September, 2005
This fall, after 15 years since becoming a mom, my last child finally entered kindergarten. I was now looking at six to seven hours of unadulterated freedom. No one to hold me accountable. As long as there are clean clothes to wear, food on the table and junk put away I’m home free. Then it hit me. I only had about thirty hours to get that all done. So much for unadulterated freedom. Maybe it should be called adult-rated freedom. Doesn’t matter anyway. Two weeks after school began, Mike decided to leave his current job to pursue other interests. This meant my domain was no longer mine.
At first I was excited. Yea! My husband around all day! With no kids! Hmmmm. I could think of a few things I’d like to do with that situation… Then fear struck. I’ve heard the stories from the wives of recent retirees. I could picture him sitting around all day while I worked circles around him. I would be J-E-A-L-O-U-S. And mad.
But then the first day of his arrival came and I realized reality was different than I thought. What if HE were the one working and I wanted to sit around reading or talking on the phone? Whoa. Now we’re talking some serious intrusion. Was I supposed to look busy all of the time? Would he be judging me like I would him? It’s one thing to come home to a messy house and have to be aware of it for only a couple of hours before bed. Would he get ticked off if he had to live in it all day?
And then it happened. He didn’t like my piles. Granted, they were on his desk. But they were piles. Neat piles. Well, semi-neat. With only an occasional bill lost therein. Most of the time I knew what was in them. I had first moved into his office so that my piles wouldn’t be seen from the front window (which is where my desk is). Plus my space was shared with the kids’ piano so I was limited as to when I could work. His was a quiet corner off the bedroom. It worked fine for nine years. I had it in the day and he had it at night when he came home. As long as I pushed my piles to the side. But now he wanted his desk back.
After a few days he started saying maybe he should get an office elsewhere. That was insulting. Were my piles so bad that he couldn’t work around them? Was I too noisy as I went about my daily tasks?
There was no more ignoring the fact that the piles (mind you, not all created by me…) were multiplying. My house had gotten out of control. Have you ever had one of those moments when you can’t move forward until something else is accomplished first? Maybe it’s a throwback to my protestant “work before play” mentality. Or it’s the “no dessert until you’ve finished your dinner”. Now that I had acknowledged the situation, I couldn’t ignore the piles to work on my newsletter. I couldn’t ignore them to cook dinner. And it was more than the piles. As I looked around I saw cupboards and drawers in chaos. It paralyzed me. I either needed more hours in my day or a lobotomy so that I didn’t care.
In our old home, the dining room was the kids’ playroom. You walked through it every time you went to the kitchen. So with every pass, I’d clean up a little. But since moving into our current home, the playroom is now the basement and, if I plan my day right, I never have to walk down there. I’ve chosen this path of ignorance for the last four and a half months. I venture only upon necessity and then with fear and trepidation. Toys have crept upstairs and they breed in the corners. Occasionally, when confronted, I’ve barked at the kids to clean up. But now, thanks to Mike’s presence, it’s gotten to the point where I cannot ignore it. I must clean. I must organize. I must go through, toss out, relieve my stress - less the levy of my wrath be breeched.
There really isn’t much else that grates at me like a messy house. Sometimes I wish I were as equally concerned about my spiritual life, that I couldn’t move forward, that I would be stuck in neutral until I had read the Word and prayed. I know there are people out there who feel that way. For me, it is still a discipline, coming out of the will rather than an inner gut-wrenching necessity.
It’s good to have Mike around. One reason is that he is one of those ones who can’t move forward until he’s spent time with God in the morning. I like that. Another reason I like him around is that, frankly, I’m proud of my man. It is a frightening thing to venture into a new arena. Yet to watch him take courage and move forward out of his comfort zone is a testimony to me. I also like the fact that working out of the house means he’s wearing shorts and t-shirts instead of shirts I have to starch.
So while Mike is off on his new adventure into the field of agriculture, I, too, am moving out of my box - first, with this newsletter, and a week ago with my first official speaking engagement. (It helped that it was with ladies that love me already from my own church). I hope to also be of a great support to Mike. It’s scary to put yourself out there where others can step on your dreams. But Mike is going forward. And I am too. After I clean the basement.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
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