.
I knew my freshman year in college that my chosen career path of journalism wasn’t for me. Sure I could write well, but I hated the going-out-into-the-field-and-getting-the-story part of journalism. I thought about changing my major, but I wasn’t about to be one of those wishy-washy undeclared students. Besides, I’d told everyone I knew since I was in the sixth grade that I was going to be a news reporter.
Two unhappy internships and two miserable newspaper jobs later, I finally got smart and shifted gears. But what grief I might have saved myself if I’d done that years before as a college freshman.
Having a plan is smart. Changing the plan when it doesn’t work is wise.
The other day Wade insisted on trying a lime.
He didn’t like it very much.
And yet he went back for seconds.
“Mommie, come look!” Beaming proudly David takes me by the hand, and leads me into the hallway.
“Uhm?” I stall not sure what he’s showing me.
“I made a trap. For Wade.” Excitedly he explains the contraption to me. “See, I sat the basket up like this, and put these toys in here. I hide around the corner, and when Wade crawls in there to get the toys out I pull this string, like that, and the basket falls on top of him and traps him.”
“Oh.” It’s hard not to smile at his cleverness. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“TV.”
“Of course. You know you did a really good job making that trap, and I have no doubt it works, but I really can’t let you trap your brother.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just not nice.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get some food.”
“Why?”
“Well, if I can’t trap Wade, I can trap the dogs. I need food to get them to crawl in the basket.”
“You are way too smart for your own good. No, you can’t do that to the dogs either. And before you even try, don’t go outside and make a fire with two sticks. I know you saw that on TV too.”
15 minutes later…
“Mommie! Look. It worked. Wade’s under the basket!”
“What? Get him out of there! I told you not to do that.”
“I had to try it just once to see if it worked.”
“I want you to take that trap down, then go to your room. You’re getting a time out for disobeying me.”
Not long after the time out ends…
I hear “Whaaaa! Whaaaa!” coming from David’s room.
Running down the the hall I yell, “Wade! Wade, what’s wrong?”
David is in his loft bed. A rope wrapped around the rail trails down to a laundry basket dangling six inches off the ground. Wade is in the basket.
David is trying to hoist Wade to the top of his bed using a rough rope and pulley system he made.
“Oh, my word!” I exclaim as I rush to rescue Wade from the basket. “What do you think would happen if Wade fell out of the basket? He could break his neck! The baby stays on the ground, and out of laundry baskets. Give me that stuff. No more rope. No more baskets. No more educational TV. Go watch SpongeBob, and fry your brain!”
And they say kids don’t learn anything from watching television.
I’m feeling a little bitter tonight.
See everyone’s doing all this Back-to-School shopping, and talking about the cute, pink, frilly frocks they’re buying.
Meanwhile I’m out sorting through jeans trying to decide which ones will be less likely to get a hole in the knee, and explaining to David why he doesn’t need yet another T-shirt with Woody from Toy Story on it.
Shopping just isn’t the same when you have boys.
And then there are you moms out there who make the cutest stinkin’ things for your little girls to wear. I’m the first to admit that I’m not very crafty. But making frothy, polka-dot, cotton candy dresses might be good motivation to learn. I mean what am I going to do? Crochet footballs?
I love my boys. I love, love, love them to the moon and back! I wouldn’t trade them for all the little girls in the world.
But be honest. Just how scarred do you think David would be if I sent him to the first day of school in a pair of ballet flats?
Two weeks.
Two weeks!
1,2,3 – 18 days.
O.K. Two and a half weeks, but who’s counting?
Well, actually I am. Counting down the days until David goes to Kindergarten. I think I’m more excited than he is.
I will not be one of those moms who sobs on the first day of school. Oh, there may be one or two sentimental tears. I do recognize the milestone. The great leap from the safe confines of home out into the big unknown world. I know that he’ll be forever changed, never to return to my house quite the same. The first day of kindergarten is his first step on his journey to independence and adulthood.
But here’s the thing. I’ve basically run out of ways to keep David entertained, and I’m more than happy to let someone else have a crack at for a few hours every day.
Wade is the easy one. I can give him a cardboard box, and a paper towel tube and he’ll entertain himself for hours.
David is high-maintenance. He thrives on inter-action. He wants to always have company, someone to talk to or play with. It’s not so much that he wants to be the center of attention. It’s more that he’s a hard-core extrovert. If ever there was a people person, it’s David.
Someday David will make a fortune selling snow throwers to people who live in the dessert.
I’m the opposite. I’m an introvert. I like to be alone. Which I rarely am. Even if I lock myself in the bathroom David stands outside trying to carry on a conversation through the door. There are days I think I’ll explode if David doesn’t stop talking for just a few minutes.
And sometimes I do explode.
If you’re married you know that too much time at home with your spouse can be just as bad as too much time away from them. I think it’s the same with parents and kids the older the kids get.
So, yes, come September 7th, I’m looking forward to quiet mornings at home, just me, Wade and a cardboard box.
So tell me, I’m not the only mom who ever looked forward to Kindergarten am I?
No one and nothing makes me happy.
That’s right. I said no one and nothing makes me happy.
But I am happy.
I’m responsible for my happiness.
I hated the first job I took after college.
If I just had a better job…
I found a better job. But I still didn’t like it.
If I just had an even better job…
And I found yet another job. My third in just a little over a year. The pay was even better. The benefits were even better. But I still wasn’t happy.
Then one day I realized the problem wasn’t the job. It was me. So I decided to stop whining, and just do the best I could. A funny thing happened when I stopped the negative thoughts. Suddenly I was happy. I still had the same job, but I wasn’t miserable anymore. And doing my job well lead to even better opportunities.
Happiness isn’t ice cream, or money or even being loved by the right person.
Happiness is a choice. A choice to be content with what you have, and where you are. A choice to accept your circumstances, and make the best of them. Or a choice to move forward, change your circumstances, and not linger in a sea of bitterness.
Waiting for a better job, more money, a nicer house, a newer car or whatever it is that you desire most to make you happy won’ t work. You might get your deepest desire, but there will always be One More Thing that you need no matter how many of your wishes are granted, and you’ll never be happy.
You have a choice. Choose happiness.
Life Lessons is a weekly series about wisdom gathered from life experience, lessons learned the hard way, moments of If I Knew Then What I Know Now, and revelations of Oh, They Did Know What They Were Talking About.
I remember reading somewhere that amniotic fluid is the best impact adsorbing material known to man.
Kinda makes you realize how amazing the human body is, huh?
NASA has for years tried to synthetically reproduce this liquid that keeps baby safe from bumps and jolts in Mommy’s tummy. But they just can’t figure out the right formula.
Guess God isn’t giving up the secret recipe.
Well, I’ve got something else for NASA to try.
Kid Snot. Mucus. Boogers. Whatever you call it in your house.
That stuff could totally be a space-age polymer. Have you ever tried getting snot off your kid’s nose when it’s all dried-on and crusty? It’s practically impermeable.
So there you go NASA. Kid snot is the answer to those pesky O-rings that keep failing on you. That heat-shield that keeps coming off in chunks? Get one of your employee’s kids to blow their nose on it, then slap it on the shuttle. It will never come off.
They wouldn’t even need to make a synthetic. There are millions of sick kids every year to collect it from.
NASA, call me. I may not have a degree in aero-space engineering, but I do have lots of experience with runny noses.
