I have struggled with contentment my entire life. The first time discontent got me in a pickle was, up until now, undocumented. I am about to fix that.
The hubby says I probably shouldn't write about this. As much as it gives me hives to admit it, the hubby is usually right.
But I can't help it. The stuff that shouldn't be said out loud is my favorite stuff to write about. Besides, I have you to think about. If you wanted to read an appropriate blog, you would not be sitting here now.
So this is for you. When I was three I remember my baby brother being fed in his high chair. I watched intently from the ground below wondering what he was eating. Judging by the creamy, chocolate-y liquid dripping down the chair leg, I knew it was ice cream.
"This is an outrage. The injustices endured by a three-year old are sometimes more than one soul can bear," I reasoned aloud. Well, maybe not in those exact words.
My thoughts raced:
- That is not fair! He shouldn't be getting ice cream and I'm getting nothing! I always knew he was Mom's favorite.
- SeriouslyMom? You think I am too good to lick ice cream right off a chair leg?! I'm definitely not.
- Hold up. Why is it warm? And not even a little sweet?
- Why is it coming out of his...DIAPER!?
Perhaps no ice cream is better than bad ice cream that is actually feces.
Life Lesson: Figure out how to be happy with what you have. You don't always want other people's "ice cream."