My older daughter has taken up a practice in procrastination.
She’s set an alarm on her phone to remind her to practice her flute, but she’s chosen, every day since setting the reminder, to put off the actual practice until one of us asks her about it.
Her practicing every day is a condition of her attendance at a summer music camp which she wants very much.
The frustrating thing for me is that her father has latched on to this recalcitrance, so he’s usually the first one to remind her – sometimes pointedly – that this is a commitment she has to fulfill. That’s all well and good – as her parents, we’re obliged to hold her accountable, even if doing so is unpleasant for any or all of the parties involved. No; what’s frustrating for me is that my husband is a master procrastinator; Punk comes by this irksome quality quite honestly. In fact, I’ve been asking my husband to do something for days that’s still not done; I’m so annoyed by this that I’m going to go and do it myself this afternoon.
Of course, I can’t point this out to him, because he insists that this argument is not ABOUT him; it’s about Punk and her lack of responsibility. He’s right, certainly, but that’s not ALL this is about…