Monday, November 14, 2011

Everyday Life: And now

They were being boys, and I was just not having it. 

Because really it wasn't even my idea to get dressed up and go outside to capture some pictures. 

Actually, it was G's; he thought pictures of himself and "maybe one of E" might be a great Christmas present for his Grandma Puppy {which he totally told her about today while we were in the car, so the cat's out of the bag in more places than here on my blog}.

I went with it, even though Saturday morning was stressful with news of water seeping into our Curves. Also, John and I were in the midst of trying to digest and acclimate to having a gluten-free and dairy-free friendly household {long story that shall be shortened and shared soon} after an end-of-the-week trip to my holistic practioner and a slew of test results came back, most likely pointing to a leaky gut. 

So, I thought, maybe we could turn the day around by getting out into the hazy sunshine and gifted 60 degree breezes of an atypical Midwestern November. 

Thing is, though, a day can't really be turned around. 

Only attitudes can. 

And mine, well, it didn't. Rather, I didn't turn it around

Instead I found myself irritated with G for monkeying around while I was trying to capture his four year old self posed in perfect set ups. I all but stomped away from him and ventured off to find a more willing model only to find an even more reluctant child.

My reaction to E's uncooperative response to the camera also wouldn't have won me a nomination for mother of the year unless I were up against all dads and could only win by default of being a woman. 

It snowballed from there until I found myself sitting alone in the dimly lit light of an end table lamp Sunday night wondering how I could let myself so carelessly let myself keep falling down the rabbit hole of irritation and cranky when I was so aware that I was, well, falling. 

And now, I'm wishing I could take it all back and do it over again, make the harder choice because, you know, the thing about making the harder choice is that it's always harder in the moment, but actually it's the easier choice to live with in the long haul. 

I note this lesson in my journal. {Again.} 

Write it out in bold purple against cream paper. 

Hope it somehow sponges into my ever-floundering brain off of the pages, an osmosis of sorts. 

And I turn the page, to a new, blank one, ready to pen something new, something more than what I've been today. 

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