I Want A Do-Over!

Ever just want a do-over? Go back and erase something bone-headed you did? I used to think I'd like to go back and not break my wrist into a million pieces resulting in six surgeries, eleven years of chronic pain, and a wrist that is now fused. But I don't think that's a good idea. (And I probably have seen too many time-travel movies...) Maybe who I am would radically change – maybe going through all that adversity has profoundly shaped my personality for good instead of for bad. (I've always thought of it as a bad event.) Maybe I'll pick a simpler do-over.

I think I'd like to move into my house again. Almost 13 years ago we came from a 760 square foot house into this 1700 square foot ranch with a (weirdly) finished basement almost the same size. We unpacked. Well, mostly. I still have my antique Swedish chest that I've never unpacked, which every time I think of it, I wonder what's in there that I haven't missed in 13 years. I suspect nick-nacks. Not that these thoughts ever lead to actual unpacking.

I don't know how it happened (though I have some suspicions) but our house is overflowing with clutter and the basement, well, let's call it semi-inhabitable. Where you can walk. I'd like to move in again and THROW AWAY A LOT OF CRAP and then make a NO CRAP ALLOWED rule. A place for everything and everything in its place.

I'd also like each member of the family to put their own stuff away, instead of piling it up in places it doesn't belong. Any flat surface that I manage to clear off, instantly sucks in clutter again. I've seriously found that if I DON'T clean off a spot, it can't gather MORE clutter because it would be too precariously perched, so it stays in a relatively stable state of stasis.

Here's a typical example. Boy orders game from Amazon. Boy unpacks game. Boy leaves packaging, receipt, knife, and cellophane on kitchen table. Husband does minor fix-it job. Leaves electrical tape, scissors, and two screw drivers on kitchen table. I'm trying to set table for dinner. First I have to put away all that crap, then I can proceed. (But at least I found a pair of scissors! Those seem to just vanish into thin air...) Ask them to put it away you say? The fix-it stuff would end up on what's supposed to be my telephone table: pad of paper, basket of pens and pencils, and my coupon basket. What's there now? An assortment of tools, glues, and car parts.

Yeah, I said car parts. We have, as many of you know, several (OK, five) old cars. They require maintenance. Car parts come in the mail. Repeat scenario from game coming in mail in above paragraph. Put car part on little table in kitchen. “It's not worth putting it in the garage, I'm about to install it!” Yeah, like, um, next week. Meanwhile, it gets to live in my kitchen?? I don't get it.

I'm fighting an uphill battle. We're all pack-rats. There's one person who feebly, at times, tries to un-pack-rat, but it's such a hopeless endeavor that she usually gives up and goes to procrastiknit. Wouldn't you? Or would you ask for a do-over?

~Tina

SkinnyBoy: You Is Kind, You is smart. You is important.

Feeling blue. SkinnyBoy has moved to Florida. As in our chances of crossing paths again are as slim as he is.

He used to be our neighbor, lived four houses away. He spent as much time at our house as he was allowed, which was pretty much 24/7 in the summers, and during the school year, he'd show up for our carpool almost an hour early to “hang out, I was ready for school.” I fed him breakfast. Made sure he had lunch money or packed him a lunch. His Dad had lost his job even before the Great Recession hit. I know things were tough at his house for a multitude of reasons, so we did what we could to help, though direct help was completely refused. Out of respect for him, let's just leave all that there.

After I dropped him at his house on school days, with his over-stuffed back-pack and french horn, he'd shut the door with a, “See you in a minute!” and would be back at our house almost before I could turn the car around and hit our driveway. He stayed for dinner a lot. Eventually of course he had to go home to do his homework, but so did my boys. Worked out great. Just for reference, my boys are 2 ½ years apart, he's right between them age-wise. He and I share a birthday. With Obama. And Best :-)

I love this boy. A boy of integrity, great work ethic, always cleaned up his dishes and offered to do chores. We pay for chores around here, don't believe in “allowance”. There are of course some “because you live here” chores which don't pay (dishes, laundry, trash, recycling, vacuuming, sweeping) but others do. He did a lot of those. Loving video games as much as my boys, he did those to make any spending “frivolously” possible, I'm sure.

Two years ago they lost their house and moved across town to a rental duplex. That didn't stop our boys who have bikes, he'd just ride over here and knock, just as if he'd run down the hill. Friendship continued almost interrupted.

A month ago he began preparing us all. “My Dad is maybe getting a job in Florida.” Wow. Job great. Florida not so much. Dad got job. He came over to say goodbye while I was in Texas. I didn't get to give that skinny little body one more hug. I didn't get to tell him, one more time, my version of this quote from The Help as Aibileen did Mae Mobley, “You is kind, you is smart. You is important.”

I asked him once why he liked being over here so much. “You're always happy to see me, I know you love me, and it feels really nice to be here.” Hold on to that thought dear boy as your life is about to change. May you find another family that makes you feel that way. Good bye, SkinnyBoy. Good bye.