And when I choose to break the rules, it is not because I didn't know that such rules existed. Rather, I rationalize that breaking the rules isn't that detrimental or, more often, it's necessary for my survival/happiness/enjoyment/sanity/what have you.
True to my type-A personality and proclivity for rules and right angles, I would prefer for there to be manuals for parts of life that appear somewhat confusing. Such as:
- child rearing
- wedding planning
- money management
- car maintenance [I feel like I get taken advantage of every time I visit a mechanic!]
- relationships
- sports
- parking garages
- percentages and taxes
Now, I realize that some of the above are quite obvious. After all, the wedding industry is a multi-million [billion?] dollar a year industry. People make their living telling others how to plan a wedding and, subsequently, how to rescue their relationship and their budget following such extravagant events. Others on my list may not appear as obvious.
Let's take child rearing. Yes, there are many books on every aspect of a child's development. How to secure a good night's rest. How to feed your child. How to avoid certain behaviors. What I mean by a child rearing manual is a book that comes along with the arrival of your baby. I am not lying when I share that several times over my hospital stay with Batman, I expected someone to come in with the rule book for being a parent. And I hypothesized that such a rule book is kept a secret and is only passed down at the very last minute, along with the well wishes of the nursing staff. Instead, BD and I were discharged with our little bundle of joy by a student volunteer who managed to narrowly avoid ramming me, my wheelchair, and my day-old child into the heels of unsuspecting patients en route to the parking lot, in which he dumped me and my baby out in the rain as we waited for the car.
As a new parent, I spend a lot of time wondering if I am doing the right thing. Like, what exactly am I supposed to pack in a diaper bag? Am I allowed to dress Batman in a diaper, only a diaper, if I know that he will ruin any outfit that I put him in? If my baby is sleeping for three hour intervals, does it matter what time we "go to bed?" Will my pediatrician be able to tell that I accidentally dropped chicken salad on his cheek [or maybe it was his ear? alright it was both!]? What should I do, just for example's sake, if I am conquering my fear of breastfeeding in quasi-public and my child chooses that moment to e-x-p-l-0-d-e out of his diaper into a puddle on the floor of this quasi-public establishment? Any sudden movement would risk serious exposure. But poo is forming a puddle at my feet. I feel as though a manual would solve these dilemmas.
The sports manual could be cross-referenced for relationships issues as well. Many of my quarrels with BD begin during sporting events. I am not a very big sports fan. I can hold my own with some sports conversations, but as a whole, I am not particularly interested in watching sports. Unless we're talking the summer Olympics and then I am a super fan. In fact, I really wanted to walk down the aisle to the Olympic theme song. Everyone I mentioned this to during our wedding planning would laugh uncomfortably and attempt to change the subject, including our wedding harpist.
Honestly, I try very hard to understand the sports that we watch in our house. And BD may say that I try a little too hard. Habitually, BD gets up every weekday morning, takes a shower, fixes his breakfast, and watches SportsCenter. In an attempt to engage in some meaningful conversation, I will try and follow along so that BD and I will have something to talk about. I think BD watches sports so that [fingers crossed], I may actually give him some peace.
Too bad I caught on. [this really is the secret: catch on before you are found out].
So like any good student would, I ask questions. I want to appear engaged! I want BD to feel loved and supported. I get very concerned when the uniforms don't match/are crooked/are dirty, or when I confused the teams that are playing. This happens most often in baseball games. Waaaayyyy too many teams have the color red in their uniform. Unfortunately, my confusion becomes very obvious when I cheer as a Reds player is struck out by a Cardinals player. BD informed me very matter of factly that visiting teams always wear grey uniforms, so there should not be any confusion with who I am cheering for. In turn, I told him with just as much gusto that "Homer" is perhaps the worst name for a pitcher of a baseball team. HaHA! Take that! I know my sports...
My husband so lovingly [read: intentionally ignoring my declaration on proper names for baseball players] reminded me of this apparently long-established tradition of visiting baseball teams wearing grey uniforms. I am even more convinced that [a.] there is a manual for understanding sports and [b.] this would be particularly helpful in relationships. I am sure that BD would second my need for such a manual, considering I think that every foul [is that the right term?] committed in football is a chop block. And, in an effort to appear informed and engaged, I will scream this at the t.v. and make the appropriate referee motion thingy.
Moving on...
Parking garages confuse me. While a manual in this instance may be overkill, some signage upon entering a parking garage would be helpful. That way, I would be able to reason if parking on an upramp would increase the amount of time it would take me to leave a parking garage, rather than spending more time to park my car upon arrival so that my exit will be more timely. There is a science to this. One that I do not get. Flat, surface lots [that have enough room between the aisles for cars to travel in both directions] are my best friend.
If you have ever shopped with me, you know that I can't do head math. Thusly, any help in this area would be appreciated by me. And my dear, dear husband who spends more time than either of us would like to admit counseling me on math would also agree.
After all, I can't learn about sports if I am being schooled on decimal points, now can I?
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