Okay, here’s a question for you:
How do you not be selfish with you want to be selfish but you know you shouldn’t want to be selfish but sometimes you just can’t help yourself because you really want want you wanted but you feel selfish when you want it so you just go without it then you feel even worse because you’ve been selfless but are agonizing over the selfish feeling you feel because you really wanted what you couldn’t have?
So, now that I’ve confused you, I will back up. I’ve always L.O.V.E.D birthday’s. I guess in my mind it was the one day you could relax, and be selfish, and it was ‘allowed’. No one expected you to clean (now that I’m a mom), do chores (when I was a teen), or make dinner (again a mom thing). You know that this one day, it was okay to loaf and not feel guilty.
I try not to have expectations for my birthday, except that
1.) I will get to relax
2.) I won’t have to clean
3.) I won’t have to make meals
4.) I will get a yummy dessert and
5.) I will get some kind of present.
And, I will have to say, for the most part, my husband does a marvelous job of meeting my birthday expectations. (Scott, have I told you lately how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE you? Cause I DO!)
So, this brings me to yesterday. The first thing that happened that wasn’t so great is that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or something. That is to say, I was grumpy. I personally think it was the Devil trying to ruin my day, and I was determined not to succumb to my not so chipper mood.
But, considering this was at 5:30 a.m., WAY too early for when I was to wake up on my birthday that actually fell on a Saturday for once. Plus, I was in bed with a 2 1/2 year old vs a 31 year old. Something wasn’t right. I lugged my daughter back to her bed, and found my husband zonked on the couch.
I trudged back to bed, pulled the covers up and fumed. Then I repented. It wasn’t his fault my daughter claimed a spot on his side of the bed. I had no idea what time he got home from work, so I couldn’t fault him for saying the heck with moving her and not sleeping with me.
I finally fell back to sleep, only to be woken up at 6:30 by the same 2 1/2 year old. “Mommy, I hungry.”
I growled, “Then go wake up daddy.” Breakfast was SO not my birthday duty. In fact, My husband had hinted that he fully planned on a BIB (breakfast in bed) for me that morning.
She then proceeded to cry, and say “Daddy no wake, mommy, daddy no wake.”
I growled then, “Then go wake up Karalynn.” My eldest daughter is eight and knows the routine of getting her little sister cereal.
But the screaming and crying got louder, and finally I threw the covers off and tromped into the kitchen. I was even more irritated, because the house was still the same mess it was the night before when I went to bed. Why I expected the birthday troll to come in overnight and magically POOF make it all clean, I’m not sure, but the night before I’d been irritated that my hubby didn’t take the time to clean while either 1.) I was at work or 2.) the two hours he had after I got the kids early to go to my mom’s house and when he had to get to work. But, alas, the house was still trashed, and our day was pretty full, so it looked like I’d have to sit in the mess on my birthday. And dadgumit I was NOT going to succumb to the temptation to clean it up. Good grief it was my birthday! (Do we hear a little selfish Krista coming through??? Just a wee bit?????)
Well, my daughter got fed cereal, and I left her to eat as I tromped back to my bed, while giving my out-to-the-world husband a not-very-loving glare.
I laid on my bed, hearing my now awake other two children laugh and talk. A little after seven, I gave up and went and told Karalynn to wake up dad. (I was going to get my BIB, plus I know said husband would feel horrible if he slept too late and wasn’t able to do that. It made me feel the act of having him woken up was selfless… or so I told myself anyway.)
So, my husband finally woke up about a quarter after 7, and the smell of bacon met my nose. Ahhhh, now things were a little more on track. I adjusted my attitude slightly, determined to still have a great day no matter how much the big bad ole’ devil tried to steel my joy.
After a very good breakfast, opening a homemade card from my girls, my hubbies card, and my presents, I was feeling a little better, until I saw the time. CRAP! We were going to be late now! Lacy had her FIRST T-ball game at 9, and it was a little drive to get there, and it was already after 8. We dressed quickly, got our stuff together, and off we drove. I’d never been to this particular field before, but I thought I knew where it was. Little did I know, it was about 15 minutes father out than what I thought, thus making our, “barely there on time” now “15-stupid-minutes-late”.
Have I ever told you that I HATE being late? Granted, I’m late more than I should be, but I still can’t stand it. Especially to something as important as a daughter’s first T-ball game. Alas, irritation set in as we drove like the wind, trying not to kill anyone in the process.
We get there and rush her out to the field. All is well, I’m yelling like only a true Johnson woman does (my maiden name… we Johnson women are known for our loud lungs at games that feature our children…). Lacy hits, and after a few other girls hits, she scores a run! YEAH!!!! GO Lacy!
I was so proud.
But… (and don’t tell Lacy I told this story… when she gets old enough to read my blog I will go back in history and delete this!) when the inning changed and they were out in the field again, I was calling to her to pay attention (vs sitting kinda funky, which I couldn’t understand…)
She stood up, so I turned and focused on the current batter. The next thing I know, I was looking back, and my Lacy had this look of utter horror on her face. She then started to scream, and I realized what was going on. I ran to the fence closest to where she stood, and motioned for her to come to me, and I heaved her over the fence.
Let’s just say… she was sitting funky for a reason, and then couldn’t hold the reason anymore.
I told the other coach in the dugout that we were leaving… after being there for maybe 10-15 minutes total.
I was beyond irritated, but guilty as well. We had been in a hurry, I had rushed like I always did, and Lacy was too scared to tell me she had to go to the bathroom because she knew we were in a hurry.
LA what a bad mom I felt like. But I felt even more worse because, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop the thought that, here’s yet one more thing to mar my ‘would-be’ perfect birthday. Then, as son as I thought it, I felt guilty about such a selfish thought. Here my daughter had been humiliated and all I could think about was my birthday! Seriously Krista? Get over yourself!
On our way back, our car strangly smelling like urine, I looked at my husband and saw frustration. I couldn’t tell if he’d had plans for after the game that were now ruined, or if he was just frustrated for Lacy. I asked him, and he said there was nothing we could do now, we had to go home.
I gotta admit, the little burgeon of hope flung up in heart. Maybe he had planned something fun to do after the game, just for me! (I think I forgot to mention, he had to be at work at 3 that afternoon so we only had a few hours to do something.) So, I suggested that we just stop off at Target or Walmart and buy her a cheep outfit, she needed some summer clothes anyway. He readily agreed, and said he’d been planning on taking me for lunch, and where did I want to go?
Okay, so… here’s the deal. Deep in my heart, I really really really wanted him to just pick a place, that he knew I’d like, just for ME. I wanted him to think, “man, I want to make Krista happy and smile, so I’ll take her _______.” As long as he was thinking about me and not himself regarding this, I was happy. But his version of this is, “Crap, I don’t want to screw up and pick someplace she doesn’t want so I’ll just let her choose.” But it just doesn’t have the same thought. It’d be like, “Hey honey, let’s go to the florist so you can pick out your own flowers!”
So, I tromped into Target, now a little miffed that he just wouldn’t make a decision about what to do. I picked out an outfit, underwear, and a pair of sandals, cost me $34.00 in total, which was okay because she really did need the stuff anyway. I went back out, changed her, put her nasty clothes in a bag and, Scott announced he thought it would be fun to go on a walk at the park next door.
Okay, I was good with that. We walked, and I could feel some of the tension leaving me. I felt a little better, I was determined not to be selfish, and God, who made all the pretty trees and grass I was seeing, and the little stream, and the puddles of of water that were all around from the day before’s rain, was going to make every…thing… all… rig….
I heard a splash, and a scream.
Lacy, in her knew outfit and sandals, had decided it was fun to jump in the puddles, had jumped into one off of the path, which was actually a LARGE mud puddle. Her feet slipped out from underneath her and she’d landed on her rear-end, and was now covered in mud.
No. Breathe. It was an accident Krista. That’s all.
Then it hit me. What had flashed across my mind? How this was another thing that was ruining my birthday. And how AWFUL was that.
My daughter, my five-year-old that I love with ALL my heart, was standing there, covered in mud, crying, and I hadn’t even asked if she was okay. I’d just gotten mad about knowing that the day was now ruined.
SELFISH SELFISH. ARGH.
I hugged her as best I could given the mud, and we set off back to the car, going home for real this time as we had a much needed appointment with the washing machine and the bathtub. I asked my husband on the walk back, “Why? Why does the Devil think he can totally ruin my day like this? Why am I in such a crappy mood? WHY WHY WHY? Cause, I’m not going to let him, dad-gum-it!”
The rest of the day was pretty good. We went home and bathed our mud-soaked little girl, then went out to lunch just here in town at Logan’s (I got a steak which was bad, but dad-gum-it, it was my birthday so I did something I NEVER do, I asked them to take it back and give me a new one.) We came home, and Scott made me birthday brownies before he had to go to work. I spent the rest of the afternoon/evening reading a book, which was good.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad day. It really wasn’t. But I think the devil started from very very early in the morning trying to get me down, and I’m sorry to say, I probably let him quite a few times.
We are leaving in a minute for Lacy’s T-ball practice, then off to my mom’s for my ‘family’ birthday party, so even though one of my sisters is sick and won’t be there, I’m still believing that it will be a great evening and will smile and thank Jesus for the AWESOME understanding family I have, even when I yell, am a grump, am too selfish, and just need to get over myself a little.