Expectations.

Expectations? Sometimes I think I have too many; other times not enough. Earlier today I was thinking about what my "E" word would be tonight. Maybe "enthusiasm," or "excitement" because I was going to my new Italian class for a fun-filled 2 hours of bettering my budding bilingualism with new friends and yet another motley crew of Italophiles (18 years of various Italian classes has put me in the middle of many motley crews of Italophiles). But as J even noticed , my impatient foot was tapping away at the slowpokes in the class - predominantly one new student, a guy who was either grossly underprepared to be in an advanced class, or was otherwise impeded with dyslexia or something. And in this situation my frustation became juxtaposed with that behavioral "need" to practice the virtue of patience (maybe a "need" created by so many years with nuns). My head: C'mon, pick it up. Didn't you learn basic Italian pronunciation? What are you doing in this class? My mouth: pursed, silent, semi-smiling.

So where is that balance of striving to meet one's own expectations and self-expression while meeting the expectations of others? Is it somewhere between the minivan and the kitchen when I'm rushing the girls along, annoyed that they aren't moving fast enough because I don't want us to be late for preschool - yet trying to maintain a semblance of calm lest I become the harried mother? Is it somewhere in the tapping of the keyboard when I'm trying to write while N keeps calling down with questions for me and is hoping we can go to bed early? Can I be both a fully expressive "me" and a "good" wife/mother/friend? Who knows if these paradoxical questions will ever be resolved, but I'm guessing the answer to the question of expectations is, it's best not to have them.