My head hates change. My head also craves change. I think it all comes down to whether or not I’m the instigator or the passive recipient.
This week my ex requested we change our parenting schedule from a mid-week switch to a Friday switchover. I balked. I looked for reasons not to comply. I complained bitterly about the imbalance of power, the lack of respect, the incessant demands, and how I’m not his damn wife anymore so he can just figure out how to make his fucking schedule work around my life and the kids’ lives instead of the other way around.
Then I realized that maybe Friday to Friday wouldn’t be so bad. My neighbour says I’ll like it. He said I’ll start looking forward to Fridays and it will be like a little celebration to see them after a long week at work. Bullshit, I thought. More man logic. Pftt.
So I came home and worked out my frustration by making a lasagne to use up sketchy cottage cheese and some rice pudding to use up some on the cusp of expiring milk. As I stood staring at them, I got a twinge of excitement thinking about my kids coming home. I think the change will be good for me – for us. Just don’t tell my ex – or my neighbour.