I happened to be out the other night, leaving my husband in charge at home. Now, we have a great kid, but going to bed is not one of her better moments in the day. Whereas I am desperate to find hours to sleep, she’s convinced that she’ll miss out on something really big by going to bed, and therefore sleep is to be avoided at all costs. After years of negotiation, we have finally settled into a workable routine, where no one feels like rolling up into the fetal position. But on those rare occasions when something goes awry and the routine is even slightly altered, Maggie certainly does her best to work the system and squeeze out a few more minutes in the waking world. She wants badly to discover all the secret adult “activities” that take place beyond 8 pm. How disappointed she’ll be someday when she finds out it’s mostly a lot of sock-sorting and bill-paying.
Anyway, when I came in that night, I went to check on Maggie and give her a kiss. There she was, still awake. Sulking. I asked her what was wrong, and the sulking turned into lamenting. Great big sobs and nose-wrenching sniffles. She explained that my husband had not allowed her to have dessert. My gut reaction was to let her go downstairs to the pantry to pick out something tasty... because, even after years of therapy, I still believe that there is no need to cry when chocolate cake is in the house. But luckily, my higher self took over, and I called my husband into the room to hear his side of this very serious accusation. The grown-up side of me knew I didn’t want to undermine his authority. The “my poor baby is crying” side just wanted to cut her a piece of that cake.
Well... it turns out she had been allowed to have dessert, but when she had gone into the freezer for an ice cream sandwich, it had fallen onto the floor. Although it was wrapped in a cellophane sleeve and protected from any kind of dirt, the fall had smushed the ice cream along one edge, flattening it, somehow rendering it inedible in my daughter’s mind. And so, because it wasn’t perfect, Maggie had chosen not to enjoy it at all. Instead of tasting that sweet morsel of goodness, she’d instead banished herself to her room, where she cried in bed and stewed in the injustice of it all, vowing never to eat again.
How funny, I thought. Giving it all up, just because it wasn’t exactly how she imagined. Kids, right? Actually, not just kids. How many times have I passed on opportunities myself, like a party I didn’t go to because somebody from my past would be there, or didn’t have the right dress to wear or jobs I didn’t apply for because the description wasn’t a perfect fit. How many times have I become angry because something wasn’t the way it was “supposed” to be? Joseph Campbell once wrote, “We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.” Rather than deprive herself after the ice cream tragedy, Maggie could have simply walked another ten steps into the pantry and discovered the joy of 70% cocoa organic chocolate, for the first time in her life. And me? Instead of passing on that job interview because it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, I might have found an office full of inspiring people who would enrich my life daily and redefined my idea of perfect. Thanks, Maggie. Thanks, mushed ice cream. I think I will be a little more open today.
Namaste,
Krissy
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