Sick Day

Harrison takes his sick days seriously.  He has big plans, big ideas, none of which include actually acting (or even being) sick.  Last night at dinner he was 102.9, flushed and glazed over and completely listless, so we decided to keep him home today.  Bath and early to bed and then he slept in an extra two hours this morning.  He woke with a bounce in his step today, as though he had been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card.  When asked about his health he proclaimed that he felt great and wondered what fun we could make of the day.  He thought perhaps we’d go to camp, or see a movie, or go for a run on the track.  Just a few suggestions, Mom. 
Instead of such fun things we kept it calm: drop Emma at school, ride in the cart through the grocery store, read a few books, pick Emma up from school, eat a quiet lunch, and play a few games of Pac Man.  Throughout the day’s activities he kept on a smile and kept up a constant stream of chatter, giving me anecdotes about his school days, letting me know his new favorite super heroes and ideas for Halloween costumes, and reading me the advertisements from each and every grocery display.  it was the first time we had each other all to ourselves in such a long, long time.  I’ve been missing you, he said.
When Emma was home the two went upstairs to play Pac Man, and the house filled with their laughter and squeals of delight.  They played for an hour, giving each other tips and hints for the best mode of play, and then compared notes from their respective new classes and schools.  From my perch beneath the stairs I got to hear all about the key players in their new school lives: who causes trouble and means it, who is accidentally always in the wrong place at the wrong time, who can kick the ball the furthest, and who the emerging best friends might be.  It was the best playtime they have shared in months.  Harrison, you are the very best brother, she said.  I know, he said right back.
The truth is, we all needed his day off.  Real school, Kindergarten, is no joke.  It is busy and stressful (good and bad stress) and there is so much for him to take in that by the time we get him back each afternoon he has nothing of himself left to give or share.  He is often grumpy and we are more than likely overwhelming, eager to have him back, so that an atmosphere of off-ness consumes the rest of our afternoons.  I have missed him so much, the sunshiny, well-rested, happy to go along with whatever I have planned version of himself.  So much for being sick, but I am so grateful for this day, for this chance to reconnect.

So Happy Together

  
When I was a little girl my grandparents had one of those old record players that was more of a sideboard than music making machine.  It took up half of their living room and the inside was lined in soft red felt.  Tucked inside were albums left behind by my father and his siblings, plus a few beloved by my grandmother…Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton come to mind.  I spent countless hours listening to the slightly scratchy sound of record revolving beneath needle, singing, badly I am sure, you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run.  Those records were the soundtrack of my early childhood, the songs I sang while swinging and roller skating and playing dolls on their front lawn.

My very favorite album was a 45 by The Turtles: So Happy Together.  I cannot imagine how much I annoyed my grandparents by listening to that record over and over and over again.  I remember so clearly the feeling of singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and twirling around and around in the space between my grandmother’s rocking chair and the record player, making myself dizzy with motion and high ideals for my future.  So happy together!  For a child of divorced parents the idea that love could last, that people could be happy together for the long haul, was captivating. 

Fast forward nearly three decades and I still know all of the words to that song.  I sing it in the shower when no one else is listening and I still believe in those high ideals.  Love can last.  My past bumps into my future and I have just celebrated 11 years with the man who helps me believe, every day, that anything is possible.  I know now that love takes work, that the happiness we achieve is special because we are both invested in it and we both want to move forward side by side.  We can be happy together because we are partners on the same team. 

The song was right, the lyrics were true: 

I can’t see me loving nobody but you

for all my life

when you’re with me

baby the skies will be blue

for all my life

me and you

and you and me

no matter how they tossed the dice

it had to be

the only one for me is you

and you for me

so happy together

I love you, Brendan.  Thank you for making so happy together possible.

Editing

The problem with having lived in seven different places over an eleven year marriage (I even left out a few of the shorter stops in our adventure) is that when you finally settle down into the house that you believe with all your heart is “the one”, your furniture, acquired among four states for houses and apartments that span the styles of at least ten decades, might not fit.  And when I say it might not fit, I mean it both literally and figuratively, as in the sectional sofa that would be perfect for our den/family room in the attic, but won’t budge up even the first half of two flights of stairs, or the mid-century modern swivel chairs that are just all wrong in your Victorian era house.  I think we have an eclectic style and we’re able to make many, if not most, pieces work somewhere in our home, but there are pieces that we treasure and adore that just do not make a good fit in this house, in this space.  And if this space is “the one”, then maybe those pieces aren’t the ones.

My beloved swivel chairs that came from my Grandmother and Grandfather’s house have been sent along for a new life at my brother’s new house, along with a table my Grandfather made to go with them.  They are fantastic chairs, but they will have to be fantastic over there, rather than here.  The sectional sofa is also going to have to find some new fannies to enjoy its comforting folds,   since it eats up all of the light and space in our formal dining room turned family room.  I dream of a white slip-covered, apartment sized sofa and a spindly rocking chair for that space.  Also on the potential chopping block are three armoires, an extra twin bed, a red vinyl wing-backed chair, and a sideboard.  I am not convinced that any needs to go - yet - but I am learning that it is ok to edit, to scale back what we have so that our house continues to feel airy, with breathing room and space in which to dance with our little ones.  While I believe that our living spaces are meant to evolve around our lives, I also know that we cannot hold onto everything forever.  For the first time I am trying not to stow pieces in the garage and basement for the future perfect house in which to use them,  because I think we are here, in our perfect house, already.

Progress Report

“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”  -Madeleine L’Engle

How true is that?  And it goes for houses, too.  I know, because I spent my day up close and personal with the trim in our kitchen, painting  over 110 years’ worth of paint, dings, puppy claw marks, shoe scuffs, nail holes, and various other indentations and marks from the lives lived between these walls.  A fresh coast of white paint (over the blue paint that was there - I did not paint over any wood trim…yet) gives the old a new look, but keeps the character intact.  Perfect! 

We’ve been a year in this house, in the this little city, and we’re a wee bit tired.  Sometimes I feel as though we’ve accomplished nothing, but then why so tired?  Ah, then I remember all of the little things that add up to make one year’s worth of work on an old house and I am justified in my exhaustion.  My happy exhaustion, mind you.  I'm going to go put my feet up in my ever-so-calming living room with a glass of wine, and leave you to peruse our list of accomplishments.  It seems we have gotten something done, after all.

• Refinished second story hardwood floors
• Installed high efficiency gas powered furnace
• Painted H’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Painted E’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Painted formal living room (removed ugly/not original chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Repaired floor of third story bathroom, installed new vinyl flooring
• 1/2 painted third story bathroom (needs one more coat)
• Painted powder room (removed wallpaper and chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Attempted to have ducts cleaned (shall we all have a laugh over this one?)  Then vacuumed them out ourselves and dislodged many years’' worth of accumulation from previous owners’ triplets’ duct.
• 1/2 painted kitchen walls, trim, and ceiling (we’re getting there, slowly but…slowly).
• Chopped down one of the apple trees.
• Moved five hydrangea bushes from the front landscaping to the backyard
• Removed wood plank landscaping border
• Installed new landscaping (perennials) and re-shaped the front garden beds. 
• Removed old screen door and installed a new screen/glass door at front door. 
• Had roof re-slated as needed and had all metal roof parts painted red…which will go with whatever color we paint the house in the future.
• Removed the awful, old television antennae.  Hooray!
• Installed new garage doors in a carriage style, more in-keeping with the age of the house.
• Re-stained the Rainbow System playground.  It seems lame to include this but it took an entire week of steady work.
• 1/2 painted the master bedroom and attached office
• Installed a new pool fence and pool cover (stretchy kind with an elephant in the ad)

Poor Puppy

This little one is quite sick, in the veterinary hospital for a second night tonight.  We’re sitting home, hoping and praying for her recovery with the knowledge that she is in very good hands.  Please keep your fingers crossed with us, won’t you?