I’ve noticed my family adapts extremely well. It’s amazing really. I mean, Darwin might as well have studied us when he developed his theory.
Our entire married life, my husband has probably averaged 55-70 hours per week working (and/or studying). I bet close to 99% of it was weekends and evenings, too. Or at least it felt that way. When we moved here, his work dropped closer to 30.
The first month, I was thrilled contemplating his new schedule. After so many years, the thought of him home more often made me giddy. The idea of regular family time blew my mind.
The second month, I couldn’t believe how many family activities he attended. No longer did I need to drag the kids out on my own.
The third month, I frowned a little when he worked on the same night as a church activity. What a pain!
The fourth month, I caught myself irritated -even slamming a car door- because he worked on a Tuesday; I had to drive the Suburban on my regular errands instead of borrowing his more fuel-efficient car! I mean how unlucky is that?
Then I had a reality check. Hello. My super-adapting skills caused me to go from ecstatic to whiny in four short months, way too soon take his new schedule for granted. Months 5 and 6, I kicked myself whenever I thought to complain. (I’ll not embarrass myself by telling you how often I had to do it.)
Of course my kids have adapted, too. They’d probably seen their cousins, at most, 5 times their entire lives. Less than six months after moving closer, they think I’m inflicting cruel punishment if they go longer than 4 days without contact.
I won’t talk about my husband’s adapted need to be on the golf course 3 times a week.
Perhaps our adapting talent is only surpassed by our whining one. Hopefully we get to continue adapting to more positive things instead of testing our ability in the other direction!