Slow progress toward happiness--better than no progress.

Yesterday, I asked the Big Girl to bring some dishes into the kitchen. She hopped to it without protest, but on her way back, dropped a mug full of black coffee which splattered on the carpet, wall, and wooden floor.

I smugly congratulated myself for holding my temper. In a tight but calm voice, I told her and the Big Man to get towels, and they both helped clean up. But did I leave it at that? Nope. I couldn’t resist some kind of remonstrance.

“The lesson is that you shouldn’t load yourself up too much,” I instructed. “It’s better to make two trips and not risk dropping something. It just makes more work, in the end.”

“Don’t blame me!” she wailed. “You always say it’s my fault.”

Of course I’d said nothing like that, and I don't always say things are her fault. But she was right that I was feeling annoyed. We all had to leave, just then, so we didn’t continue the conversation. But after we left, I had to go back for my sunglasses, and I had a minute to think about the incident from her perspective.

She was asked to do a pesky, if appropriate, chore, and she did it willingly. Just as she was about to finish, something went wrong. I know that feeling so well—the disappointment and frustration that comes when a good deed is thwarted.

How do I rate my reaction? I didn’t get angry—good. I didn’t praise her willingness—optional, but would have been nice. I didn’t say in a jovial way, “Accidents happen! Quick, everyone grab towels, and let’s mop up”—which would have been a much pleasanter response, happier both for them and for me.

The Happiness Project may have me over-thinking my every move, but I do believe it’s slowly making a difference. Last year, I think I would have found some way to yell. Next year, maybe I’ll be able to handle something like that with sincere good cheer.

Comments

[Jude]

When my daughter was 2 years old, I gave her a container of bubble-making soap with strict instructions not to spill it. She spilled it. The people I was visiting told me "She's a little kid. Of course she's going to spill it." That was my first and last incidence of sounding like my mother. I learned from that experience that I'd set her up to be yelled at, which is something my mother did to me consistently. I never did that again.

[Elizabeth Craft]

I'm so glad you pointed this out. I'm forever having to relearn not to cry (okay, yell) over spilled milk. And by changing your reactions to incidents like this one (there will no doubt be many), you'll changing how she reacts to them. Dealing well with the small mistakes in life sets up how we deal with the bigger ones.

[Elizabeth Craft]

I see that I had a typo in my comment. But I'm not going to get upset and find someone to yell at about it. Lesson learned (for today, at least).

[RS]

It's funny you should bring this up today. I just finished reading a paragraph in "The Art of Possibility" - specifically, the Giving an A chapter. In it, they describe how when something "bad" happens, he asks the person to raise their arms, smile and say "How Fascinating"! I have been trying this and it is FABULOUS! I am enjoying the journey more and more each day. Thank you for sharing.

[Gretchen Rubin]

My goodness, RS, you read my mind. I'm planng to post about "Giving an A" from THE ART OF POSSIBILITY tomorrow. (Wednesday is always a Tip Day.) Such an interesting idea! so stay tuned, and be sure to add your thoughts to mine.