Simplicity

Some days we long for "the simple life", especially when ours seems so frenzied and frantic.  Coordinating the family’s schedule makes us long to hire a manager, and we don’t know how we ever lived without smart phones and multiple Google calendars.  We drive our children on a daily safari, trying to pack as much stimulation as possible into their lives lest they miss a possible opportunity.

We have so many possessions we have to rent a storage facility or even buy a bigger house, yet we cling to these things because of their perceived value, turning a blind eye to their true cost. Our children hoard their treasures like a dragon, and getting them to part with their baubles (even if they haven’t noticed them in months!) frequently involves getting singed. 

Even vacations have turned into endurance contests, leaving everyone exhausted and unable to enjoy the family odyssey.  We return home not refreshed and renewed, but even more overwhelmed and exhausted. The knowledge of the imminent trek through the resulting mountains ranges of laundry only adds to our weariness.

Maybe we should take a step back, and peek at what our children find joy in.

Of course some of their ideas are better than others...

The Art of Negotiation

So last week our dishwasher died.  Pretty good timing actually, since for the week we didn’t have one either we had already planned on eating out or only I was in residence.  We finally go pick one up, install it, and promptly go back to our usual couple of loads a day pace. 

And we are left with a box.  A gigantic, pack-up-the-whole-family-and-ship-us-to-Texas size box.   

So Joyce and Marie start brainstorming what to do with it.  And the negotiations begin:

Joyce: “I want it to be a tent, to camp out in.”

Marie: “I want it to be a house, with windows and a chimney.” 

They agree with surprising speed that they will put the box down sideways (so it will be a tent with doors), paint it, and draw windows on it instead of cutting them out.  Next, we cover the outside of the box with a roll of white paper, and bring out the painting supplies.  But before they paint, they argue for at least 10 minutes about what to decorate the house with.  They finally agree to divide up the sides of the box and draw on different ones.

Joyce: “I’m drawing windows on my side.”

Marie: “I’m drawing windows on mine too.” 

Marie then walks around to observe Joyce’s progress, “Joyce!  You didn’t draw your windows right, they don’t look like mine!”  And she promptly fixes what she perceives to be the error…

Joyce: “Marie!  Don’t draw on my windows!  I don’t want them to look like yours, I don’t like how yours look!”  Joyce promptly grabs an eraser and tries to undo Marie’s “help,” while complaining loudly that Marie needs to stop drawing on Joyce’s side.  Marie is just bewildered why anyone wouldn’t want her to help make things conform to her picture of perfection.

And the painting finally commences.  They agree on a color each (different of course), receive their brushes, and begin, all the while commenting on how their side is going to look the prettiest.

Marie peeks at Joyce’s side again.

Marie: “Joyce!  You painted over your windows!  Why did you do that?  That isn’t right.  Look at mine, don’t they look better?” 

Joyce, in a very annoyed tone of voice: “No.  I like mine better.”

So they finally finish painting their respective sides, and impatiently stand there and fidget while watching the paint dry.  All the while discussing how and why each one’s work is superior.  

Their plan is to sleep in the box, so they drag pillows and blankets downstairs and arrange everything.  Before we leave for a lovely evening of adult conversation, I inform their babysitter of their plans, and fully expect to come home and have to carry 40-50 lbs of limp sleeping child upstairs to their bunk beds.  But, upon arriving home before I turn into a pumpkin, she informs me that they both decided to sleep in their beds because the house was too spooky (and I’m sure the hard floor had something to do with it too). 

At least they finally agreed on something.

Friendship

Friends:  Everyone has them.  They run the spectrum from casual acquaintances, to family.  Some beloved childhood friends we haven’t seen or heard from in 20 years, some brand new friends we’re still testing the waters with.  But our friends are the threads that make up the tapestry of our lives.

Each one is inextricably interwoven with a different part of our life.  If we’re lucky, maybe their thread meanders through more than just their initial appearance.  But more often, our friends are linked with a certain phase of our lives.  Like baby food, we have different friends for different stages.  We remember the innocent happiness of childhood play, the awkward discomfort of navigating the teenage years, the heady exhilaration of living on our own for the first time, and friends we shared pregnancy and raising our children with. 

If we’re lucky, we’ll get to reconnect with our childhood friends later in life.  We carry unique memories of them, and wonder if they hold a piece of our past in their recollections.  We feel the urge to see them again, reminiscence together and share our treasure chest of memories, both becoming richer for the experience. 

With some friends we pick up right where we left off.  We may not have seen them in months or even years, our life situations may even be drastically different, but we instantly remember why we were such good friends to begin with.  Others we see again, and discover all that we share now is a friendship from the past.  We may want to explore these new people we are, see if we still want to have a relationship, or simply say thanks for the memories and move on with quiet sadness. 

Then there are those friendships marked by such intensity that we can never completely leave them in the past.  They shared such a vital piece of our lives that allowing them to fade away would be like ripping out part of ourselves.  Sure, these tend to be our romantic relationships, but not necessarily.  It could simply be someone we shared an intense experience with, or who supported us in navigating a rocky part of our lives.  But quite truthfully, we can’t map our journey to who we are today without including this person in the directions.

In our children’s early years their social life is dictated by ours: we make mommy (or daddy) friends whose children then make friends with ours.  But then our children start making friends of their own, without consulting us first, and it’s a bit disconcerting to realize that you now have to arrange playdates  for your child with someone you may not have ever talked to of your own accord.  If you’re lucky, the parents hit it off as well as the children do.  If not, well, it’s a good lesson in politeness.