In Your Living Room

I’ve been thinking rather philosophically about the mundane lately. Namely, I’ve been thinking about my life’s past versus its present and how seemingly incongruous the two are when taken out of context. Tonight, as I cleaned up the thousands of toys scattered about the living room, kitchen, hallway, bedrooms, bathroom and basement, I reflected on how I spend my nights as of late. And I thought to myself, “What was I doing ten years ago at this time?”

My clean up efforts were at Frankie’s bedtime – 7 p.m., which was just about the time I would be arriving home from hanging out with friends, stopping for a quick shopping trip or making an all too infrequent trip to the gym. I would be unpacking my $15, takeout PF Chang’s dinner and debating between laying it out on a plate or eating it sinfully right out of the box. I’d flip through the channels, only to land on the usual Friends or ER. Chandler and George Clooney sure were dreamy. I’d jump on the internet – if I had bothered to pay the ISP bill – to check my email, scan a few match.com prospects and find out what ridiculous stories were on the top of Yahoo!’s Oddest News page. I’d putter around until 10:30 p.m. for the nightly news and then close my night with Jay Leno. I’d lay alone in my king-sized bed with very expensive bedding purchased on a maxed out credit card, and say my usual nightly prayer, “God, I’d really like a boyfriend sometime soon.” For now, I’d snuggle up with a young Cutie and drift away to sleep long after the day had ended for most.

But that was ten years ago, and tonight… Tonight is different. Tonight I’ve thrown together some semblance of dinner, typically one of our three standards: hot dogs, tacos or pasta – all of which can be prepared in less than 10 minutes and cost about $5 to feed all three of us. After four bites of food (all at the same time) and ten pieces thrown on the floor, Frankie declares he is “ALLDA!” (all done) and demands to be released from his highchair. Cutie is busy scanning for droppings beneath the high chair, and continues to follow Frankie in hopes of more food escaping from his pants, shirt, sippy cup, toys, wherever - which is actually quite common. Eventually, Cutie’s old bones give up and he settles down somewhere for a rest, at about the same time when Frankie decides that chasing, kicking, stepping on and otherwise bothering the dog is the most fun game ever. Dennis settles into his dent in the couch cushion, scans the channels and reassures me that there is never anything on anyhow. We trade off between “Frankie, leave the dog alone!” and “Frankie, what are you doing? Get out of there!” Frankie eventually runs out of steam, melts down in a staunch thumb sucking episode and marches straight to his bed when asked, “Are you ready to go night-night?” This is my job, by choice, as I find this time to be the most endearing of my day. It starts with a fresh diaper, new jammie jams and lots of tickling and kissing good-night. Frankie crawls into bed – thumb still in his mouth – and I close the door with a sigh of relief: “Phew, we made it through another day alive.”

I begin to clean up the thousands of toys scattered about the living room, kitchen, hallway, bedrooms, bathroom and basement. I count out and pack six diapers in Frankie’s diaper bag, and mix ½ juice with ½ water in a sippy cup for the sitter’s the next day. I realize we’ve emptied our third gallon of milk already this week, and wonder when I will have time to run to the store in between snow storms. I clean up an assortment of dishes discarded throughout the house. Some are licked clean by either the dog or the toddler – or both in no particular order – and those with food stains can always be attributed to Dennis. I fill up my own water bottle and pack my bag with all the essentials for tomorrow’s lesson plans, certain that I have forgotten something, but I’m just too tired to figure it out right now. I take my vitamin and call it a night at 7:15 p.m. I kiss Dennis good night, search for the remote lost somewhere in our bed and turn on the bedroom TV. It doesn’t matter what’s on, because I am dead asleep by 7:18. With a deep sigh, I drift off thinking about how I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

Ten years ago, I came home each day feeling hopeless, unfulfilled and as if I were being short-changed something better that everyone else seemed to have but me. I whined and complained about being alone, not making enough money and life being too complicated. I was “too this,” “not enough that,” “lacking a few of those” and wanting “more of what she has.” I had a masterfully orchestrated strategy towards taking me on the fast-track to what I was sure my life should be.

Who knew that vision would be trumped by such a simple life? And I’m not complaining one bit.

I never knew the unadorned joy that could be gained by preparing your son’s bag for the sitter’s while thanking God for His abundance – enough money for diapers, juice and warm clothes to keep our boy happy and healthy. How the quality time of eating hot dogs or tacos as a family at home is more fulfilling and enjoyable than any trendy, take-out dinner. And, how comforting it is to have your entire family at home safely and under the same roof each night by 5 p.m. instead of hanging out late at night, seeking a fleeting thrill.

It also made me think of all the friends I had and still have from that time, ten years ago, in my life. How have their lives changed? What’s going on in their living rooms each night? Since I’m so far away from most of you all, I often wonder if we even have anything in common any more, or if we crossed paths when our lives shared common seasons and that time has come and gone. Would we even recognize each other any more? Not what we look like, but what we do? How we behave? How we make choices? How we live our lives. Are there people out there who we are exactly alike now, but don’t have the time to share our lives with or open our hearts to as we muddle through the mundane?

I remind Dennis often – mostly when we’re fretting about bills or illness – that someday, we will look back on this time of our lives and realize that THESE are our best years. These are the days we’ll wish to have back some day and reminisce about at future family BBQs. And yet, since we are so far away from friends and family, these are the times we don’t get to share with many of you, and they will only be OUR days, OUR memories and OUR good times. Perhaps that is what bonds a family together. Perhaps that is what makes a snapshot a memory. Perhaps that is why, at the end of the year when it’s time to write our Christmas cards, we have little eventful to share, yet it’s still been our best year ever.

It’s amazing how our lives, our priorities and something as basic as our routines change over the years. I, for one, appreciate the mundane-ness of what happens in our living room every weekday night. But it makes me homesick, or rather, “friendsick,” and wonder: “What happens in yours?”