Plans are good. They make us feel like we have some sort of control over the world around us. The majority of people in my life outside my family, of course, have plans. They actually plan their lives and things sometimes actually go according to plan. We stand amazed at those folks. We also stand bored.
It seems as though the Scat family has always been destined to exist just past the edge of all things plannable. We are always far enough into the unknown to become somewhat comfortable with the idea of complete uncertainty from one moment to the next. Learning to be 'somewhat comfortable' with that takes a very, very long time for some people.
When you exist out there, you are constantly bombarded by problems that need solving and often you have to solve them in new and unique ways. It's not just that you have to think outside the box. There is no box.
I try to instill the basics of problem solving in my kids.
Squib called to me from the kitchen last night. "Mom! I need your help!" He had gone in there to get some ginger ale.
I replied along the lines of "get your stool out of the bathroom" and/or "try to find a way, kiddo" or some such constructive advice. Yes, he's height challenge, but he's feisty and smart. I've seen him climb the pantry shelves like a monkey. He can do this.
"I already have a plan!" He hollered back. "I need you in order to do it!"
So I went into the kitchen and there he was. He had both refrigerator doors open wide. He was evenly spaced between them. He was crouched like a spring-loaded, angry, little bear cub--claws and everything--boring a hole in a ginger ale can on the very top shelf. He was totally ignoring the ones in reach, of course. The reason for this is that the cans on the top shelf get a little slushy. They are, admittedly, the best. So I can't argue. I go top shelf myself.
"What's the plan?" I asked. I was still thinking step stool or bar stool.
"I'm ready!" He growled. "Just throw me at it."
He had such a wild, committed look on his face. He was obviously dead serious.
"No." I said. He deflated like a balloon.
"What?!" He even stomped a foot. "I had a plan!"
"Have you thought through what could really happen?" I asked.
He looked at the refrigerator and back at me.
"I'm just going to grab the can and fall back. I'm not going to knock anything else over. I promise." Pitiful, pleading eyes. The monkey could probably do it.
"Step stool? Bar stool?" I asked.
"Not at all fun." True.
I handed him the can of ginger ale and he shuffled along his depressed path on this earth. One plan less for this world.
Hopefully they figure out solutions that don't cause more problems. ;)