This is the truth: My life is only as complicated as I make it. And I have a habit of making it complicated.
"You don't always have to make something." The Husband said, as he was leaving for work. It was the day of the Christmas luncheon at his office, and he had neglected to tell me that he was supposed to bring in a dessert. So I found myself, at 6:30 in the morning, trying to come up with an amazing dessert that I could prepare, attractively package, and deliver to his office (30 minutes away) by noon. While at the same time supervising my children, whose insanity reached a fever pitch during Christmas break.
"I'll just buy something." he said.
"It's not a big deal. It's not like it's a reflection on you."
Oh, really? Because it is. Because you're going to show up with store bought cookies and everyone is going to think you have a horrible wife who can't cook and is probably a bad mother and unlikeable to boot. Because my self worth is somehow wrapped up in the quality of the dessert on the stupid work buffet.
That is either hugely self absorbed, or an issue for a therapist. Either way, it's fucked.
I'm not resolving to do anything this year. Mostly because I think it's silly to pick one day to change your life. I mean, what's wrong with March? Partly because I suck and can't keep resolutions. But I am going to try, try very hard, to not be so worried that what I do is who I am.
"Buy the damned cookies." I said.
2 weeks ago