« Truce! And a cake! And a parade! | I fire myself »
And then, the acid-dropped Sunday
June 04, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip
Back when we were first dating, sometimes I would visit CD at his job.
It was a small shop full of geeks and nerds and strange men on strange drugs who had inflatable women in the back of their vans for those special lunches (yes, really). It would be too easy to say in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man... and untrue. Because CD was 20/20 and respected for his skills and quiet leadership.
I fell in love with that man. At a time when I thought I would never fall in love again. But I did. With him.
Funny how life happens. What "happily ever after" looks like down the line.
Last year, I realized that weekends had become these crazy pockets. The cell phone in my purse, my email on alert, and I would grab Bear and go. Birthday parties, and errands, and adventures. Trying to stuff a week's worth of physical attention into crazy days. CD along for the ride, usually driving. Sometimes sniping.
I lived on the edge of everything, popping Tylenols and Motrins. I left the cleaning and whatnot to the day-to-day Elia and occasional hired maid service. Dry cleaners for everything except underwear. And jammies. Dinner from a restaurant. Sometimes lunch, too.
This is how you make it on the corporate ladder. Outsource as much as possible, race to make all the ticks on the calendar, multi-task like a demon, and never really have a moment when you feel like all's right with the world.
But now CD and I are creating a new life for ourselves. And Bear and I have hours in each other's company without a to-do list. The money's gone, Elia's gone, and dinner is whatever I cook.
We putter and stall. Hours of housework then hours of nothing. We stutter a rhythm hasn't found its beat.
CD wants a leaf blower, but we have to save up. The tree has barfed its annual spring tonnage of little green florets all over our cars and the driveway. Last year, we swept it all a couple of times. This year, the load is greater.
He drags out the wet/dry vac and I say "If you're hauling that out, then please vacuum the cars." He nods without looking up.
Back in the house, Bear passes by me with a hamper.
It's dinner time, but we're not hungry. I made late brunch and late snacks and the sun is up and no one wants to stop and eat. Fine.
Chores are left ignored. Piles and piles of clothes cleaned and folded need putting away. The kitchen floor needs washing. The beds need changing. I head into Bear's room and he's filled up his hamper with the contents of his dresser. He mulishly doesn't make eye contact.
"I am running away from home," he tells me fiercely, tugging the hamper behind him.
"Oh," tiredly, as I follow him out of curiousity.
"Yes, I am going to live in the van. For real," he drags the clothes down the front steps and I see he has set up a bed for himself in the front seat of the minivan.
I also notice that my husband is intently vacuuming the green shit off the driveway. He is halfway done.
Bear pulls his hamper into the van and then closes himself in, locking the doors and giving me a look that dares me to challenge his kingdom.
It's almost 6PM and I close my eyes. Easy math says this family is farther behind today than we were last night.
I sit down on the front steps in the breeze of a long shadow. Breathe deep, heart hurting. I tell you, I can not stop the voice inside of me that says this doesn't feel right. And I argue back to myself that the feeling of right comes and goes, and more often the former over the latter.
The chicken is marinating. The sky is blue. A long time ago, I fell in love with a man who is currently vacuuming a driveway. And we made the child who just marched past me with a suitcase and a plastic blue light saber, off to his new home in our minivan.
This is now.
Delicious! | 
Stumble It! | 
Slashdot It!TrackBack (0)
