Lately I was reminded of an awesome tool I’ve learned in recent years — low expectations. You might be thinking, “Wow, that’s depressing. Shouldn’t we always strive for our best?” The answer to that is no. Big no. Really, really…no.
I started applying L.E. as a life skill when I was prepping for Grady’s arrival. I had excitement aplenty about getting to meet my second son. I had no low expectations about that bundle of cuteness. I did know, however, that life was going to be unbearably hard the first few months. I had a 10 month-old and a newborn. I was in for a long road. So I embraced Low Expectations. I will be unrested. Unkempt. Unable to form coherent sentences. And I will be okay with that.
I’m okay with a lot of crap now that I wouldn’t have been a few years ago. Like I can’t keep up with the laundry. And I actually like doing laundry; there’s just mountains of it. I have little tricks that I call “laundry extenders” to keep us in clean clothes in between loads. Today Grady went out entirely dressed in an outfit of Cade’s, and yesterday Cade went out of the house with socks that didn’t match. I wore a skirt today that both fits poorly and balloons out in a bizarre poof that makes me look like I have a petticoat under there. But we were all in clean clothes, which is the desired end result. Speaking of, I’d better get downstairs and do another load or we’ll be screwed tomorrow.
2under1 