Boys Will Be Boys
Nana camp is an invitation only event. My mother-in-law takes all of her grandchildren for a week of crafts, activities and general grandparent indulgence. This year while Max and Lucy traveled to Nana camp Harper and I took our first plane ride up to Michigan to visit my parents. My parents have yet to see Harper and so we took this opportunity to introduce them to their seventh grandchild. This left David home by himself. FOR A WHOLE WEEK.
During his unexpected bachelor time he decided to do some home improvement projects. While I was envisioning the hanging of shelves or the painting of walls, he envisioned maybe hanging a picture and going fishing. Now, he did hang the pictures in the kitchen and I am incredibly grateful for that. However, this is what I found sitting on my kitchen counter when I returned:
This is a phenomenon. Most women I talk to speak of the same occurrence in their household. A home improvement is FINALLY completed only to be left with a table/counter full of tools. I’ve actually waited to see how long it would take David to put the tools away and the longest I’ve been able to hold out was four months. His argument? He is planning on still using those tools to do another project. Where? When? What? Nobody knows, but someday he will need those tools again and it would be so much more convenient to use them if they just sat on the kitchen counter until then.
Even though Max was the only boy at Nana camp with a plethora of female cousins he managed to have a great time swimming, fishing and playing in the air conditioning (he wasn’t so keen on playing outside and being hot). He also left me a little surprise on the kitchen counter:
Max gleefully explained to me that he made a “brown snowman”. So very thoughtful of him to bring me back such a sweet homemade gift from camp.
Ahhh boys, you gotta love ‘em.
Plans: Part II
Hi.
Yeah, so life has been a bit…crazy? No, that seems cliche. Overwhelming? Surprising? Unplanned? Yes, I suppose all of those things. I’m a person in transition and well, a person who likes plans definitely doesn’t like transitions. I couldn’t be more uncomfortable right now if I was wearing a coat made out of human skin. The other day David sent me the following text message: “When shit gets real you’re the person I want to be with”. The shit has most definitely been real lately.
David quit his job. We then spent the next three weeks in a heavenly bliss of unemployment. A mini-vacation into Hakuna Matata world where everything seemed like a giant rainbow and bluebirds were singing on our shoulders. However, contrary to popular belief you really can’t pay the mortgage with singing bluebirds. ( know, who could have guessed that?) David got a new job and I went back to teaching.
Sigh.
David’s new job has definite advantages, including a 15 minute commute (this is much better from the 1 hour commute he’s had for the past 8 years of our marriage). He has returned to working with some dear friends and that is always nice. However, it is still work and it is still advertising and so that still means long nights and big projects. We’re adjusting.
We’re still living in a house that is in transition and at the end of the day I think this is driving me crazy more than anything else. I have books stacked — EVERYWHERE (#1 problem faced by English majors and teachers around the world: book storage. We don’t ever get rid of them). I have boxes packed and stacked and the garage is a tumbled combination of new, old and garbage. Every room screams for a new piece of furniture, artwork, carpet or now a cleaning. Every wall is blank, every window bare, and I desperately want order.
David wistfully mentioned to me how much easier our lives would be if we didn’t have children. Indeed, life would be simple. My house would always be in order and clean. We would always have enough money. David and I would always have time to talk about subjects and things that interest us. As we both laid in bed and reflected on that alternative universe the selfishness of it all made me sick to my stomach. I recognize that many people are very happy being childless. I, however, could never be one of those people.
My house is chaos, but that is because it is bursting with life. That much life cannot be neatly contained. Life must overflow, squeeze out around the corners and fill every crack and crevice. There will be enough time at the end of my life to enjoy a clean kitchen. For now, I’m just going to kick the Hot Wheels out of the way, toss the Barbies off the kitchen table and sit in the moment.
(editor’s note: I wrote this post about three months ago. I suppose it is a reflection of how truly chaotic things have been that I’m only now getting around to publishing it. However, I liked this post, and I feel that it truly captures what my summer was like).
The Best Laid Plans Are Crap
I turned 40 two weeks ago. It seems like I should be marking this occasion with some sort of wisdom or rite of passage. What would that be? The truth is not only do I not feel wiser I actually feel more stupid.
When you are in your twenties your life is filled with possibility and uncertainty. We all crane our necks trying to peer over the fence into adulthood wondering what it is going to look like, unaware that we are already there. By thirty we KNOW we are adults and are filled with the confidence and certainty that this self-awareness brings. We’re married, we have kids, houses, cars, careers and life seems rather simple for those who know how to “follow the rules”. But the journey from thirty to forty is tough and exhausting.
At 40 I’ve realized that having a “plan” for life is the silliest most fruitless thing ever. Plans are meant for those who have yet to come to terms with the fact that life is not something that can be controlled. All the idealistic and optimistic visions of my early thirties have been smacked in the head with reality. In many ways my life is better, more fruitful, richer and painted with more vibrant colors than I was capable of imagining at thirty. On the other hand I’m also far more humble. I’ve been knocked on my knees, fallen to the floor and wondered “what next?” too many times during my thirties. I know not to take the good times for granted and that the unexpected tragedy is the other side of the rainbow that fills our lives.
What’s next?
I plan on spending my forties enjoying the seeds I sowed in my thirties. I’m looking forward to watching my children grow up. I want to wallow in my new career as an educator and watch my students blossom. Most importantly, I’m looking forward to countless evenings sitting with David on our front porch, watching the moon, talking quietly about our kids, our jobs, and laughing at life.
