Saturday, September 10, 2011
Same is not an evil word
I wish I loved anything as much as my husband loves football. Or Howard Stern, or gardening, or pretzels. While I may not approve of all his hobbies (such as the requisite trip to Vegas this weekend for his fantasy football draft. yeah, that's happening), I'm at least impressed by his commitment to them. He makes time for the things that mean something to him. There is something very earnest about the consistency of his habits. He knows what he likes and what he doesn't. As for me, well, I change my mind about who I want to be when I grow up every other day.
Routines and I have never agreed. When I worked at a law firm in NY, I had an officemate for a year who was just about the nicest guy (at a big law firm, this was like rooming with a unicorn). He adored the Mets, Jon Stewart and ate the exact same lunch at his desk EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I never, ever saw him eat anything but a turkey sandwich on toasted white bread, with mustard and mayo and a side of chips. This drove me bananas. How could he not want some variety? And how could he stand the smell of mayo?? Once a week I would to try to entice him to eat something different, to no avail. Meanwhile, I could never decide what I wanted and would spend a good twenty minutes of my lunch hour walking up and down the streets willing a new takeout place to come into existence.
Lately, I feel like my mind bores just as easily as my palate. I talk a big game about wanting to write, or volunteer, or make all my own baby food, or leave my house before noon. But, I'm not so good at the follow through. Just as I get a rhythm going, I find something new that attracts me and I fall in like with the next project. Part of this might be explained by the lack of structure in my life since I left my full-time job and began caring for a child who changes personalities on a minute-to-minute basis.
Given my own Sybil-like tendencies, how I ever expect my baby to be the same from day to day? Surely just because he wolfed down a particular food yesterday doesn't mean anything about whether he'll even deign to let it touch his tongue today. And, don't even get me started on the toys. Sometimes he plays for hours with the same toy and sometimes he tears through forty of them in a matter of minutes. His acting talents are on full display these days as he goes from crying to laughing in the same breath. It's beginning to dawn on me how much this fickle boy takes after his mama. Maybe we both need to start some daily to do lists.
Keep Mr. Monk alive and kicking