Once I heard a prediction of how three siblings handled the division of pie. 

The oldest kid assumed that he got the biggest slice, because he was, well, the biggest. The middle child slipped between arguing brothers, grabbed the pie and shared it with his friends. The youngest tucked a napkin under his chin and waited to be served. A la mode.

 

In a parenting book there was a suggestion. Have one child cut the pie. Let the other kid pick first. Expect the first one to get out a ruler. 

 

The other day I heard someone tossing out opinions about other people's lives. The topic was around weddings, but it could have been anything. She had strong feelings around the decisions other families make about the myriad decisions that are part of such celebrations. 

 

I have done that. The reception was too big. Too small. There were more attendants than necessary. Too few. 

 

Then I realized. I expect to get the whole pie. 

 

John and I were granted great freedom in planning our wedding. Our mothers kept a light hand, and indulged our early morning, outside, barefoot, twelve stones altar ceremony. That was my piece of the wedding pie. Oh, I will get a little leeway if any of my children marry before thirty and don't finance the whole shebang on their own. So far all of them have gotten married out of state, and all I did was show up. 

 

But when I try to grab up other people's joy by opining how they should or should not live their lives, I am pretty much like the four year old who grabbed the lemon meringue.