funny little boy

My two year-old son has a John Pizzarelli CD playing in the Family Room.




In the Living Room he has put on Clark Terry. In his bedroom, yet another Clark Terry CD is playing.




From where I sit, at the computer, the sound is a little dissonant. But it kind of works.

Jazz, anyone?



Photo of Clark Terry by Bruce Moore

that's entertainment

While at the local *mart last week I picked up a few fun summer props for those days that get a little s l o w. The enormously gigantic bottle of bubbles was revealed immediately. Kids like bubbles. But they are common enough, so no big reaction there.

Then my sneaky-peaky daughter (thanks, Junie B Jones) discovered the jacks I had up on the shelf in the closet. They came down the same day school ended. So much for pulling them out at an opportune moment.

Next to the jacks in a plastic sack is a big tub of sidewalk chalk. Which, I suspect my daughter has already ferreted out, because this morning she started talking about the fun sidewalk chalk they had at school and how she never got to play with it, and how she would Love to Draw Lovely Pictures on the sidewalk. If only she could find some chalk. Sigh.




Yes, if only.

But yikes. It is only the BEGINNING of the SECOND day since school ended! Come on, people! I was at least hoping for a week before my entire bag of tricks was spilled. Albeit, it is/was a very small bag of tricks. But hey, I'm doing what I can on a limited budget. Okay, kiddos? Give me a break! And no more climbing up the shelves of the closet. I mean it!

I have not denied or confirmed the existence of such chalk in our house, although I imagine it's only a matter of time. I am determined to hold out. Just a little longer.

At LEAST until.....this afternoon? No. Really. I'm planning on a little bit longer than that.

kindergarten: a retrospective

Well, whew! I made it through kindergarten this year! I think I did pretty well. Oh, yeah. And my daughter did quite well herself.

It seems funny now to think of the apprehension I felt as I stood in the doorway on that first day of school while Ben walked her to the bus. He came home and reported how she climbed right up, found a seat and sat down and waved to him from the window.

For the first week Ben took her to the bus stop and I picked her up. Then we sent her off by herself the day Ben had to go in early to work. And she got home just fine the day I forgot to go to the bus stop and retrieve her from the bus. (Oops). Move forward to yesterday when I sent her off, dressed in her Graduation Best, without much of a thought. Bye, sweetie. See you in an hour or so! Kids learn to navigate for themselves pretty quickly.

Not that I always sent her off with no thought at all. I often watched her from the window, as she anxiously called to some kid across the street. "Hey, wait for me!" She was equally inclined to call out to the sixth graders as to the other kindergarteners. (No fear or understanding of hierarchy for that girl!) And when the time rolled around to about 11:37 I started looking out the window. And then stepping outside just in time to see her coming down the street. "Mom!" she'd call happily. That quickly became a favorite part of my day.

Things I liked about kindergarten: It confirmed my daughter's absolute love for school and learning. Which, really, there is nothing better. She may not have learned to build a car, but most of us don't, so that's okay. She had a really great teacher. He was fabulous. Also, her printing improved, she started reading, and she thrived in the dynamics of the classroom. I helped for the Thanksgiving Party and that was a lot of fun. They played Pomp & Circumstance at her kindergarten graduation and it made me laugh.

Things I didn't like about kindergarten: The mid-morning snack was often sugary. The inevitable bumps and bruises of social navigation. Certain requirements for activities, like having everyone wear a shirt with some Disney character for Micky Mouse day. (They were studying M that week) because I avoid buying my kids shirts with characters on them. For many reasons. But whatever. That day went quickly with no harm done.

The graduate makes a funny face...

The graduate makes a cuter face, you just can't really see it...

So the year is over. Crazy.

And wow. Now I have a first-grader.

summah plans

The Summer Holiday is Upon Us! It lurks around the corner, nay even tomorrow afternoon will it appear and be. I must ask myself one question: Am I Ready?

All those empty days to waiting to be filled...


My daughter is only finishing her kindergarten year, and yet, I begin to understand why it is that parents have an affinity for the school season. School not only lets the parent get things done, it also provides things for the kids to get done, there by helping to balance out the all-too-prevalent "I'm bored" syndrome.

I have vague plans. They include fun and educational learning activities, good music, and whiffle ball in the back yard. But I need to think them through. I am ruminating (a good word) on the place of movies in my children's Summer diet. I think they are going to be greatly limited. Not only will movies be limited. Our travel will also be limited, thanks to the soaring price of gas, so most activities need to happen at home. Hmmm.

So, off I go to ruminate and plan. Wish me luck. Send ideas. With cash, if you like.


image via Blog Con Queso. I have no idea where she got it.

as promised...

For my fourth child's 1st birthday I decided to throw all caution to the wind.

We had cupcakes instead of a cake.

Crazy.

CRAZY!

I know.


They look yummy, don't they?


We've stumbled onto a great frosting recipe that's light and fluffy and I really like it. Yellow food dye is a little too bright for me; I wanted a deeper yellow so we added a touch of red and that did the trick. I was so in love with how they turned out, I almost didn't want to eat them. They not only looked great, thanks to me, decorator-in-residence; they were delicious, thanks to Ben, chef-in-residence. We make a good team.

Up next, the Bells Bakery & Concessions Shoppe. Or something like that.


And here is the birthday girl enjoying the fruit of our labors. (Darling bib compliments of the fabulous DYM.)



And she seriously had no clue that birthdays are really exciting. She casually crawled away in the middle of unwrapping her presents. That girl. She knew enough to really enjoy the cake, though.

baby, baby

This little girl...

is turning 1 today. I can hardly believe it. Was it really just a year ago we were at the hospital waiting for her to show up?

I remember I was talking to my mom shortly after my son was born when I had an inkling of the little spirit who would be next. I was tired, of course. Exhausted, actually. And the last thing someone wants to think about after having a baby, is having another one right away. You're just too tired. And yet, I knew. I knew that my next little babe would be showing up sooner than later. And sooner it was. She was born just 14 months after her brother. It turns out, her timing was impeccable. I can't imagine life without her and am so glad she came when she did.

My baby is truly a sweetheart. Her personality is cheerful and happy. She loves to laugh. She loves to lay her head on my shoulder while I rock her. She will scream in her crib for a long time if she doesn't want to be there. And she's not going to be a baby much longer.

As child no. 4, I've watched her to see what familial patterns might emerge. Is she like her slightly older brother? Which older sister does she seem to take after? But, in looks and personality, just like her siblings, she is utterly and completely herself.

I love you, sweet girl! Happy Birthday. (I'll post b-day picts later.)

welcome to the world of a white on a rainy day

Mark an "X" by the one word or phrase that best describes what you are like most of the time. Choose only one response from each group.*

#12
a. __demanding
b. __unforgiving
c. X unmotivated
d. __vain

*From The Color Code, Part I

what holds the heart

Several months ago I took my daughters to a creative dance concert. What is creative dance? I guess one could say it's a form of modern dance. It is what dance should be, with no overwhelming sequins or inappropriately shaking body parts. The performers were mostly children. My girls were enrolled in dance classes through the same program and were anxious and excited to watch the performance.

I was excited, too. It felt a little funny. I was back in a theater I had performed in several times, this theater that doubles as a dance studio when the stadium style chairs are pushed back into the wall, like at a high school gymnasium. Just nicer chairs. I have spent countless hours in that room dancing and rehearsing. And it was weird to be back there with my children.

All of the pieces were charming and some were quite good. Towards the end there were some pieces by high school students, and then one from a group from the university. And suddenly, out of no where, I felt a surge of emotion that swept around my heart, and I felt it would burst if not for the tears that started streaming down my face, releasing the pressure. It was a cathartic release. Here I was in sacred space, watching something I love and, I think, mourning it's loss, once more. I felt a little silly crying at a children's dance performance, but there I was, looking for a kleenex in the dark theater. The performance ended. I wiped my eyes and gathered up the hands of my daughters in my own hands and navigated our way out.

I have loved dance for as long as I can remember. But just because you love something doesn't mean you get to keep it forever. I wrote about it some time ago, and recently reworked my essay for Just an Orange. You can read it here.

mmm, good.

8 years, 6 moves, 4 kids, & 2 states later

That's actual States of the Union. Of the United States.

States of Mind and whatever else have been numerous and varying and interesting. Also four real live kids. Good kids, sweet kids, crazy kids. And six different places we've lived, some of them better than others, but all amply adequate because we were there together.




A lot of ground gets covered in eight years. With plenty more ground on the horizon. And plenty more sky on the horizon too, for that matter.

So, lots of earth and sky behind us -- lots of earth and sky before us. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

Happy Anniversary, Ben.


photograph by Guy Giersch

Joe Friday says...

"Have a good weekend."

He also says:

"This is the city: Los Angeles, California. I work here. I'm a cop."
~
"All we know are the facts, ma'am."
~
"Do the youngsters know what these goofballs are made of, son?"
~
"No, sir, it's no mistake. Marijuana."

That Joe Friday; he's a smart cookie, that's for sure.

when kids are really bugging each other

Mom, she's doing sign language and I don't want anyone talking!

a special day

My daughter arrived home full of excitement. The kind of excitement that has to be put down by the parent, as the unfortunate holder of reason and knowledge. My daughter had been invited over by a friend to run through the sprinklers at her house in swimsuits. Which I am all for. Except not when you have a cold, which my daughter has. And not when it's only in the 60's, which it is.

When I said no for the forty-fifth time, suddenly it dawned in my girl's able mind that no matter how many times she said "please" the consequential reaction was not going to be "Yes!" but "No." The End. At which point she burst into a rage and tears streamed down her face at the injustice. And then she startled me by coming from behind at full force and socking me in the arm.

I picked her up and carried her to her room. She insisted that I had hurt her feelings and she would not stop crying and if she couldn't go she would cut up various items of clothing, including her swimsuit. But I think she inherently knew the consequence of that (for one thing, no suit to wear swimming) and didn't follow through.

She came out of her room awhile later to cry on the chair, and we were able to discuss the situation a little more, still with tears and cries of injustice. She repeated, I had hurt her feelings. She repeats this mantra often: if I don't let her do something, her feelings have been trampled, even destroyed, blown to smithereens and strewn about the carpet. Yes, she repeats it often, and I tire of it often. In my rational mind, having your feelings hurt because you can't have every wish and whim fulfilled is really not having your feelings hurt. It's just not getting everything you want. I tried to explain this to her in a nice, 6 year-old kind of way. At which point she said that at school someone had hurt her feelings. And they had. My daughter's earlier explosive reaction now explained.

A group of girls had said she couldn't play with them at recess. And one of them was her friend who invited her over after school. Because today my daughter was useful for after school play, but not during. That always riles me a little bit, although I don't show it. I hate the petty games girls play. I was sometimes the target of these kinds of games in elementary school, and the few times I participated in them I always felt bad about. It seemed like the easiest way to gain acceptance, but in the end, the mean girls will be mean to everyone regardless of whether you're mean or not.

And so, I heard about the experience of rejection. And my heart ached a little bit because while the invitation to go run through sprinklers sounded like a divine welcome to her, it sounded like a sorry excuse for recompense to me. Fortunately I had already decided against the idea, and so I wasn't left with having to deal with my petty reaction and the desire to say "no" because this child had been mean to my child. Also I had just been preaching the virtues of "doing good to those that hate you" and all that, so my conscience gave me a quick lesson. My daughter had moved on to the rest of her day, which included one of the mean boys calling her a name. And I got to comfort some more.

I stood there in the middle of the kitchen making peanut butter sandwiches wishing with all my heart I could give my children personalities that didn't care. Not apathetic personalities, but those with the gift of perspective and grace of letting kids be kids, people be people; secure enough in themselves to move on and to make their own enjoyment.

This is something I've learned, because I was a little like my daughter; eager to have friends and be popular, caring too much for what those of a certain apparent status said and did. That ended in Jr High, thank goodness, when I was fortunate to have the epiphany that I didn't really like the kids who claimed to be the kings and queens of the hill, at least not enough to follow them around and do their bidding. But part of the ease of that transition is my basic hermitic nature. I don't mind being alone. It made it easier not to compromise myself, because the value of having to be with certain people was lessened, over the value of being me.

But my daughter is more social than I am. She really thrives on people and social opportunities. And she'll have to learn to navigate them. I suppose my goal is to love her enough that she knows she is valued and valuable, to love her enough that she can help others be loved and valued and valuable, too. It's not always the easiest lesson to incorporate, but there are many many opportunities to learn it.

In the end, my daughter sat on my lap and I held her tightly. "I just want to do something with you, Mom," she said, having shared all of her sorrows of the day, the sprinklers forgotten. "Can we watch The Empire Strikes Back?" My girls love Star Wars but I like to keep the viewing of it for "special days" because it just doesn't strike me as good regular movie fare for wee ones. "Yes, " I said. Because today is a special day.

heavy cloud, no rain

May 14th is the 134th day of the year. Except this year, because of leap year, it is the 135th day of the year. There are 231 days left.

Dante was born on May 14th in 1265, as was Albert Einstein's son, Hans in 1904. Frank Sinatra died on this day. Henry IV of France was assassinated in 1610.

It is cloudy today. I'd like some rain because the lawn REALLY needs it. But the forecast is only for clouds. And that's all. No rain. Just clouds.

Let it also be known that on this day, Allysha posted something on her blog. And while it wasn't tremendous, it was done. And maybe someday that will show up on the May 14th list on Wikipedia. Or not.

Trivia: the title to this post is also the title to a song by..... (and Bethany! You can't answer, because I already know you know).

If you need a hint, his real name is Gordon.

today is productive

I learned through sk*rt the other day that Tuesday followed by Wednesday, should be my most productive days of the week. Monday you plan. Tuesday and Wednesday you execute. Then I suppose that Thursday you crash and Friday you crawl to the finish line, thankful for the weekend. Except now sk*rt is kirtsy! and you should know about that little switch, and make any little changes necessary so that you can stop by there to find out about lots of fun and interesting things on a regular basis. Like when you are suppose to be productive.

Blogging. It's cheaper than therapy

I'm sure someone must have this as their tag line. And it's true. Like getting out my ambivalence about Mother's Day. That was completely therapeutic and I then had a lovely day, full of poetry and cookies, and crepes, and flowers, and a nap, all thanks to Ben and the kiddos.

Or watching some guy do a goofy happy dance all over the world, thanks to Annie's blog, and totally crying while I watched. Hel-looo! I don't know what the deal is with me. I'm currently a little prone to random sets of tears. I think it must be good for me.

I have things to write for Just an Orange. But they are currently beyond my brain. So, maybe I'll take a week's hiatus. We'll see. I mean, I kind of took a week off last week, too. So, like I said. We'll see.

Also, I am trying to decide whether or not to switch this little blog over to Wordpress. I can not decide. I'm fond of many aspects of Blogger. And some aspects of Wordpress. I wish they'd merge. I also need to direct Bells On Their Toes to my dot com domain, but must work over a few things first. It's taking me awhile to do this because it requires some time and some energy from me, and a little from Ben so it might be best to wait until Spring Semester ends.

Also, I have recently become kind of attached to my Google page rank, which isn't shooting through the roof. But it is a four. Which must mean that even if you don't leave comments (and thanks to those who do), somebody must like my blog. Which is therapeutic. Or just obsessive. Which ever. But when I start all over, my page rank will have to start all over. So maybe obsessive is the word.

Still, blogging is cheaper than therapy. Enjoy your Monday.

not another post on being tired

...because I think that would be self-defeating. And I have a list of stuff to do today. Nothing huge. Just life to be lived, but live it I must! And clean up after.

my mom

...is an amazing person. I won't go into all the details. Just trust me. She is amazing.

We can talk on the phone for hours, not just when we live a country apart, but 15 minutes apart. We can cover topics that you wouldn't believe. We can laugh. We can analyze. We can commiserate. We can celebrate. We can hear the same story on NPR and discuss it intently in relation to the morning's scripture study. She is the only person I can call up for a normal conversation one moment, and the next, find myself bawling my eyes out without reservation because I needed a release and just didn't know it.

Thanks, mom. I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

a nod to mother's day. sort of.

I have ambiguous feelings about Mother's Day. Why is this? I have been thinking about it all week and I haven't really come to a conclusion.

This morning, while brushing my daughter's hair, it occurred to me that Mother's Day feels a lot like my birthday. Which is to say, at this point in my life, a day I look forward to with mild emotions, and then it passes and I move on.

For my kids' birthdays I put up balloons and ribbons so when they wake up in the morning some part of the house has been transformed. Because. It is their BIRTHDAY!!!! For myself, that doesn't quite pull it off. For one thing, I'm the one who will probably be cleaning it up, so really in the big scheme of things, not having one more thing to pick up usually outweighs any decorations that might go up. But they LOVE it. And I love doing it for them.

The thing about getting older, is that most of the time, nobody creates the magic for you. For one thing, it's a lot more expensive to create the magic for an adult, than for a child. (What, no plane ticket to Rome this year?)

* * * * *

Maybe it's the Expectation of a Special Day that I resent. That there should be "magic". A cultural expectation, or maybe actually, a marketing strategy, that builds up Mother's Day (and every other possible special day) as a day to CELEBRATE!

And sure! Why not? But the culture/marketing of a Special Day means it needs to be Different from the norm. I think maybe that's why I resent it a little bit. Because I know that right now Mother's Day is more for my kids, who have spent a week coming up with breakfast menus, and writing funny love notes, and making projects at school that they are so excited about sharing.

The breakfast will be middling, the notes sweet, and the project enjoyable because my daughter made it and I can ooh and ahh over it. But it won't be about me so much as about motherhood; the constant flow from mother to child. The love, the praise, the reassurance.

Which is good. It's really good. I will enjoy it. But it won't be different from the norm. It'll just be the same. Which is what a lot of young motherhood is. The norm. Usually an exhaustive norm. And the variations on that theme span a variety of things (funny things said, really poopy diapers, cute little pictures, kids who can't leave each other alone, oatmeal for dinner etc., etc.) but not with so much variety that every day is a brand new dream.

I think I must be tired because I sound so bah-humbuggy.

It's good to be a mother. It's Great to be a mother. I wouldn't give it up for anything else. It's complicated though, because you are apparently entitled to some special day by virtue of bearing children, and what you really want for Mother's Day is a weekend alone. How can that be right? And like motherhood, that's what it's all about, too. There's always that guilt on the side to go with the fact that you aren't really turning cartwheels about Mother's Day. And some how you should be.

Really I don't want a weekend alone for Mother's Day. (Give that to me on a regular weekend. Hee.) I just wanted to put it out there to the world of the internets, that I have ambiguous feelings about Mother's Day. So there you go.

* * * * *

This morning during family prayer my son turned on the only video game in the house; a portable Tetris game. My daughter started to say the prayer and he turned on the game and then folded his arms as the Tetris tune accompanied my daughter's heavenly requests. I reached over and hit the button to turn off the music. My son looked up at me, turned the music back on, then refolded his arms and bowed his head. Worship through music? I had to smile through the remainder of the prayer.

He's angry right now because he can't get a DVD to play in his CD player. Oh the things we have to learn to differentiate. What works when and where.

That saying bah-humbug to Mother's Day is just fine, because then you can go on and really enjoy it more in the end, for whatever it ends up being. Instead of what it's "supposed" to be.

let's see those pearly whites

Dentists.
Pediatric Dentists.

Do you take your small children to one?
What age do you start those visits?

My pediatrician says, "Now."

Considering my two year-old's reaction when he was at the pediatrician's office last week, I say NO WAY. I don't have the energy to drag my children to the dentist for what will surely be an impossible, and therefore unproductive visit. I'm not going to pay for what can happen here at home for free, without the funny smell and the blue napkin bib around someone's neck. I have no desire to wrestle someone into sobbing submission just to say I did it. And then have to hold them while their mouth is pried open. I can see it all before me like a vision. And I am not that crazy. I am currently at a limit of what I can handle. My desire of self-torture is limited. My stamina is limited. And for the moment, it does not extend to the dentist's office.

So sue me. My kids will go to the dentist when I can handle it. So, we may have to wait a little while longer.

We will brush our teeth, however. Nightly, even. Because we do that already.

"the quality of the theory is key"

Life and Death do not exist consecutively, but simultaneously. If you are not alive, there is no threat of death. *

The needs of the organism are not always consistent with the needs of the self. *

“Here-and-now” is anomalous to linear time because of the very fact that you are not dealing specifically with separate pasts, and separate issues. The interactions between the group are going to be indicative of interactions that the group members have outside of a therapy session. As group members deal with their colleagues, and work through issues that are occurring at that moment inside the group, they are learning to deal with other people outside of the group in the same way. So the issues of “when I was a child” don’t call the therapists to put all of his/her attention on that. It is the person learning that in the here-and-now they can change their reaction, regardless of the childhood event. *

* Notes for a college psych class. I occasionally think of deleting them from my hard drive, but then how would I remember I ever wrote that kind of stuff? Obviously if you need some analysis, I am the one to come to. I'm inexpensive, too. Not to mention, effective. But not in a causal or linear sense. Promise.

pollen looks so pretty & harmless

image via flicker

home again, home again, jiggity jog

Not really my house. But wouldn't that be fun, if it were?

My guest stint at Design Mom was a lot of fun. Who knew a post on public radio would be a hit? My number of visitors shot up so dramatically I had to bring my binoculars if ever I decided to check my stats so I could gaze up at the summit. I expect things to calm down and level out this week to their normal plane. It isn't extravagant by half but it does offer a consistent amount of padding above the baseline.

I do hope I have a few people who decide to stick around. Sort of like at the end of Charlotte's Web when all of her many, many little baby spiders come out of the egg sac and are all over the place, and then they all float off into the air, carried away forever and Wilbur is heartbroken. But then he discovers that there are three little spiders left, to carry on their mother's legacy and friendship with Wilbur. And they all lived happily ever after.

Like that. Except without the broken-heartedness, and maybe more than three extra visitors.

I had fun blogging here last week, too. Especially the boggle post. And if I can ever find the remaining letter dice, I may institute a weekly boggle game. We'll see what happens when I clean out my daughter's bedroom today.

hay fever

Did you know that hay fever allergies can be aggravated by sugar? Which is why, with the pollen count shooting through the roof, I have been imbibing chocolate like it's going out of style.

Because being in a bleary-eyed, itchy, almost comatose state is what everybody's after, right?

dinner time

Due to my extensive blogging efforts this week, dinner has been a sorry affair. Lots of Mac & Cheese. And yesterday, hot dogs. Good hot dogs (I know, kind of an oxymoron, but they were Nathan's).

I always vow not to eat hot dogs anymore because they upset my stomach, but then I forget, until after I've eaten one.

May Day

Yesterday morning my husband suggested it was ironic that I verbally encouraged and corralled everyone into their proper places and out the door, while I sat leisurely at the computer playing my monthly West Wing trivia game.

band-aid

For the younger set at my house, there is a remedy they ask for repeatedly. One that apparently has the ability to make better all ills, aches, pains, you name it.

It is the band-aid. Band-aids are the solution to every hurt and pain imaginable. Every teeny scrape, every bump, every hangnail.

What is it about a band-aid? You scraped your knee? Of course, band-aid. You nicked your finger? Band-aid. Your sister pulled your hair? Your brother broke your favorite toy? Band-aid. Mom drank the rest of your juice? That’s a tough one, but perhaps, band-aid?

My children insist they will not feel better unless they have a band aid. That piece of fabric (I don’t like the plastic-y ones) with some sticky substance on one sides and some absorbent padding in between, they are magic. It seems like my kids go through them faster than the air they breath.

Sometimes I think it would be beneficial to my finances were I to purchase stock in band-aids because it might compensate for all of the band-aids I simply purchase.

(I avoid band-aids with any sort of design or character on them. If for some reason they are ever near my children, the incidences that require band-aids increase substantially.)

There are times when I, foolishly of course, suggest that perhaps a band-aid is not the answer. That at the rate we are flying through them means that when someone really needs a band-aid we probably won’t have one. Today I took off four band-aids stuck tightly around the fingers of my daughter because her poor skin needed some air. But I had to put one back on before bed, despite my reasoned arguments against it.

If only band-aids were the answer to all of our difficulties.

Heading into labor? Nurse! Get this woman a band-aid and stick it on her belly button! Hey, now that would be nice, and cost effective at the same time! Feeling a little down today! Band-aid! The Sesame Street ones will do the trick! Better than chocolate!

Actually, the more I think about it, I’m all for it. Where do I sign up? I want to be a part of the Band-aid-Cures-All Club.

Here is the biggest bummer about band-aids. For the scraped knee of a five year-old they work great. But it's the future events I know aren't covered.

When my daughter comes home from school after her best friend has moved on to join another. When someone says something cruel and unkind. When her sister is left crying because she wasn't invited over to play. Or when she doesn't make the final cut at a dance audition. When my son gets his sweet heart broken for the first time. When he loses that basketball game. When someone close really disappoints them. When a dream has to be let go for something else, even if that something else is better in the long run.

Then I'm going to be wishing for the magic power of the band-aid; the magic power that makes everything okay.