I am wrong. A lot. I am ready to admit it.
Case in point, this past week, my husband and son decided to take some time and enjoy our summer. On Tuesday, we decided to go to the Milwaukee Zoo. Because I am a bit of a crazy perfectionist (who may or may not be a tad obsessive), it’s possible that I may have slightly over prepared for this relaxing activity. I printed coupons, maps, and details instructions on how to get to the zoo. I had prepared an itinerary that included train rides, the antique carousel, seeing all the animals, attending the seal show, and of course an amazing picnic lunch. I packed water bottles, sun block, mosquito repellent, and extra socks. We were going to have a fantastic day.
Forty-five minutes into the trip, I realized that I forgot the backpack containing all of those amenities, including directions on the kitchen table. I was (extremely) mad at myself, but I knew that I remembered the directions exactly. Being the somewhat controlling driver, I navigated the way I was SURE was the right way, even as my husband pointed to the sign that said “Milwaukee County Zoo” as it was flying by. He may have politely suggested that I missed the exit. I may have ignored him.
I knew I remembered the number of the exit and it was not that one. I was right. He was wrong. I was sure of it. (Insert exasperated sigh here.) Continue reading “On being wrong…”