Sometimes These Things Happen
by Tina Blue
February 1, 2003
I know the world doesn't necessarily have my best interests at heart, so I don't feel betrayed or resentful when things don't go my way. I am not happy to be frustrated, of course, but I don't rage over such things either. Mostly I just take them in stride.
My son Michael, though, has always been of a considerably less philosophical temper.
As a toddler, he had very little tolerance for life's inevitable disappointments and frustrations. Whenever the recalcitrant world did not bend itself to his wishes or his will, he would work himself into a full-fledged hissy fit. I tried to teach him patience by saying, in my most soothing tones, "That's okay, Honey. Sometimes these things happen."
One day, when Michael was about 2 ½ years old, I noticed that one of our cats had thrown up all over the carpet, not in one place, but in three. I was really in a hurry that morning, and having to stop to clean up cat puke did not fit into my overpacked schedule.
It probably surprised Michael to hear his normally placid mother muttering angrily under her breath about those stupid cats puking all over the stupid floor when I had so many stupid things to do, and the last thing in the world I needed that morning was to have to waste time cleaning their stupid puke off the stupid carpet in three stupid places.
Finally, he came up to me as I cleaned up the last of the mess, patted me on the arm, and said, "That's okay, Honey. Sometimes these things happen."
