There are some serious issues to settle in the global community. Poverty, healthcare, women’s rights internationally. Big stuff. Important stuff. Not like what I am talking about today. Today I am talking about the silliest pet peeves that I have. For some reason, even my husband has felt the need to point out my petty issues. He is a very brave man.
In an effort to internally cleanse, let go and move on from these issues, I have created a list for you all to share. If during this post you feel the need to physically get up from your computer, bend at the waist, point your finger at me and laugh out loud at my ridiculousness, feel free! Self reflection has made me recognize that I am not rational when it comes to these small things that irritate me.
I hate school uniforms. They in no way protect my children from cliques, social stigma or bad behavior. They do however keep me in a constant state of red laundry alert and Spray n’ Wash paranoia. I do not believe that Jesus is allergic to knee caps (my kids have to wear pants on Mass days), jeans or brightly colored shoes. The attention we pay to our “distractions” is sort of distracting. It irritates me that on top of teaching my children the important character traits, I also have to worry about an additional list of rules that do me no favors.
Disclaimer: I know that it will teach them discipline, maybe a little humility and self control. All things I lack. At least they will get it from somewhere.
When my husband comes up to me and says, “Honey, we’re about out of bread.” I feel the blood rushing to my face. The only thing I hate more than grocery shopping is grocery shopping more than once a week. No matter what I give as an alternative option to toast and sandwiches, my children still eat all of our bread in a matter of minutes. The oatmeal, granola and soups all sit collecting dust in the cupboards. We are up to four to six loaves a week.
Disclaimer: My husband usually brings bread home after work. I never really have to go to the store again. Unfortunately, that makes him an accessory after the fact.
I hate to get up early. I am a night owl. I do not believe that any activity should begin prior to 11am. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how I roll. In an effort to conform to the rest of the world, I show up. I attempt the vision of togetherness, happiness in the face of early morning appointments and a willingness that belies my snooze hitting morning hating behavior. I do not believe in daylight savings. Let’s save the evening! Who in here could use some more sleep? Can I get an amen!
Disclaimer: Did I mention my issues with dischipline and self control. There is no doubt I am an evening person but if I went to bed before 11pm every night I may not be so bitter at 6am. Just a thought.
Okay, not the kind your thinking. Not the oven knob in a gift box to signify the new oven coming in a few days. (Yes, my husband did that for me.) The oh-that-shirt-doesn’t-fit kind of surprises. The oh-crap-I-was-supposed-to-be-where? surprises. Or how about the poop-falling-out-of-the-diaper surprises. Parenting comes with some seriously crappy responsibilities. I love this bit from Weeds. I think Nancy Botwin hits the nail on the head.
*Disclaimer: Parenting comes with love too. Caution: Video includes liberal use of the word shit but so do the surprises that seem to come with parenting.
My husband’s van is the primary vehicle for our business. I do not like to drive it. Sometimes, when I have an obligation to fulfill that does not include the children, I have to. I whine all the way to the driver side door and prepare to climb in behind the dusty steering wheel. I heave myself up the 10 million feet that it takes to get my 5 ft. 4 inches into the drivers seat. I put the key into the ignition and turn, and turn, and turn, and turn and pause. We have a failure to ignite. My husband knows the trick but it can take me 5 excruciating minutes of carpal tunnel inducing key turning before I can get it to start. I usually go back inside and get him or throw a temper tantrum in his van when I am on my own. It’s one of those small vehicle issues that you know is going to cost you a fortune to get fixed.
*Disclaimer: I almost never have to drive the van. My husband has tried to teach me the trick. I just don’t have the moves apparently.
So there it is. All of the things that have been bothering me lately. Maybe now I can get on with more important issues. :)