My husband celebrated a birthday Monday. Our good friend John has the same birthday and for years the guys have noted the day together with a round of golf, parties, sometimes cake and almost certainly, beer. Since John and we live 1,600 miles apart these days, a phone call had to suffice.
I joked about a surprise party that I did not throw. We imagined the local characters I could have summoned, as replacements for the friends who, in years past, have always been around to help us celebrate. We said, certainly Tarot Guy from the downtown mall, and the Bosnian fellow with the long hair and beard who is a regular fixture at the Mudhouse. Perhaps the cheerful cart guy at Harris Teeter, the one who always has a nice smile and a pleasant greeting. Wouldn’t that have been something? To walk into your surprise birthday party to be welcomed by all these faces that are so familiar, and yet are strangers? I wish in a way I had the guts.
My firm has a great perk. One Friday a month during the summer, the office closes at noon, leaving us free to cavort in the lovely weather. I planned my week carefully so I could get my work done and still be free to knock off a bit early. I ended up departing around 4pm (so much for noon) determined to grab an hour of “me” time.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my bit of afternoon; had been planning it for weeks. It seems simple but for those of us mantled with responsibilities, it was a delightful fantasy. I wanted to sit in the sun on the downtown mall with a book and an iced mocha. It was, in my mind, the perfect way to unwind, relax and enjoy a few quiet moments to myself.
I descended upon the Mudhouse, ordered my mocha and settled down to a cafe table with my book.
Enter the Charlottesville Valley Girl. This is a breed with whom I was previously unfamiliar. Oh, how I wish it were still that way.
First, she issued several voicemails to friends, via her cell phone, detailing her whereabouts for the weekend. Then, her friend arrived and they loudly discussed their recent dating histories with lots of ohmagawds and can you even believe thats. I tried not to listen. I tried to read. In my fantasy I was going to surrounded by laptop toting intellectuals, old guys playing chess, a few DTM hippies; certainly not the DRAMA of the Charlottesville dating scene.
My perfect afternoon was tainted, but still mildly entertaining, glad was I that I’m so beyond that stage, I’m not even sure I was ever there.
Sometimes, you have to move 800 miles to get a shorter commute. Before we moved, I drove about 20 miles each way to work. My husband drove more than 50 . . . each way. Now I work at home and drive infrequently. He drives 10-15 minutes down the road — maybe seven miles at the most?
And — get this — we’re recycling! Now, granted, I’m still not a believer especially since from my office window I have seen the garbage guys toss the recycling bin contents into the trash can, but we’re definitely putting the stuff out there.
I have also bought organic veggies. I’m rethinking that one a little bit.
All in all, we’re saving gallons of fossil fuels, a side effect of a major life decision we made in October. Aren’t you glad we’re here?
Today, the boy took his drivers’ test.
He passed.
Let us not forget that this was once a small child who held my hand to cross streets. Let us remember that the boy was once dependent on us for everything; clean pants, nourishment, a safe place to sleep. Life flashes: taking him to daycare for the first time; the first day of school; the first time we let him spend the night at a friend’s; his first razor; his first date. In two years we’ll be getting him ready to go to college.
Once I was a young girl with a baby in my arms. Today I see gray hair in the mirror and hand over the keys to this boy, taller than I am by several inches, and stand still, watching him drive away.
With any luck, he’ll keep coming back.
I read Leslie Morgan Steiner’s blog, On Balance in the Washington Post. I usually read it with one squinty eye and my head cocked. I’m not sure I get her messages all the time and I know I don’t totally agree with she-of-the-mommy wars. Nevertheless, I read it and the comments from parents, ranters and other hard working folks.
It’s interesting to me that balance has become the working parents’ mantra. Why just us? Everyone needs to have balance in life, not just those toting diaper bags and Blackberries. Doesn’t everyone have interests that extend outside the cubicle? When did we get so focused on the angst and difficulties working parents face? People have been working and parenting simultaneously long before we were even at the hunter/gatherer stage. In fact, technology and a whole industry of support has made it easier for us to find balance.
I believe the time is there; it just depends what you choose to do with it.
