You know what’s not fun about mirrors? They often catch us at times we least expect it. We’re not seeking out its opinion, not needing confirmation of a straightened tie or spinach-free grin. Like it just grabs you walking out the door or washing your hands. And maybe it’s an errant crumb in your stubble or paint on the back right shoulder (“The Toddler Special”). Or something more eye-opening: naked with scissors.
But let’s back up and play a game. Think of the worst packaging you have to open on a frequent basis? I can hear my father-in-law yelling from across town about what I now know is called a Lift ‘n’ Peel™ Foil Heat Induction Liner (or that thing under orange juice lids that’s impossible to grip with wet hands as you’re trying to pour mimosas on football Sunday). He often yells, “12 people!” whenever he confronts these lids, not-so-subtly suggesting that a group of a dozen executives in a boardroom came up with this billion-dollar scam to constantly bewilder consumers.
But for me, it’s the vacuum-sealing plastic wrap around common, nontoxic hygiene products. It’s redundant and unnecessary, and seems really wasteful. Shampoo, shaving cream, floss, you name it. And moisturizer. I went 35 years without moisturizing, ignorant of its benefits that I now enjoy. Who knew soft, fragrant skin was so pleasant! I’m not picky about choices, but it’s now a staple in my daily routine. (My wife and daughters use an array of colors, scents and options with names like Meet Me in Miami and Champagne Toast, which I suppose might make the experience more immersive. Hmm.)
After a shower (a.k.a. parental escape zone for at least 15 minutes), I reached for the moisturizer. The bottle had been “done” for about two weeks—when the pump no longer pumps, according to my wife Maegen—but I was able to salvage it every day. Shaking it like a ketchup bottle, scooping the edges out with my finger. There’s something honorable in achieving full bottle completion. And that’s the stage we were at. This thing was a clean as a whistle. So I reached for the new bottle, anxious to meet an invisible deadline to apply the balm.
[Fill in expletive here.] The new bottle had the plastic wrap! My fingers winced in tiny shrills of failure as I fumbled to make any headway. I spotted a pair of mini grooming scissors on the vanity counter. (Pro Dad Tip: Awesome to have around for snipping hair ties for young girls. DO NOT try to rip them out OR use kitchen shears. Lesson learned.) I grabbed the pair with that sense of “let’s try anything” knowing full well the outcome. It was then, as I was jabbing these elfin scissors at the micro plastic perforation of the lotion’s nozzle, I caught the figure in the mirror.
Naked, afraid and useless. That’s probably a bit dramatic, but I was frustrated. The 26-year-old Ryan might have continued at it, pushing that temper gauge into the red. I wouldn’t have quit, going to the point of possible self-harm, stabbing myself in the finger or worse (!) considering my unclothed state and height of the countertop. (Related, I’ve always been afraid of carrying a pen in my pocket since this episode.)
But, alas! The 40-year-old Ryan took a deep breath, put down the blades and set aside the lotion. I put pants on, and returned to the same mirror, now excited to see its reflection. Though it might seem unimportant or trivial, I was proud to show restraint and stay calm. I’m always telling my kids to be patient, to evaluate their huge emotions in the moment and try to make good decisions in an incredible complex environment. Easy for me to stay, but to do? Not so much. Lately, it feels that I don’t practice what I preach, finding frustrations in the daily grind that simply aren’t worth the time. And that has to be confusing for elementary school kids still figuring out how to be humans.
We all want to be the best versions of ourselves around our kids, a good friend in need or a kind stranger at the store. They’re watching every move, mimicking our actions and words. But it’s hard to be perfect when things are running smoothly, even harder when life knocks on your door every morning. Maybe the standard is too high, and we should simply focus on survival. Like opening the next orange juice bottle or moisturizer container.
Maybe first put some clothes on, though.