For thirteen years the switch to the garbage disposal has been on my left, right next to the dishwasher. Now, it’s underneath the cabinet to the right of the sink. It’s a small thing but after living in this house for 3 months, I still reach down with my left hand, fully aware that the switch is not down there. It just takes an instant to realize I’m reaching in the wrong place but it is a little aggravating.
When we moved from Mississippi back to Texas, it was the bananas. In Mississippi, I kept my bananas in a hanging 3-tier wire basket. I could reach for those bananas without even thinking about it. Once we moved, I didn’t have a good place for the wire basket any longer. Bananas were kept on the counter. I knew this, yet I still would reach around behind me to grab a banana. Just like the garbage disposal switch, it just took an instant for me to realize my mistake. A small thing but aggravating none the less.
Every time I have moved, I deal with this. I get used to doing things a certain way. I get used to things being in a particular place. I am able to accomplish mundane tasks quickly and effortlessly with no thought because I do them again and again.
Today was a rough day. We began our third week of the school year. We are in a new house. Our school stuff is not organized like it was in the old house. Actually, it’s not organized at all. It’s not even completely unpacked but we have enough to get us going.
Today, it was a white board marker. We were having trouble with Latin. I wanted to write it out on the white board so we could focus on the problem together. After finding the board and the easel, which already disrupted the moment, I couldn’t find the markers. One little marker. That’s all I needed. I found highlighter markers. I found permanent markers. I found ball point pens. No White board markers. Frustrated, I passed some of that frustration on to the poor kid who was already frustrated with himself for not understanding his Latin
Our day proceeded with the white board and easel dismantled, leaning against the chair. Frustration was still high as we continued on with other subjects. The frustrated mom and the frustrated son made it through the day. What frustrated me more than not finding the marker was that such a small thing could get me upset.
Small things matter. Details matter. The everyday routines that can be done without thinking frees up time and energy to think about and do the more important tasks. I shouldn’t say more important because if the small things weren’t important, they wouldn’t cause such a problem when they didn’t get done.
I guess the moral of this story is to be prepared, pay attention to details and establish a good routine. For now, I think I’ll go to the store to buy a white board marker for school tomorrow.
Yes. Not just yes, but YES!
Details most definitely matter. Flexibility and grace are decidedly helpful, ’cause details will, uh, happen, but you just can’t beat your advice to “be prepared, pay attention to details and establish a good routine.” Relationships of all types would be saved tremendous grief if folks followed this sage advice.
Ranting agreement over. I’ll go back to tweaking our new school year’s routine now. ;-)