So last night I had one of my famous meltdowns. Well, actually only famous if you happen to live in the same house with me. Or read this blog. I get my train ticket and metro card in the mail every month and I always put it in the same place in the kitchen until the previous month expires. So I go into the kitchen and it’s not there. “What the…but I always put it in the same place!”. Famous last words. I look, I take all the bills and sift through them. Nothing. Now my first thought is when I was cleaning up for my cleaning lady, (oh, you know you all do it…), I threw out a lot if #%}^*. Oh no, what if I threw it out, I’m so screwed! And I start to cry. My husband comes in and starts to help me look, trying to calm me down, but I am inconsolable. I empty my purse, I look through my desk in the bedroom. We’re emptying garbage and recycling all over the floor and I am sobbing, snot all over my face, “what am I gonna dooooooo?” I am practically prostrate with doom. My husband then goes through a pile on my desk that I have already looked through, “it’s not theeeeerrreeee…” And pulls out the envelope with my ticket. Now, I’m hugging him and crying because he’s the best husband in the world. And I’m feeling a little ridiculous. “But I always put it in the same place!!!” Guess what, no I don’t. Or I do, but it gets mixed in with something that goes in a different place. He almost always finds it, whatever “it” is. Because he is patient, and knows there’s always a solution if you look for it. And sometimes, it’s just lost. But there’s still a solution. My go to place is brouhaha and the end of the world. Like a child who has not yet learned to use his words and his brain, if I throw a big enough tantrum, the universe will give me what I want. It doesn’t usually work for children, and it definitely doesn’t work for me. I’m not, by nature, a particularly patient person. I lose interest, I’m not good enough at something, move on! It’s too much work to stop and figure out a solution, to perfect a skill, to find the lost. So much easier to stay a child, to stomp and cry and let someone else do all the work. I am lucky my husband is patient and kind and loves me anyway. But even he doesn’t want to raise a 56 year old baby. Time to put on my Big Girl Panties, Wait! What the %#}^* ??! Where are my Big Girl Panties????!!! I always put them in the same place!