You Ask a Lot of Questions

And then there are the nights when you wake up to your husband poking your foot with his foot and he’s whispering across your sprawled and sleeping son that it’s six in the morning and you panic slightly because you fell asleep at 8:30 putting your son to bed despite your efforts to stay awake. (It’s actually not quite midnight. He has a storied history of announcing the wrong time in his sleep).

Not that falling asleep putting your son to bed is all that rare, but it’s more disorienting than usual when you’re in your sister’s guest bedroom because, for the second night in a row, you can’t sleep at your house because many of your belongings are stacked up in your kitchen because a company was supposed to come install new floors in your family room and dining room and upstairs hallway and downstairs bathroom on Tuesday but failed to do so because allegedly the truck carrying your flooring materials and its driver went rogue and disappeared into thin air. Fortunately the carpet installer from the same company did manage to show up, although he came alone despite the vast quantity of massive furniture to be moved out of the way in your three bedrooms. Somehow he did it by himself and he worked his tush off for nine hours to get it all done and is beautiful so you gave him a big tip. Do you even tip carpet installers?

So even though the bedrooms are carpeted you can’t sleep at home because the upstairs bathrooms are filled with objects that were in the bedrooms or in the hall and the hall floor still needs to be replaced and they’re going to have to shove those bookshelves and cubbies and your daughter’s camp trunk that hangs out there into the bedrooms so you can’t really reassemble the bedrooms yet. And your lovely new closet is overflowing with books and assorted items that were sitting onto it husbsnd’s nightstand or collecting dust under the bed and you cannot reach the clothes hanging toward the back which you need to wear for work without knocking over some of the carefully assembled piles. And when you are trying to pack overnight bags for your kids you have to hunt room by room for the trash bag of their hats and gloves because it’s supposed to snow tomorrow and when you were packing up for the floor installation it was 70 degrees so you didn’t think ahead to keep tabs on the winter accessories.

All this floor business is because of the water damage that happened now three months ago but it’s taken you a long time to solve this particular part of the problem because you knew it would be a huge hassle and low and behold it’s been a humungous hassle (approximately 10 times more aggravating than a huge hassle) but still, you know, first world problems.

Much like the first world problem of losing your iPhone in a thunderstorm and searching for it and your husband searching for it and your daughter’s martial arts teacher searching for it and becoming convinced it washed away into the sewer and going to buy a new one two days later (in a process that takes nearly two hours in part because of a belligerent and intoxicated customer who is trying his best to attract the attention of all the store employees and apparently had come in daily to do so until they threatened to call the police and he exited quickly saying, “I’m a Black man! I don’t want the police!). And then someone finds your phone and it is returned to you and seems to be working fine and you gave to figure out how to get some money back for it since you’re now paying for two phones. Again, the very nature of a first world problem.

Now it is dark and quiet and your sister and brother-in-law and nephew and husband and so and daughter are all sound asleep but you are not since you fell asleep at 8:30 and there are just a few things on your mind.

It’s a terrible and relentless cough and Zeke is miserable. I think it’s croup again. Tonight before bed he was just wailing in despair. He didn’t want his stuffed animals. He only wanted to snuggle under the blanket with me and rock in the glider and for me to hold his feet. 

When I thought he was asleep I laid him down in the bed. He sat back up. I asked him what was wrong. He made some indecipherable noises. I urged him to use words. 

He said, “I want my friend!”

“Your animals?” I offered. “Mimi?” (The cat). “Uh Oh Dog?” (The dog).

“No!” He cried. “Zoe!”

“You want Zoe? Ok, I’ll go get her.”

So I ran downstairs to summon Zoe. 

Often all Zoe wants to do is collect hugs and kisses from her brother. Rarely does he oblige. 

Zoe returned upstairs with me and sat down on Zeke’s bed. “Do you want me to sit with you?” He nodded. She said, “why don’t you lie down?” And gently eased him back to his pillow. She tucked the blankets back over him and laid down between him and the wall, wedging herself carefully into the space so as not to disturb him. She rubbed his back for a while. She smiled at me and asked if he was asleep. I nodded and she started to sit up. He opened an eye and raised his head slightly. She lay back down beside him and I covered her legs with a extra blanket. She rubbed his back some more. She stroked his hair. She lightly kissed the top of his head. She put the extra blanket on top of him and gave him one more kiss before climbing down out of his little bed. 

At 4:41am Zoe came in to our room and stood by my side of the bed and asked me to tuck her back in because she had just had “a slightly bad dream.” I walked her back into her room and helped her rearrange the blankets. She turned on the Muppets Christmas cd on her iPod at low enough volume so as not to wake Zeke, but loud enough that I could still make out the reassuring Muppet singing when I returned to my room. Zoe’s wall is on the other side of our closet, which is currently completely empty (including floor and most of the drywall) because of recent water damage. For some reason I could not get back to sleep. Perhaps because I fell asleep while putting Zeke to bed at 8:30. Even after I laid him down, I was so groggy that I then fell asleep on the floor in the hall outside our bedroom door. Randy tried to wake me up but I was confused and I think I said something rude to him (sorry, babe) and lay there for a while until I could rouse myself to brush my teeth and take my vitamins and fall into bed.

So this morning at 5 I was wide awake, thinking of things undone. Not that it’s unusual to lie in bed and think of things undone, but since today is Christmas Eve, there is more than usual to do, and I’ve just been in denial. A month ago yesterday my mom had a stroke, and continues to deal with expressive aphasia. Our family life has been disrupted, to put it mildly. We are immensely thankful that she didn’t suffer more severe consequences from the stroke, but I would be lying if I said things were back to normal. Meanwhile, we experienced the aforementioned water damage, which has caused us to basically rearrange our house while the crisis was resolved. The real repairs have not yet been done, so we are still in a state of disarray, although we’ve tried to make it as liveable as possible, even though we will have to rearrange it all again once we get a contractor in to fix the ceilings, build a new closet, and install new flooring throughout the house. So this is a nuisance, to be sure, but I think I’ve been less worried about it (although still annoyed) because relatively speaking, the house issues shrink in the shadow of more meaningful issues like my mom’s health.

A few weeks ago in church the service [scroll down to sermon archives and select December 13 if you want to watch] was about our church delegation’s trip to Guatemala to spend time with people there who have endured decades of oppression, abuse, and marginalization at the hands of their government (trained by the US) and international corporations (based in the US). The altar and the entrance to the sanctuary were surrounded by cardboard boxes bearing the addresses of locations in Guatemala where human remains of persecuted people have been rescued from mass graves. Forensic technicians, who Rev. Aaron aptly called angels, are working to identify the remains to return them to their families.

Suffering seems to come in small, medium, and large right now and each example may shift to a different category depending on what else happens. My mom’s stroke relegated the water damage and resulting chaos in my house to medium because aphasia is LARGE. But Guatemala, the recent anniversary of Sandy Hook and the colossal, wasteful spectre of violence looms even LARGER. And regardless of the size of the problems, they all need to be addressed. I still had to figure out how to make dinner for my family when the light fixture in our kitchen was out. Randy has been replacing bulbs all over the house, including those CFLs that are supposed to last seven years but certainly don’t in our house. Yesterday we got a new toilet and a new flange (more expensive than you’d think!) because when the plumber took out the old toilet he discovered the flange was rusted through. No, we don’t want sewer gasses seeping into our house, thank you. This year we’ve had to replace all kinds of stuff, and we just hand over our credit card again and again. But at the same time, we are alive and free to live our lives basically however we want. We are not oppressed, or threatened by the government that we or our loved ones will be arrested, imprisioned, tortured, or killed because we are trying to defend our land or keep our community from being poisoned.

Everybody has something they’re dealing with. Divorce, illness, a terrible job, isolation, grief. I hear a lot of these stories lately, from people I love. Also it’s been raining here all week. But we did put up a Christmas tree. Zoe and I put on the lights and most of the ornaments ourselves one night while Randy was putting Zeke to bed. We saved some of their favorites for them to put on the next day. And all of us worked together, or in pairs, to put up Christmas lights outside our house on the night of the Winter Solstice. We are making our small contribution to drive out the darkness and the gloom with little colored lights. We’re just leaving them on all the time because we need that little bit of illumination.

We didn’t do an advent calendar this year, or put together a gingerbread house. We didn’t make latkes or play dreidel but we did celebrate Hanukkah (and I did make latkes for my book club). Zoe arranged all her nativity sets on the mantel and hung the stockings with care. We do have presents, although I haven’t wrapped a single one yet. We did make cookies, thanks to my aunt’s initiative. We haven’t finished the Christmas letter yet, but I did write my mom’s portion, based on her sketchy instructions. We did buy and wrap Christmas presents for kids in need through our church’s tree. Some kids in DC and Arlington will have happier Christmases. I bought Target gift cards for families at Zoe’s school who needed a little extra help. We make a lot of charitable gifts in honor of our family members at Christmas. Tomorrow they will open envelopes with cards that say some homeless pets or homeless people or children in Haiti or children in the hospital were helped because of donations we made specifically for them. So this is what I can do. Christmas isn’t cancelled, even though it’s not exactly the Christmas we had in mind.

I think what I really need to do is have a family reading of How the Grinch Stole Christmas today. I need a reminder from the Whos down in Whoville.

Welcome Christmas. Bring your cheer,
Cheer to all Whos, far and near.

Christmas Day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to grasp.

Christmas Day will always be
Just as long as we have we.

Welcome Christmas while we stand
Heart to heart and hand in hand.

 More leaves blanket the

Ground than linger on the trees

No going back now 

The mice, wanted dead or alive. Wanted out of the house.

The overpriced cleaning of the utility closet deluged with mouse poop.

Careful inspection every time a black speck is spotted on the floor. Usually it is lint, or mulch. Only occasionally, poop.

The lice, unwanted but oh so tenacious.

$100 worth of prescription lice killer. The combing and combing and combing of the hair.

Llama llama, anxious in his red pajamas.

Dora, learning to use the potty. Press the button to hear it flush!

Even superheroes have to go to sleep sometime.

The light sabers made of pool noodles, purple and yellow: “Are you ready to fight? Me want to fight!”

The catalogs, filled with toys. The letters to Santa. The objects of desire. The lack of any empty space in our house.

The glue, all over your brand new winter coat: “What’s all over your coat?” “Glue.” “How did it get there?” “I don’t know.”

Things to recycle, freecycle, donate, give away, purge. The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up.

Removal of dust and lint from hidden ducts and pipes. The secret fire hazard. The reminder of all the other secret hazards lurking within your house.

The assignment that hangs heavily over my head, seemingly impossible to complete. The question about why I agreed to do it. The answer: money.

The joyful morning spent helping struggling readers to decipher, understand, and maybe even learn to love words and the sentences. The payment for this: minimal. For four hours, I earned less than my hourly professional rate. But it was fun.

The stacks of enticing books, unread for weeks as I panic about my undone assignment.

The wrapping paper ordered, the wreath ordered, the dinner eaten out for the school fundraisers. The food drives. The PTA. The soccer. The make-up games. The snacks. The pick-ups and the drop-offs.

The patches to be stuck on (we don’t iron here) to the Brownie sash. If only we knew where the Brownie sash was.

The FitBit. The 4,643 steps remaining to make my daily goal.

The leaves, blanketing the ground. The trees, missing their leaves.

The sun, escaping with increasing impatience from my day.

In my mind there is a balance, with which I am constantly trying to weigh unequal things against each other. Two weeks ago on one side was the horrible, senseless, preventable deaths of 10 students at Umpqua Community College–just a fraction of the gun violence in our country this year because we lack the courage or compassion or common sense to put an end to it. On the other side that night was a delicious meal of roasted pork and red potatoes that I had made in the crockpot for the first time.

There is gratitude that I am joining new communities, like the covenant group I met with last night, which I am co-facilitating. The group is designed to help people get to know themselves and each other better, and I was stunned by the candor of the participants, and their willingness to listen with quiet empathy. And then there are the times when I feel excluded, wishing I fell more easily into circles or relationships where you always know you’re going to be genuinely welcomed, that you’re not intruding, where you know what treat they’d most like from the bakery, and you don’t hesitate to ask for help because you know it will be freely given.

Of course there is the moment to moment dichotomy of colossal love for your children and awe at their development–Zeke just started to say “I love you” to us completely unprompted, and there’s pretty much nothing better than that. His language skills and vocabulary are thrilling. Tonight Zoe said we were going to have pancakes for dinner when she meant pizza, and Zeke said, “You were just joking!” He says please and thank you of his own accord and will eat anything you put in front of him. And then there are those moments when he hits us with a stick or a remote control or throws a plastic shovel across the playground at the boy who wouldn’t let him cross a line of acorns he was creating in the sand, or when he keeps running when I yell “Stop!” or melts, boneless, into the mulch, when I say it’s time to go.

There is the leak under the kitchen sink that we have already had fixed several times. Right now there are layers of wet newspaper on top of rotted cardboard until I get around to calling a plumber. The cleaning supplies are clustered in a corner of the kitchen. There is the back panel of the dryer drum that needs to be replaced because a tablecloth accidentally included in the laundry melted onto it. But then again, the dryer still works in the meantime, and we have mountains of dirty clothes to keep testing it. We have endless clean water flowing from our faucet and a sink full of dishes on which we enjoyed good food.

There is the sacred and the profane. The Syrian refugees and those who are welcoming them and providing sanctuary and those who are arresting them or turning away. There are delicate, cool fall days. There is sickness and depression and more than enough emotional and physical anguish to go around. There are weddings and new beginnings and the messiness and embrace of family. There is Zeke approaching Zoe at the end of an evening where everyone was dancing in celebration of a marriage, saying to her, “Zuzzy–dance?” and dancing so joyfully with his big sister. And she was so delighted to dance with him. There are mice in our house–again. Tonight while I was reading in the family chair I saw one emerge from under the sofa, look around, and dart back underneath.

There is sleeplessness. There are naps. I have a lot of work to do and I am painfully behind in doing it, which is not really like me and uncomfortable and embarrassing. But I am thankful to have work and so happy that I’ve been working for myself, doing what I love, for 10 years now. I know I am lucky to have a vocation that I identified 33 years ago and I’ve been pursuing it every since.

I have been struggling with this idea that I am always seeking equilibrium that is impossible to achieve. My head and my heart so often see-sawing up and down, so easily weighed down or lifted up.