There is this thing in life. A thing all of us are guilty of. And that is having expectations.

That is not to say that we should not have expectations but we need to be mindful of what we expect and from where. And from whom. Certain situations and people are only capable of so much. In those instances it can be unfair to place certain levels of expectations upon them. Some situations and people warrant raised or lowered expectations. As things change. Sometimes the situation changes. Sometimes the people change. And sometimes we just need to reassess it all and see where we stand.

Expectations can be good. They create accountability. They create a standard. Expectations can also be bad. Because they create a standard. Worse because they can cause you to change yours. Difficult because it is all masked as progress. And hard to shake because they sometimes offer the unexpected…

Ball Kicker

I got kicked in the balls this week. Well. I would have if I had balls. Well. Technically I have the equivalent of balls but they are on the inside. So I suppose, to be anatomically correct according to my gender, what I should say is I got kicked in the ovaries this week.

It happens to us all now and then. Probably to keep us humble. Although I am not sure that I am in need of humility. Some may beg to differ. But they are not here. Now. Just me. And I say nope, full of humility here.

Found this on GoodDayGoldfish.com and fell in love…

Anyways. We had an appointment this week. It would be fair to say we had certain expectations. Zig Ziglar summed it up nicely. What was it he said? Oh yes, expect the best, prepare for the worst, capitalize on what comes. Right. Okay. So we held those secret expectations. Neither hubby nor I shared them with each other (until after the now failed appointment). And we were prepared for the worst (I say that, as many of us do, but how prepared for the worst can we ever actually be?). Unfortunately, there was not a lot to capitalize on. At first.

Most events in our life require moments of reflection. Some moments get the reflection they deserve. Some do not get enough. If any at all. This moment needed some space. Between us and it. Before any kind of reflection could take place. But it came. A good 48-hours or so after. Better late than never. Right?

So this morning hubby and I woke up, pulled our respective balls out of our throats and carried on. And on. Until we moved passed all the sucky emotions. The guilt. The feelings of failure. Wah. Wah. Wah. Then came the anger (I do not like that word, but I don’t know what else to call it – argh!) and that oh yeah, well I’ll show you attitude that generally follows such a heap of emotions. I do not necessarily need that kind of motivation. But hubby does. And I am hopeful this is the spark that ignites the fire. His fire.

And to top it all off my wee one appears to be sniffling. Whether it is allergies or a cold remains to be seen…

Where were we?

Okay. So. Everything above this was typed on Friday. Today is Sunday. So what happened?

Let me bring you up to speed: in the midst of typing the last sentence of the section above, I heard a wee voice call out Mommy, Mommy…I’m going to barf. So I hurled the laptop down and went running. Just in time to scoop up the wee one and try to get him to the loo on time. No such luck. The poor thing emptied his tummy on to me, his floor and everything else in his path en route to the big bowl. That was at 10:15.

Forty-five minutes later the vomiting had started to subside. But the little guy had refused to allow me to leave his side (naturally) to clean up until Daddy was home. Boy was I glad to hear that front door open when it did…

Together we tag-teamed the mess. And the little guy.

We finally sat down from it all around midnight-thirty and turned in an hour or so later. Hubby was scheduled to work a few short hours later so we were in trouble when the little one appeared in our bed around 2 am, and even more trouble when I snuck off to the loo an hour after that feeling a bit rumbly in my tumbly. Not good. The little guy had fallen back asleep but also wet our bed in the process. Awesome. It was now 4 am. And the wee one was back in his bed. I was stripping ours, replacing the sheets. I would have to do the same with his in the morning as it turned out.

Saturday came fast and furious. I got up at my usual time (before the boys), still feeling a bit punky from the night’s events, but after a look in at the wee guy I knew he was in bad shape and I had to mommy-up. Hubby had to be at work…oh my head, my stomach, argh…and there was a lot of laundry to do. Then the BETES got me. Lovely. My blood glucose levels were 2.9 and I was shaking. Bad. Hopeful some breakfast would remedy the issue, I forged ahead. The wee one woke up still feverish and stuffy. AND earlier than we thought. Hubby was rushing to get organized and out the door, his tumbly now rumbly. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he returned home about 15 minutes after the start his shift.

It was a long day. No one felt well. Lots of ups and downs, especially for the little one.

Unfortunately, last night was not much better. In fact, there was more vomiting last night than the one previous. However, when the wee one woke up this morning he was no longer feverish and slightly less stuffy. Onwards and upwards, right?

Oh. And I found out that it likely isn’t allergies or a cold. It is probably a virus. That he picked up playing with a friend. Who had apparently been quite sick a couple of days prior to their getting together. I was not impressed to find out after the fact. Not impressed at all. Were the roles reversed I would have alerted the parents. But that’s just me. Because I would have preferred to have avoided all of this.

Fluff

This weekend completely got away from me. I accomplished nothing. With the exception of fantastic feats of parental wonder and genius. Oh, and laundry. Did a lot of that. But I was supposed to do a whole bunch of other things. Well, I shouldn’t say supposed to since I am the creator of my schedule (unless a wrench gets thrown in there!). I had planned to make the cake topper for a baby shower cake due next weekend, catch up on some business stuff, complete a blog post (almost done!) for here and TRY to get one up on the other blog (the one I share with my hubby – we haven’t posted in months!), clean the house, mow the lawns and whatever else I could get my hands on…

Perhaps, it would be fair to say I expected more from both myself and my weekend. But that’s the thing about expectations. They grow up so fast to become beliefs. And that is so dangerous. Because those beliefs can evolve in to an unrealistic state of mind. And I find that can sometimes leave you ill-prepared. For the unexpected.

And no one likes to be caught off guard.