We are all in our skins again. Something shifts into place, likely the result of a cascade of events. I breathe more easily when the skip is removed. The stack of stuff for the hard rubbish collection, booked for March, doesn’t bother me. I’m still working on the chicken run. Having calculated carefully and not buying any at the stupidmarket, I feel unaccountably happy and relieved when our box of who gives a crap arrives, and I can stack the colourful rolls of toilet paper on the shelves.
Brown Owl
returns to work this week. Although sad that her holidays have finished so
soon, she seems eager to get back into it. The boys and I adjust quickly to her
lengthy absences five days per week. I allow myself to accept that for Brown
Owl, her work is her joy and her creativity and her social life. I allow myself
to stop feeling guilty that I am different. The niggling rub of feeling as
though I’m not doing enough to keep the family afloat is displaced by the realization
that keeping home and family is an awful lot. I must remember to keep room for
me.
When we
were on holiday in Red Deer, I remember saying to Brown Owl
that the boys and I had a different sense of time than she did. We lacked a
sense of urgency. This caused a lot of clashes, as she tried to hurry us along before
we were ready. We have made these adjustments before. When I announce to Wizard
and Jack that the school routine will start again from Monday, they are
relieved!
I want to
keep my sense of calm and timeliness. I measure my days against my doings, and don’t
overfill them. I remember that some things do take more time than I want them
to; that it’s sometimes necessary to make more than one attempt to solve a problem;
that my subconscious is good at coming up with ideas and innovations, if I
allow myself the time to dream.
We buy a
new bed for Jack. I spend Saturday feeling pleased with myself and setting it
up. Jack loves it. Wizard is marvellously sleeping in his own bed for the whole
night, after a year of musical beds.
Yesterday
Jack accompanies me to the hardware store. It is my fourth attempt to resolve
the lack of a handle for the tap on the rainwater tank dedicated to the garden.
I have consulted several workers from two hardware stores, as well as the Dads,
to no avail, but Jack and I came home with a couple of bits of plastic that finally
work. Eureka! This morning, expecting a 42 degree day, I get up extra early and
water the plants with gorgeously soft rainwater.
My mind is
slowly loosening. The hard knots of tension that I’ve kept hold of and ignored
because I had no space to unravel them, tentatively stretch out tendrils, test
the waters. Plans and ideas begin to take shape.
One of the many
lists in my head is of “things we couldn’t have with family day care”. Among
other things, this includes a trampoline, rose bushes, a dog. A similar list
includes things that were broken or made impossible due to family day care,
like our window blinds. When I dutifully got the cords shortened, to reduce
strangulation hazard, many of the cords became strained and broke altogether,
causing a great deal of difficulty in using the blinds.
I discover that
Jim’s franchise has a section dedicated to blind repairs, and I book the
local franchisee to come and repair our blinds next week. Hooray!
I spend lengthy
periods of time in the fire pit of the front yard, sifting gravel through a
small plastic container, and placing the gravel in two areas in the back yard. The
firepit will become a sand pit, and the sand pit, which is currently outside
the western wall of the Big Room, will be removed, to make way for a trampoline.
We’re still working on the dog.
Jack
requests that we visit the local library. It is a sad place, compared to the
Red Deer Library, where series are massed in their entirety, rather than being
broken up with one volume here, and another in a different branch. I notice
that our bookshelves are in complete disarray, but there are several boxes of
books in storage, so I’ll wait to rearrange them all at once.
The list of
“things in storage” includes the boys’ school uniforms, but I take them to
school and buy them each one shirt and a pair of shorts. The school leadership is
completely new, but we don’t get to meet the new Principal, or her Deputy. I
hope that when we reconnect with the other families, we will feel at home. At
least we know their teachers. I arrange for our stored stuff to come home next
weekend, so they will have to make do with their own hats this week This
morning Jack asks whether he can “start school early”.
Things gradually
regain a familiar shape. When I bring out collections of toys in the Big Room,
Wizard begins to play again. He drags all the mattresses and cushions around
the house, making cubbies to hide in. Another day this week he and Jack and a
friend make a muddy slip and slide on an old tarp in the backyard.
Here’s a story
typical of Wizard, who has been digging in his heels and refusing to leave
home. I tell him during the week that when school starts, this behaviour will
cease, and he will go back to school. Here’s hoping:
Brown Owl
and I buy him a bike on the same day we buy bikes for Jack and me. Wizard takes
one look at the bike and refuses to consider that he might make it his own. He won’t
go near it, let alone sit on it and try it out.
I contact
the seller to ask whether he is open to swapping the bike we’d bought, for a
smaller one. The seller agrees. To sweeten the deal, I offer him two small bikes
we no longer need. I put all three bikes on our super-duper new bike rack and
drive the boys to the seller’s home in Athelstone. We are late, because Wizard refuses
to put shoes on. It takes nearly half an hour just to get him into the car.
When we arrive, Jack and I wheel the bikes up the driveway to the seller’s
front door. The seller shows us the bike he has selected for the swap. I am
slightly concerned we won’t get to choose, but Wizard won’t get out of the car and
look at the bike. So I thank him, put the bike on the rack, and drive home.
When she
arrives home that evening, I tell Brown Owl about what happened. I ask for her
help. Wizard climbs out from the kitchen cupboard he is hiding in while
listening to our conversation, takes Brown Owl’s hand and happily leads her
outside to show her his new bike. A few minutes later, they go for a ride around
the block. Wizard’s disinclination to engage is now ancient history; even irrelevant,
now. He probably wouldn’t deny that he reacted that way, but it might make him
giggle.
