“Because being a homemaker isn’t about being extraordinary. It’s about seeing the ordinary in a conscious way. A way that leads to gratitude, joy and understanding. A way that allows me to create an environment in which my family can become more human everyday. If you are moved, I invite you to share your ordinary things by replying below or leaving a link.”
Last week I found myself trying to decide if I should take a child who may or may not have chicken pox to an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon whose job it was to tell us if they needed surgery. This would have been a more straightforward decision had it not been nearly impossible to get that appointment before our move, and more impossible to reschedule it before we packed up that child and moved them to the Land of Out-of-Network, rendering our insurance coverage somewhat useless until September. The POD was supposed to have arrived a few days before, but the driver had refused to deliver it: something about low hanging branches and a too narrow driveway. The long distance house hunt had begun in earnest. And there I was, A Guide to Child Health in hand, staring at suspicious spots on an otherwise healthy child and wondering which compromise held the least risk for all.
“Don’t kids with chicken pox feel really sick? Don’t they get a fever? Or a cough or something?”
“What if they wear a mask? We’ll never get them in if we cancel now. Did you call the doctor?”
“Yes, but he hasn’t called me back. Did you call the POD guys? Get an estimate for a piano mover? Pick up more packing tape? Talk to the Realtor? The lender? The school nurse? Remind the teacher about the AIP diet? Buy the special crackers? Send in a new change of clothes?”
How do we keep the current from crashing us into the rocks and splintering us into can’t-be-put-back-together-again pieces? That too familiar current that rages around us in times of transition. Or, let’s face it, any time it seems like there’s something in the air and the Universe keeps slinging stuff in our direction without letting up?
“Ride the wave,” I told myself at first, but that is not quite right. We might have a better chance of staying upright, but where will the wave take us in the end? Some place we want to be, or, not? A boulder standing firm in a stream? No. Because we all know that as the stream rushes past, it stealthily carries away microscopic bits of stone, until one day, without even realizing it, the boulder is just gone.
It came to me while walking to the mail box, reminding myself that I need to collect our old co-sleeper bassinet from a friend tomorrow and tell the new owner of our house that he’s collecting a small stack of mail on our problematic piano. And taking a lot of deep breaths.
My bare feet, the surf washing over them, in and out, that slightly uneasy sucking feeling as the sand washes out beneath you. Sinking in deeper with every wave. Letting it all come and go. Becoming more deeply rooted in the exact place I have chosen.
“Yes, they’ll need surgery,” but it can wait a few months. Forget it for now. Make the counter offer. Buy more moving blankets. Squeeze in the Well Child Checks. Finish that last paper for school. Be the Tooth Fairy.
“Yes, it’s chicken pox.” Cancel the Goodbye Party. Pack another box between oatmeal baths.
And sink deeper into the sand.