Expectations, violated

I should know better by now than to have high expectations.

Low is always a better bet.

Maj asked me to run a load of laundry last night because she wanted to wear a particular blouse to school today.  No big deal, except then Kallan wanted me to wash a new velour jacket of hers.  A black furry jacket that absolutely cannot be washed for the first time with light-colored clothes.  I told her to toss her jacket in with the jeans in the laundry basket, and I would wash that load today while she was at school.  So she threw a huge screaming bedtime fit about how I love Maj more than I love her (which, when you think about it, IS the only rational conclusion one can draw from my decision to wash light colored clothes before dark colored clothes).

So this morning, I got up before the girls, fluffed the clothes in the dryer so that Maj’s blouse would be fresh and unwrinkly, and then threw the load of jeans into the washer so that I would be sure to get Kallan’s jacket clean as I had promised.

Nice, right?  I anticipated happy faces all around when the girls came down to breakfast.

Not so much.

Maj took her blouse without so much as a thank-you, and then asked where her jeans were, “You know, the ones I wore yesterday.  I want to wear them again.”

Uh oh.  “Were they in the dirty laundry?”

“Yes,” annoyed now, staring at me with cranky eyebrows lifted.

“Well, then I just threw them into the washer,” I offered apologetically.

Incredulously and very very sourly, “So you expect me to go to school with this clean shirt and no pants?  Just naked from the waist down?”

Obviously, that was my evil plan.

Why she had asked me to wash her blouse if she didn’t have any pants to wear, I have no idea.  She had listened triumphantly as her sister lost the angry battle the night before to have dark clothes be the load that was done in time for school this morning.  Did the whole “naked lower half” problem not occur to her at that time?

She rejected these points with a stiff wave of her hand, and she spoke loudly and slowly, the way she does when she is very angry and wants to let me know that she thinks I am very stupid, “I DID NOT KNOW THAT YOU WERE GOING TO PUT MY JEANS IN THE LAUNDRY BEFORE I EVEN GOT TO TAKE A MORNING BREATH TO STOP YOU, MOTHER.”

Is this what having a teenager is like?  Because that is going to suck.

But at least Kallan would be happy with the news that her jacket was in the laundry, right?

Not so much.  I turned to greet Kallan as she came into the kitchen, already dressed, her new (and extremely dirty) black jacket pulled on over her outfit.

“I thought that you agreed to put that jacket in the laundry!  I just started the load!”

“I TOLD YOU I WANTED TO WEAR IT TO SCHOOL TODAY.”  More slow loud talking to the stupid mom, which was beginning to really irritate me.  Kallan swept mud and the previous day’s lunch from her sleeves, “It’s black . . . no one except me will know that it is dirty.  BESIDES, NOW IT WON’T EVER BE CLEAN ANYWAY BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING TO WASH IT WITH.”  And then, after a pause to wipe muffin crumbs from her face with the sleeve of her new jacket, a pause in which we both listened to Maj wail upstairs about having nothing whatsoever to wear, “At least Maj is happy, though, right?  So that’s good.”

Where did she learn to be so sarcastic?

So my expectations of a cheerful morning sprinkled with small bits of daughterly gratitude?  Completely unreasonable and unrealistic, as it turns out.  Two sour girls went off to school this morning, one wearing perfectly good pants that apparently do not meet 5^th grade standards and the other covered in new jacket grime and mud.  Whatever.  I should know better.

Having expectations just leaves you open to disappointment.

Speaking of expectations violated, I took Jack the Adorable out for a walk this morning.  Jack is mostly pretty good on a leash unless he gets the sense that someone wants to say hello to him, and then he does his terrier best to drag me over to that person.  Halfway through our walk, Jack spotted a likely prospect heading down the hill toward us, and he started pulling and straining to get to her with 100 feet still separating us.  It’s embarrassing to be hauled about by a small determined fluffy dog, but this is my life.

So anyway, Jack was right about this particular woman.  She did want to say hello, and as she bent down to pet his head and ruffle his fur and make baby talk, Jack was in heaven.  And then the woman suddenly recoiled and backed cringing away from us, looked at me accusingly and pointed a shaking finger, “THAT IS NOT A PUPPY!”

She reacted as though the grown-man dog and I had lulled her into petting range and then molested her in some way.

Expectations can be a tricky thing.

Although I think I am correct in my expectation that the puppy-molester woman (that sounds bad, doesn’t it?) and I won’t be best friends any time soon.