"This is NOT how I planned things!"
That was a neighbor's complaint the other day. Quite justified, I thought.
I turned to her. "You mean you didn't wake up one day at 18 or so and decide, 'I think I'll marry an abusive jerk, have two of his kids, bust my backside working to support us, get into a situation where I leave suddenly with the kids and get to spend some time at a shelter, move in with some friends where we get to share one room, start divorce proceedings, then find a low-paying job where I get sexually harassed? Well, ma'am, that makes you smart!"
She laughed, which was my goal. How few of us actually plan all of the details of our lives? Or even the big things? Including myself.
Last month or so, my beloved started chuckling to himself while driving home from church.
"What's funny?" I inquired.
"You, honey. Back in college, did you ever imagine yourself tooling along in a minivan on your way home from church with three kids, pregnant with another, listening to country music?"
I thought about it. Good question. I never gave much thought to what car I'd be driving. Even now I identify them by color. I always knew I wanted kids--at least two, but not sure about more. That's different. I was raised Catholic, so the church thing wasn't that odd either.
"Well, the country music is a surprise."
I guess I've just learned to roll with the punches.