Photo: Dear Playroom, I miss you. I hope spring comes early so that way I can banish the toys from the living room and you can be full again. Can you do me a favor and somehow insulate yourself? That would be really great for the team. Thanks! Love, Kyra.
Major got a cut on his toe yesterday. Probably stomping on a lego or something… those things have absolutely taken over my life… anyway, he got this cut on his toe. Not enough to bring him any pain, but enough for him to bleed, which alerted him to it. I cleaned up the wound and, because of its location, decided it needed a bandaid.
“A bandaid?” The child was sincerely alarmed. He snatched his precious foot away from me, tucking it under his behind.
“Yes, a bandaid. I don’t want blood all over my floors.” (This is partially true. The other truth is that we have ancient hardwood floors that I do my best to keep clean but… well… it’s impossible.)
“You washed away the blood! No blood on the floor! I don’t need a bandaid if the blood is gone, right?”
“Yep. It’s about keeping it clean. You’re getting the bandaid.” I got up to go upstairs to get the dang bandaid.
The child started wailing. Not a sob of sorrow, not a yelp from pain. This was just noise for for show.
I huffed: “What? What’s the problem? It doesn’t even hurt!”
“Boy, no they don’t. What are you talking about?”
“They hurt when you take them off! I don’t want it because it’ll hurt when you take it off!”
“Baby, are you crying about pain that you think you may experience a few days from now?”
He paused to interpret meaning, but then nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes! It’s going to hurt!”
I rolled my eyes, then went to get the damn bandaid. He needed the bandaid! He thought about maybe fighting me when I put it on him, but then he stopped and we got it on. “See? No pain. No big deal.” I gave him a kiss and he was just freaking fine.
I’m using this story as the intro to my Quiet Thoughts this week because I was totally Major on Tuesday night and most of the day Wednesday. The $10,000 education bill is really on my mind. It’s so much. Are we really going to pay this money? What about all of the other things that we had planned for the year? The painting of the kitchen? The big nursery make-over? The Husband and I were dreaming out loud about going up to Portland for a weekend sometime this year (we haven’t had a couple’s vacation since before Minor was born) and we need to buy a new car. Those are just the big tickets, but there are so many small tickets: can we afford swim lessons this summer? the pass for the pond like last year (what if Mom doesn’t want to help out with that this year?)? Does this wipe out the possibility of camp or other lessons this summer (in other words, am I looking at yet another summer of Camp Mama without anything else? No breaks?)?
“This is gonna suck. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. What if we don’t do full-day? What if we just do the half-day and save the money?”
My husband looked at me like I had three heads. “This is priority number one. This is what we’ve been working for. We’ll make it work.”
I’d let myself cry over a bandaid that wasn’t even on yet.
I’m still sorta crying. I’m scared. Not because this education is going to bankrupt us. We aren’t in danger, this isn’t a crisis… but because I thought that this upcoming school year was going to be the year of less expense. I thought, maybe, that next year we could start feeling like we are getting ahead or at least normal.
There will be difficult decisions ahead. Just as Major is going to have to prepare himself for a tugging sensation and a possible sting (which may not even happen!), I’m going to have to do the same: the boys need new beds and mattresses, but probably not the one I’d like them to have. And maybe we won’t be able to create a reading nook for them this year. Maybe we won’t be able to paint their room or the kitchen this year. Maybe we have another summer of the pond but no lessons. Camp Mama for one more summer. It wouldn’t be so bad… we got along ok last year…
Either way, we know what we have to do, we know what we want to do and we have no other choice but to execute. Thoughtfully. Knowing that the landscape with pitch and shift as we make decisions and encounter their consequences. No use fretting in January about a potential September problem.
I’m reading poetry thanks to The Modern Idiot and that is helping with my writer’s block. She convinced me to purchase an anthology of world poetry, and I’ve already found some beautiful lines. I’m not an expert, but I’m becoming a fan. Mental aerobics for the out-of-shape brain. 🙂
It is a cold Friday and rain is coming to Massachusetts. Rain, not snow, so I’m typing with a smile, looking forward to a cozy night of care-free sleep. My house is warm, my boys are happy, my day is ending and my weekend will be long. There are so many things to be grateful for, Dear Reader. I hope that you have a small list of your own. I wish you time to do some work: tidying up your space, putting something sentimental up on your wall, re-arranging this or that to make your space better. I wish you the opportunity to write down some thoughts that have been rattling around in your brain. I hope that they are happy or insightful, something to tuck away for a later time. I wish you warm socks and warmer coffee (or tea) in the morning, a crackling fire if you’re lucky, a popping radiator if you’re like me, or maybe a blast of hot air from the vents if you’re modern and fancy (oh, but it’s just not the same!). I wish you a dream of the person you’d like to be someday, a smile at the person you see in the mirror and some forgiveness for the person you once were. Guess what, Dear Reader? All three of those people are loved and worthy. Isn’t it wonderful?
Until Monday, Dear Reader, take care.