Belief: the psychological state in which an individual holds a proposition or premise to be true.
“I really think he was upset. I mean, I think he feels left out,” I recently said to Fancy Therapist.
The Fancies have a problem. Back before The Minis, we could book all our travel last minute because we had the freedom and flexibility to do so. And that was good, because H’s schedule changes moment to moment and “holidays” are subject to last minute cancellations. Of course, this means that Fancy here has been forced to exercise some true last minute feats of organization and packing:
“Oh? Really? We are going to South America this week? Oh? Tomorrow? Okay. No problem.”
But with toddlers, that doesn’t so much work anymore. If they are staying behind, the Nanny rota with back up needs to be cemented. If they come along, well, you know what kind of planning that requires. Especially if you are bringing a Nanny.
So FT and I had decided that rather than get upset, I just make our plans. If H can join us, that’s fabulous. If he can’t, or can only make part of the trip, well then that’s just one of the stinky parts of his job.
We’re going away this summer for a week. A little resort time, a little Grandma and Grandpa time. I bought our plane tickets a few weeks ago. And by “our” I mean me, the Minis and Nanny #1. I assumed H would just figure out some meeting that would get him close to us on either end and we could join up somewhere on the Continent.
And then last week he saw our itinerary.
“Wait! Where’s my ticket? Why isn’t my name on here? Didn’t you book me on your flight?”
“Well, frankly, no. I just assumed you’d meet us there. Or you could take our flight if it worked out. If there were still seats. I mean, we’ve done this before. And how many times have you cancelled on me? So Nanny #1 and I are going together and you can make your plans last minute. As you always do,” I said, confused as to why I was stating the obvious.
“But, but, wait, but I want a ticket too. I want to be on your flight. I mean, it’s a cheap enough ticket. I can always not use it. But I at least want the option…” he whined, looking at me with big sad eyes.
Fancy Therapist and I talked it over. “He is left out. That’s the nature of his job. He’s sold his soul to the devil and the price is that he’s not available—or even included-- to his family when he wants to be. It’s really quite sad,” FT said, twisting his pen in deep thought. “But maybe the solution is to buy him the ticket. Just always book him on your flights. You know he’ll cancel. He knows he’ll cancel. I know he’ll cancel. But it will give him the illusion of family intimacy. He won’t feel so left out. This could be really good for you guys,” he concluded.
So I bought him the ticket. Do I think he’ll use it? No. But it’s what we now do. The “illusion of intimacy” is what we’re calling it. Just believe...
