‘Honey? I’m really suffering from a severe bout of Cognitive Dissonance,’ I told the hubster over breakfast.
He was quite busy making a sandwich that would make Garfield salivate. But he managed a: ‘Huhuh.’
That’s his way of telling me: ‘I’m listening.’
After twenty years of marriage, I’ll take what I can get. So I continued. ‘My idea of how I should be a mom, doesn’t match with the way I ám a mom. Good moms play games all day with their kids. And they even enjoy it! Good moms lóve to spend their lives driving their kids around, and good moms lóve to volunteer at school. And I don’t…’
‘Uhuh,’ my husband muttered, while taking a big bite out of the Eiffeltower he calls a sandwich.
‘Don’t you ever wonder whether you’re a good dad?’ I asked him.
‘Nope. As long as I don’t go out for cigarettes and never come back. Because thát’s really bad for kids,’ he shrugged.
‘So you’re doing well, just by not walking away?’
‘Yep!’
‘Must be nice to live like that,’ I mused.
‘Huhuh.’
Then I felt another severe bout of Cognitive Dissonance coming on.
Because I wanted to be more like him.
