As a counselor, it’s impossible to live up to clients’ expectations. I don’t like disappointing people, but inevitably, I will and do, and learning to tolerate this has been a work in progress. Instead of thinking, “Shoot! I failed them,” I’ve softened my approach to: “How can I help them deal with this disappointment?” Removing the personal aspect has allowed me to join with them – even though my action may have triggered it – to be supportive.
I want to get my munch on. But huddled at the bottom of the stairs, at our bench-style dining room table sit four middle-aged men, all playing a board game together as if they were ten. Not that I’m putting them down – having fun at any age is the goal – but I know my rooting and squirreling around in the nooks and crannies of every cabinet and fridge cavity for the perfect snack, might get looks of “Boys rule and girls drool” or “Boys only” from them.
Sometimes, I revert to a younger age, where I’m doing nanny nanny boo boos before running around the side of the house to hide.
Weren’t those years the best? The lazy kid summers that lasted all day, of not knowing how credit cards work and having rules against touching the stove. Days where you’d watch the cake rise in the glass of the oven, or watch a rolly-polly bug tuck itself into a mini BB.
I’m hopeful the move to Georgia will convert our lifestyle to a less hectic one. Regretting not having put a hose bib on all four corners of their house when constructing it, a friend’s recommendation had me envisioning crazy possibilities, like four waterfall sprinklers on the north, east, south, and west sides of the house, and hooking up sprinklers and doing laps around the house through them.
If, and I say if, that actually comes to pass when our house finishes at year’s end, I’ll take you along for a ride in my hand on my camera phone. Even if that means it gets wet. Because only the best and most realistic for you!
But what I really, really want is a large pretzel with cheese sauce. Lots and lots of cheese sauce. Not the spicy cheese sauce either. The creamy, barely tastes like anything kind. Oh, and don’t you love the gooey, bready middle part of the pretzel?
I’m not making my snack craving any easier. It’s almost as if I’m rallying myself up to go, to push past my lack of need for more calories, and not wanting to distract the guys from their game, and perform a full-on snack attack.
Resist, Jaclynn. Resist.
Sometimes, like tonight, my silliness wins out, and for that, I’m grateful. Although I experienced several stimulating and enlightening conversations at work that I’d love to share here, I also feel drawn to the art of silly play.
Before I go, I must tell you a story about German Chocolate cake. So, before Dave’s old board game friend, Ben, moved to Germany, Marty (he’s downstairs right now) bought the group a German Chocolate cake because – you guessed it! – Ben was moving to Germany. The problem with that, Dave found out today, is that the cake is called German not because of the country but because it’s some American guy’s last name.
So they basically celebrated some guy in America for their friend’s send-off. That’s weird of them huh?
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 