Sunday, September 9, 2012

Hamsters and gerbils and fish, oh my!


 
Could someone please get rid of the roosters?  One would think there'd been time, after all, if you've caught, kept, killed and cleaned a large fish you've done worse than what my husband did to that rooster.  But the rest still wander the property and pick up hookless plastic worm fishing lures and utter pandemonium breaks out fighting over the things because we haven't had time to send the rest of the birds to rooster heaven.  The "to do" lists are just too long and the cock-a-doodle-doers (though there are five of them) are not top priority.
 
Ours is a revolving door, opening for work, school, work, errands, work, extra-curriculars, work, life, work, cutting grass, work, laundry, work, cleaning, work, homework, work, repairing blown-up generator, work, fixing blown-up riding lawn-mower, work, fun, work, you get my drift.
 
What I tell myself I want to do is live on that boat you see in that picture up there.  Sell the house, put stuff in storage, pack up the kids and go live.  Live free and open and clear and worry about the big things like making breakfast and watching stars and reading books, laughing, swimming, discovering, dreaming.
 
I know, I know, you don't have to say it, running away doesn't solve anything.  But it's time for some serious change around here.  I don't mean the addition of Miss Tibbles the hamster, Jerry the gerbil and Poseidon the goldfish.  I'm looking for the 'less is more', minimalistic kind of change.  Feet in the sand, head in the clouds, let's go live in a tiny house kind of change.  The tiny house cultural shift--it's our retirement plan and I think I'm ready for it right now.
 
 
 
So I guess I am rolling over and having that great big pity party I said I wasn't going to have, not about my choking experience, but about this place we're in and the pace at which we're going about it all. I don't mean physical place because that's all kinds of pretty and farmhousey and my office is serene and I love my new, ice blue rug I bought for it and I'm starting to get organized in here bit by bit and that feels really good.  People say they ride by our place and think "oh, it looks so nice, so set back in time, so peaceful, like a different world", well that's what they tell me anyway and then I have to wreck their fantasy world and tell them that we're just as stressed out as they are, my husband isn't just a god who fixes everything that breaks and that nobody has a perfect life and ours is full of flaws and our kids do fight just like theirs do and they aren't perfect all the time and lord knows neither am I, my meltdowns are showing up on a regular basis.
 
But amidst all the chaos I have to remind myself how good we've got it.  Run down the list of haves and I sound like a big ol' crying baby to complain about any of it.  It's the pace that has me all withered up and worn.  I look and feel much too tired.  My husband and I see each other in passing and then pass out from exhaustion when we do.  We've done it to ourselves and it's time for some un-doing before I (we) come completely undone.  There's a book by Wally Lamb with a similar title, maybe I should read it.  Maybe in my next life, on my boat. 
 
 
{all kinds of farmhousey}

2 comments:

beth lehman said...

it's our pace at this stage of life, isn't it? that's how i see it. we have less to do than others seem to, and i still find our pace too much for my addled-sit-at-home-have-dinner-together-every-night self. i keep trying to be grateful for what we have, but it's not easy.

Suzanne said...

Oh sweet friend. I so understand and feel it too but just not quite sure how to make it better. I try to reduce the commitments, plans, etc. but we do enjoy going, doing, and having fun. So perhaps we count the blessings as we fold down magazine ideas for that little dream house in the middle of nowhere. And by the way, take your phone with you when you run- we all love you dearly.