I was three years old, and I was learning to tie my shoes.
I had just failed with the clumsy laces for the millionth time (Does the rabbit run around the hole or through it first? What is this rabbit running from? Does anyone else think that shoelaces look nothing like a rabbit?) My mom showed me how to do it again, perfectly tying her shoes on the first try.
Tears filled my eyes, I threw my shoe down, and I said, “I wish I was a grown-up. I can’t wait until I understand everything and never make mistakes again.”
Oh poor baby Hazel, if you only knew. My mom told me what I said wasn’t true, but I didn’t believe her. I never saw her with untied shoes. I never saw her in time-out. Clearly her life was perfect.
I’m having one of those weeks where I have the opposite of the Midas touch: instead of everything I touch turning to gold, everything I touch is turning to poo. I got to work late three out of five days this week. I made a parent mad with one of my lesson plans (even though I worked so hard on it!). I dropped the football on a key play during a staff football game. I got rejected by another agent who showed interest in my book (I know people say that rejection is part of a writer’s life, which is true, but – crazy thought here – is acceptance ever a part of it? Ever??). I even made a big mistake on this blog. I unintentionally wrote something hurtful and offensive in my last post, and I hope anyone who saw it will accept my sincerest apology. I truly didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and I was being thoughtless with my words because I was angry. I had no malicious intent. Scout’s honor, it will not happen again.
Dang – good thing I’m not actually a scout. If I was trying to survive in the wilderness this week, I’d be dead for sure. I was a girl scout in second grade only. I sold cookies and did a report on Kenya. I hope that’s enough to make my aforementioned “scout’s honor” legitimate. If not, invent another promise for yourself. I’ll promise that instead.
Other jobs I’m thankful to not have this week: surgeon (mistakes would kill people), the person in charge of our nuclear arsenal (mistakes would kill a lot of people), veterinarian (mistakes could kill puppies), stock broker (mistakes could cost people millions), Trump’s public relations manager (because that job would just suck in general).
I wish that there was some age where suddenly mistakes evaporated and I could effectively do all the things, but if there’s an age where that happens then I know I haven’t hit it yet. It should have kicked in by now, because I’m pretty adult on all levels: I’m married. I have a full-time job. I have a house. I consistently tie my own shoes without error.
Then again, I occasionally have ice cream for breakfast and my favorite color is still sparkles. I tell people it’s teal so I don’t sound like I’m four, but I don’t think I ever fully grew out of “my favorite color is sparkles.” Maybe this means I’m not a full adult yet. There is still hope for my dream of perfection!!
Well, no there’s not, but I still feel a little let down by adulthood. I feel like I let people down more consistently than I make anyone smile, and I always hoped I would grow out of that one day. Especially this week, I feel like my life is one mistake after another.
Whoa, hold on, this post is teetering on the edge of the rocky cliff marked “Pity Party.” If there’s one party I don’t want to join, it’s that one. Let’s turn this ship around quickly, people (don’t ask why my ship is on a rocky cliff. My blog, my rules. My ship needs no water). Instead of a pity party, let’s go to the kind of party where a guinea pig wears a sombrero.
Phewf! Way better. Don’t ask me what kind of party that is, but I want to be there. He’s wearing a sombrero.
Cheers to a weekend reset and hopefully a better week next week.