I did Teach For America, and our mantra could be boiled down to raise expectations, then raise them again. For me and my overachiever friends, that wasn’t a hard rock to swallow.
But now I have two young boys, and I’m finding that the only thing that keeps my head above water is to lower my expectations. And then lower them again.
I was going to get the trash out to the curb and unload the dishwasher this morning: I settled for watching crayons and markers get poured onto the floor.
It’s easy to forget to lower your expectations because a lot of us parents still remember ourselves as highly functional adults, type-A personalities. You might have even used terms like organized, energetic, and dependable to describe us.
But these days I often feel like I would more likely be a successful candidate for one of those Discovery Channel reality shows where viewers look on in horror, saying, “People can’t actually live like that!”
Ah, but we can. [Pan over to Evelyn snacking on a half-eaten waffle out of a towel on the floor.]
I think I’m going to put on some sun glasses and a baseball cap, and take my waffle down to stake out the elementary school.
I’m hoping to see that those parents have wiped the crumbs off their faces and can possibly load the kids in the car in less than 45 minutes.
Is that too much to ask?