We finally got around to doing some painting at our house. We moved in a few months ago, and I was convinced that with a few pictures and maybe some curtains and stuff, white walls were sufficient and looked nice. However, with a baby on the way, I agreed with my wife that a bit of paint in the nursery would help. After all, my other sons have posters of Batman, Transformers, and Pixar’s CARS all over the walls, so why shouldn’t the baby get some kind of decoration?
What started out as the baby’s room became a discussion about doing the family room as well. (I think I got suckered, but the jury is still out on that one.) Then, we decided that since we would have those two rooms, we might as well go ahead and connect them by painting the hallway in between them.
So, after two very long days of taping baseboards and ceilings--because I don’t trust my ability to stop exactly at the corner, and moving all kinds of furniture, and applying what ended up being a combination of 11 coats of paint to the walls, and then cleaning up all the rollers, brushes, and pans, and taking roughly 14 ibuprofen to deal with the “paint fume headache,” the job was done.
The first thing I thought about was how disappointing it was. NOT because it looked bad, but because of the exact opposite. It looked SO good that it made the remaining walls look pretty plain and institutional. I appreciate the new paint and really do like it a lot, but now I dread the standard that has been set in the house. (Disclaimer: I realize that anyone who now sees my house has their expectations lifted to way beyond what is currently real in our house. This is not my fault, and I can’t be held responsible if you don’t have the same tastes as my wife and me. Besides, we’re the ones who live there, not you.)
There are days in my life when I am incredibly productive at work, I am a prime candidate for the “Second-Best Father of All Time” with my kids, I make even the most hardened stranger smile with my warm greetings, and the days when I can do no wrong. Unfortunately, there are also days when I’d be lucky to pull off a mediocre rating on anything. The problem is when I compare the two days. The “okay” day only looks worse next to the really good day. Maybe I should stop the comparison…
No two days are alike. What happens on Monday cannot realistically be duplicated on Tuesday, because what happened on Saturday and Sunday affects Monday, and since you then must throw Monday in the mix that can change and sour or lighten you mood and distort your normal sleep routines causing a whole array of mental and synaptic irregularities, Tuesday simply cannot rationally be compared to or live up to the same standards and expectations Monday held. Therefore, one cannot logically use one day as a standard by which to measure the quality of another day. As the old saying goes, “It’s like comparing apples and Mack Trucks.”
The way I see it, each day is a gift anyway. I’m going to try and enjoy each day for what it is, and welcome the challenges that come my way as an opportunity to grow stronger and hopefully more wise. Yes, I drop that ball by 8:45 AM on many days, but I like to think of it as “dribbling.” Whatever your method to the madness, recognize that every morning is a new day, and while we all have different struggles, we have the choice to look for the blessings and lessons that God can give us through all circumstances, or we can pack it up and just sleep until tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll pull out your glasses!
What started out as the baby’s room became a discussion about doing the family room as well. (I think I got suckered, but the jury is still out on that one.) Then, we decided that since we would have those two rooms, we might as well go ahead and connect them by painting the hallway in between them.
So, after two very long days of taping baseboards and ceilings--because I don’t trust my ability to stop exactly at the corner, and moving all kinds of furniture, and applying what ended up being a combination of 11 coats of paint to the walls, and then cleaning up all the rollers, brushes, and pans, and taking roughly 14 ibuprofen to deal with the “paint fume headache,” the job was done.
The first thing I thought about was how disappointing it was. NOT because it looked bad, but because of the exact opposite. It looked SO good that it made the remaining walls look pretty plain and institutional. I appreciate the new paint and really do like it a lot, but now I dread the standard that has been set in the house. (Disclaimer: I realize that anyone who now sees my house has their expectations lifted to way beyond what is currently real in our house. This is not my fault, and I can’t be held responsible if you don’t have the same tastes as my wife and me. Besides, we’re the ones who live there, not you.)
There are days in my life when I am incredibly productive at work, I am a prime candidate for the “Second-Best Father of All Time” with my kids, I make even the most hardened stranger smile with my warm greetings, and the days when I can do no wrong. Unfortunately, there are also days when I’d be lucky to pull off a mediocre rating on anything. The problem is when I compare the two days. The “okay” day only looks worse next to the really good day. Maybe I should stop the comparison…
No two days are alike. What happens on Monday cannot realistically be duplicated on Tuesday, because what happened on Saturday and Sunday affects Monday, and since you then must throw Monday in the mix that can change and sour or lighten you mood and distort your normal sleep routines causing a whole array of mental and synaptic irregularities, Tuesday simply cannot rationally be compared to or live up to the same standards and expectations Monday held. Therefore, one cannot logically use one day as a standard by which to measure the quality of another day. As the old saying goes, “It’s like comparing apples and Mack Trucks.”
The way I see it, each day is a gift anyway. I’m going to try and enjoy each day for what it is, and welcome the challenges that come my way as an opportunity to grow stronger and hopefully more wise. Yes, I drop that ball by 8:45 AM on many days, but I like to think of it as “dribbling.” Whatever your method to the madness, recognize that every morning is a new day, and while we all have different struggles, we have the choice to look for the blessings and lessons that God can give us through all circumstances, or we can pack it up and just sleep until tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll pull out your glasses!
