Take a bite...

�I can't even remember where I've left off. Friday evening is a blur of farm, groceries, dinner and bad summertime tv.
�Saturday I slept incredibly late, woken by the MIL making her Saturday phone call. I did laundry. I read. I fought with the boy over the fact that I didn't sign him up for soccer because playing for 2 minutes then wanting to go out because you have a cramp just doesn't really qualify as playing soccer (especially not at over $100 a season). We visted briefly with the best babe. We lunched. I took the boy to a gymnastics birthday party in a warehouse that smelled of sweaty feet. I ate badly and read trashy magazines. I accomplished little but the laundry.
�Sunday I finished a book. I finished the laundry. I weeded and thinned and trimmed the paths of the vegetable garden. I plucked hundreds of seedling maples from the front flowerbed. I tortured my hamstrings. I read the paper cover to cover. I channel surfed. I grilled. I dined with the family al fresco. I didn't turn the ac on when I should have, and didn't sleep well.
�Today I left work at lunch and picked a random road. I drove by the water in a deep green tunnel of trees. I breathed the humid air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle. I turned randomly and ended up some place I never expected. I looped around to come back to work and noted that at the crest of the hills, the city was barely visible in the smog.

�In all this time I also pondered life, the universe, and everything. I realized that my husband is somewhat blessed by his denseness. His mediocrity doesn't bother him because he is sufficiently unaware. He told me recently that he wasn't put in for a promotion. He has reached the top of his pay grade and without a promotion his pay will stagnate. He was mildly indignant because he had updated his internal resume and he assumed that if he did that, they would automatically put him in for one. I guess quality work as a reason for promotion never crossed his mind.
�I realized I am both a perfectionist and extremely mediocre. I constantly hate myself for not doing better. On the other hand I'm just not convinced that I can do better. I have trouble facing that possibility and therefore do what seems to me to be less than my best. I end up beating myself up for it and eating badly. I also end up being horribly judgemental of others (though I'm not taking back what I just said about DH). Interesting revelation, now what do I do with it. The curse of the Garden of Eden was, after all, knowlege of good and evil. Knowing you're average but feeling you should be doing better is much harder than just being average.
�I also noticed that the boy is capable of things he doesn't seem to think he can do. He gets caught up in that mindset of failure. He had trouble climbing out of "the pit" (sort of a pool full of foam blocks) at the gymnastics place. He eventually got himself out with no problem, but it was a major event getting to that point. I was thinking about that and some other behaviors lately and it strikes me that he's acting a bit attention starved. We've all fallen into patterns at home that are fairly solitary. I think he needs more interaction but can't, won't or just doesn't think to ask for it. I guess I'll have to follow up on that a bit. Another assault on my tiny morsels of free time, but heavens knows the huband won't ever notice it much less act.