Not My Business

New Year’s resolutions, a month early.

I had a moment yesterday morning in the laundry room: The Teenager had stacked the wet workout clothes from the night before on top of the washer.  The clothes were still wet, of course, but one had to admire the neatness of the stacking job.  She had apparently “forgotten” to hang them up.  I love the all-purpose teenage excuse of “I Forgot.”  I lost my temper, and just as quickly regretted losing my temper — not because she didn’t deserve the tongue lashing, but because I had wasted my breath.

And then there is DH, who had a plan called Thirty in Thirty (that would be thirty pounds weight loss in thirty weeks).  Among other changes, he is trying to reduce the amount of carbohydrates (from grains) in his meals, but changes are difficult because DH is also something of an expert at self-sabotage.  This morning, we came back from breakfast, and he had an early (as in, less than 90 minutes between meals) lunch of two servings of cereal.  Me, in the background, rhetorical question: “Is that cereal?  Is that a second bowl of cereal?”

Yes, I wasted my breath on that one too.

If I truly believe that the only thing I have control over is what I do, then I need to stop having futile expectations.  Or expectations in general, because expectations are always in the future.  I cannot expect “reasonable” behavior from The Teenager, because she is indeed a teenager, and everyone knows “reasonable” and “teenager” do not mix.  But the act of expecting does not change just because my daughter is a teenager, and my husband is not.  Ultimately, his diet or her silliness are not my business.

This is the year I learn to make myself quiet.

ThanksgivingPig2013.2

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