Expectation vs. Reality: a love story
Before becoming a parent, I thought I knew everything I needed to know about being a parent. My kids would eat everything I sat in front of them, sleep through the night as newborns, and always, always be well-behaved (not to mention clean and in fresh-pressed clothes). Looking back, I realize I may have been a teensy, weensy bit off in my thinking. Kids will eat what they want. Beautifully planned meals, complete with all the food groups will be tossed in the trash can and replaced with a frozen waffle and a piece of plain bread. Sleep will only happen when the stars are perfectly aligned, which occurs once every 2-3 years. Bathing my kids with wet wipes will become part of our normal routine. And having both kids leave the house fully clothed will be considered a huge accomplishment (this may or may not include shoes). An iron-clad plan, complete with a blueprint and checklist, will be blown to tiny bits when my kids are involved. More times than I am comfortable admitting, I have been left to gather the remnants of both my plan and my ego.
But the most absurd belief I held was that my kids would always – and I mean ALWAYS – be well-behaved. I wish you could hear laughter just by reading about it, but know that I am guffawing to the point of tears, which may just end in a full-on bawling session. Now, to be fair, my boys say “please” and “thank-you”, help around the house after being asked 15 times, and display compassion and empathy towards their friends and family. They really are good kids three out of the seven days a week. The other four days take on a life of their own, so let me share one of those fabulous days with you.
My ten-year-old, Emmett, sees a therapist about once a month (because growing up is HARD WORK). She has known him since Kindergarten, so I must remind myself that he is comfortable in her presence. During his last session, he invited me to stay, so I took a seat next to him on the comfy couch. The session started off innocent enough, catching up on what had happened since the last time they met and moving into what he’d like to talk about now. At this point, Emmett kicks off his shoes, and lays down on the couch with his feet across my lap. Now, mind you, Emmett has the stinkiest feet of anyone I have ever known. An entire sweaty locker room full of un-showered boys pales in comparison to the smell of his feet. But I knew he was getting comfortable, so I was willing to sacrifice nose-breathing for mouth-breathing.
The session continues, and Emmett starts to get antsy in his current position. He shifts to hanging off the couch upside down, but thankfully, is still engaged. I have a few thoughts going through my head at this point, but I put them away since this is his session, and he is still in conversation. In the words of Vivian Ward in “Pretty Woman”: “Big mistake. Huge”. Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, Emmett goes from hanging upside down, to laying on the floor on his stomach, rolling over on his back, taking his mask off and swinging it on his finger, flinging his mask across the room because he was swinging it on his finger, sitting frog style on the couch and “letting a windy” (for the love!), and finally, monkey rolling across the floor. I watched in horror and my feeble attempts to correct his behavior only allowed him to invent a new position in which to be comfortable. So, I sat, legs crossed, mouth agape, clutching my pearls. What in the ACTUAL HELL had just happened?!?
Thankfully, after the hour was over – which might as well have been three days – his therapist ended by saying “you are so amazing, Emmett. I love spending time with you” (this is why we pay her the big bucks). I mean, are you kidding me? He spent almost the entire hour contorting his body into positions that quite frankly, were both awe-inspiring and infuriating. And she liked spending time with that??
After I spent a bit of time de-briefing the meeting (read: yelling), I thought about what it was that was so appalling. Yes, he had spent much of the meeting flipping and flopping all over the room like a fish on a dry deck, but I have always known that he must move his body in order to remain engaged. And he DID remain engaged. So, what was it? Well, that’s easy. My expectations did not match the reality. I expected him to go in, sit down, have a conversation, and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he added his own “flavor” to the meeting and didn’t think twice about how ridiculous he might look in the process. Because he’s Emmett, and his reality is just that…his. It was just another moment where my perfect, little plan went up in smoke, and I was left to collect the pieces and drag whatever was left of my ego back home.
It’s hard when my expectations and my reality repel each other like two magnets. You’d think I’d know that by now, but if I’ve learned anything about being a parent, you’re only as smart as the day is long. Instead, I take pride in the fact that I have a child who is comfortable being who he needs to be in any given moment (if he’s doing something similar during college interviews, I’ll be writing a completely different blog post). Maybe my goal should be to “marry” my expectations and reality instead of constantly trying to “divorce” them. Recognizing it as a love story instead of the opposite. Perhaps the consequence would be a shift in my expectations and an acceptance of what is. Because I, too, love spending time with Emmett. He’s the ultimate reward in the reality I’m living.
