I'll work backwards, because blogs seem to work like that anyway.
Today, my change is that I'm changing the rules to the month of changes. I never really established rules in any written form, but I did have some mental guidelines set up when I first decided to change something about myself every day. The first one was that it had to be about myself. I wouldn't try to change other people, or the world, or the designated hitter rule--all of which should be changed, to be sure. But that wasn't what I was setting out to do.
And there has been no shortage of things to change about myself. But I have found that changing the things I want to change about myself takes longer than a day. That doesn't mean I'll no longer try, it just means one thing a day--about me--is too much. Besides, why does it have to be all about me? That's selfish, right?
I still want the changes to be meaningful and positive. I want them to require some effort. Changing my clothes . . . not worth posting. It seems like a corny old man quote, although I don't remember ever hearing a corny old man saying it, but I'll pass it on to you as if I remember someone telling it to me: "If you're going to change just one thing today, start with your underwear." So I guess this is me saying, I'm going to try for more than one thing each day . . . clothing in general will be thing 1. After that, it can be anything, anyone, anywhere. Just change something, and make it count.
Now, working backwards with the new rules fitting retroactively, yesterday I changed Addison's mind about mashed potatoes. He said he hated them. I knew he would like them if he tried them. These were those Idahoan powdered flakes that you add boiling water to and then they turn into creamy starchy clouds of yum. If you don't like that particular brand of potatoes, you have every right to your opinion . . . except you don't, and you're wrong.
So I asked Addison why he didn't think he would like them. He said they weren't his favorite. And, for those of you not versed in the lexicon of Addisonian language, "Not my favorite" is his understated way of saying, "From the very core of my being, I despise that and all that has been contaminated by its filth." I offered him a gumball if he would try a bite of mashed potatoes. He refused. I repeated this offer several times, each time being shunned in no uncertain terms. If I held the spoon, bearing a mere morsel of potatoes on its tip, anywhere near his face, he convulsed in fits of maniacal panic.
Then I told him he would turn into a potato if he didn't eat any. I told him his skin was turning brown and his features were starting to harden. Then with a "Quick, eat this before it goes any further," I offered him the spoon of mashed potatoes one more time. He gobbled it down without hesitation. His verdict: "These are good!" Although he politely refused any more bites.
Maybe tomorrow I'll change my stance on lying to my kids. Don't hold your breath, though.
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