When the Cookie Crumbles…

It was one of those days. Make that, one of those weekends. I had packed our schedule full as could be cause I just love to say yes and hate to say, “We’re busy.” Brent was OK this time, cause he wasn’t involved in all the plans I had made, and the plans he was involved in included snowboarding, burritos and the Olympics. Food and sports. Enough said. 


I, on the other hand, was grasping for air. We were having one of those weeks that was full of on again off again irritation. “Why is your hair in the drain?” “Well why is your underwear on the bathroom floor?” “You didn’t pack chips in my lunch on purpose.” “Well you are going to thank me in ten years for limiting your saturated fat intake.” “Why don’t you just watch that show on the TV instead of that tiny screen?” “Why don’t you just stop playing Minion Rush and pay attention to me.” And the list goes on. (I will not disclose who the said Minion Rush player was). 


Although we were busy, too busy I’ll admit, and we definitely were getting at each other’s nerves, we were ok. We were good. In fact, the more I talked myself into it, we were great. I had everything under control. Act happy toward my husband, smile at everyone, keep calm & carry on, right?


I was headed out the door for a baby shower. Cookies. I had promised to bring cookies which were currently in a pan on the kitchen counter. I grabbed a knife and began to slice. Let me just tell you, never try a new recipe when you promise to bring something somewhere. Especially to an event with people (which pretty much rules out every event I’d assume). My peanut butter oat bar cookies were more like peanut butter granola. I truly considered the option of running to the grocery store for yogurt, and saying I had changed my mind to parfaits instead, but time would not allow. So I burst into tears. [A much cheaper option I’d say]. 

When the cookie crumbles.


You’ve heard that phrase, the straw that broke the camels back. I would like to suggest that I am the camel, my peanut butter oat bars are the straw. Everything was going great. Lot’s of snow days, lot’s of memories, lot’s of quality time with Brent. I had girls nights, I had me time, we had a full social calendar. Our little spats? Minor bumps in the road to a perfect life. I had planned to cruise right over them, because when you got it, you got it good. Life is going the way I say it is. Life is good when I’m in control. 

But when those darn cookies crumble. Then suddenly my life is over, suddenly all the success of these weeks, this month, are negated. Because I couldn’t keep the freaking cookies together. 


How do you measure success? I was measuring mine by keeping up with my jam packed schedule, by getting a perfect dinner on the table, waking up in the morning to go to the gym, to work, to spend time with a friend, get clean sheets on the bed and still spare a moment to paint my toes. My schedule, my lists and plans were all coming to fruition, each day a new check off the to-do list. My annoyances with Brent were nothing because I could just pretend they weren’t there, pretend I was fine, submit and move on. But let me tell you, you can’t lead a life like that forever, you will break. And when you finally do break, it may be over something as silly as your cookies crumbling to bits. 


I feel like every single day is a new lesson to be learned, and lately I’ve been learning, and re-learning, and re-re-learning an important one. I am learning to deal with my heart, to be real with my heart, to push past the perfect life and work through the stuff of every situation. When I measure success by a job well done, by a schedule well followed, then I am not only limiting myself to a chokehold of my own control, I am also bound to fail. Bound to burst at some point. When I recognize each issue and tackle them as they come, I am much less likely to experience outbursts similar to my little cookie situation.


 Join me in dealing with the heart stuff, cause shutting down won’t last forever.





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