I’m a perfectionist. I expect perfection from myself and everyone around me is a victim as well. I have no tolerance for carelessness or lack of effort but slowly I am realizing that this silly obsession of mine is driving me crazy. So new year, new me right? I’m trying at least.
Last night, as I was draining the pasta, I asked my daughter to put the sauce in a bowl. Next thing I knew she was screaming and there was sauce and meatballs flying everywhere. I was mad. There is no denying the frustration I was feeling in that hurried moment. Accidents happen. I get that but she was intoxicated by One Tree Hill and wasn’t focusing on what she was supposed to be doing. We both started to clean it up and miraculously enough, I didn’t say a word. I just washed out the pot, microwaved new meatballs and opened a new jar of sauce.
As we ate our dinner, Chase reached for a piece of garlic bread and in slow motion to torture me even more, his can of soda toppled over until there was orange and fizz all over the table. I saw my daughter giggle out of the corner of my eye and Chase was already laughing out loud. I did it! I never said a word.