Housekeeping

We nearly drove to Seattle this afternoon; we have some passes to the IMAX theater at the Pacific Science Center, and it seemed like a good day for that -- cold and gray and so Novemberish. But in the shuffle to get out the door to gymnastics class, Matt said, “We could just stay home -- I’d be fine with that, too.” I paused for a moment, because I didn’t want the rest of the afternoon to be about stir-crazy kiddos whining about watching videos because it wasn’t quite nice enough to spend the day outside. But only a moment. It might have been a nice day to visit the IMAX theater, but it was an even better day to hunker down at home.

I ran four miles this afternoon. It was cold and windy but I had new music and I felt so good out there, running through the damp streets with the Saturday afternoon traffic pulsing around me. Matt took the kids out for a bike ride while I did that, and they came home red-cheeked and cheerful. We put together an easy dinner with the last of our weekly veggie box, and the companionable closeness -- Matt peeling and dicing turnips while I scrubbed sunchokes, the kids digging out some of their neglected toys in the family room -- is what I love most about these nights when we’re all home together.

We’ve been cleaning out toys, another November ritual. Four years ago, my parents brought out my fabulous Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse for Suzannah, complete with every other Strawberry Shortcake accessory I collected in my girlhood -- probably thirty dolls, plus the trolley, plus the tricycle...I was very pregnant with Isaac at the time, and I hoped that dollhouse would provide some engaging playtime for Suzannah while I was busy with her newborn sibling (or even before that, when I was too tired and cumbersome to be much fun for her. Also, the dolls made nice rewards for using the potty). I remember that house as such a clear part of my own childhood, and I was eager to pass it on to my own children, so it made a welcome addition to our little home. But four years later, both of my children have mostly outgrown it, and our little house just doesn’t have the space for it anymore. After clearing it with the kids, we packed it up and sent it back to my parents via my brother this weekend. It’s a little bittersweet, not so much because I’ll miss the house itself, but because it’s another reminder that my children are growing older, leaving their sweet toddlerhoods behind.

I have to say, though, that I do love that bit of extra space in our family room. It’s still very much a play room, dominated by toy bins and shelves, but man, that house took up some space. (How did we ever fit an exercise bike in here?) We’re also beginning our annual toy purge before Christmas comes. I don’t know how we accumulate so much stuff, much of which I swear we didn’t buy, but whatever, whatever. I love clearing out what we don’t use or need, and the kids enjoy rediscovering toys they haven’t seen in quite some time. They are blessedly cooperative about sorting through and bidding farewell to things they don’t play with much anymore (although this week Suzannah rediscovered this horrible little harmonica she hasn’t played in forever and she refuses to give it up; likewise, Isaac decided he cannot possibly part with a particular wooden toy composed of irritating little blocks that scatter everywhere, even though I’m not sure he’s ever really played with it).

Matt has been at a convention in Las Vegas all week (and has no desire to take us there for a family vacation, it seems, which is fine with me). Naturally, I found myself appreciating what a great team we generally make, although the kids were good to me this week, and we fell into a comfortable groove right away. They were sweet and cooperative, and I’m not sure we even had any real meltdowns. Meals were cooked, stories were read, bedtimes went more or less smoothly. It’s pretty great to feel that my kids and I make a good team, too. What was harder were the little things, like having to stay up late enough on Thursday night to let the dog out one more time even though I desperately wanted to go to bed as soon as the kids went down -- but if I’d let her out then she’d have barked me out of bed at four in the morning. And I don’t sleep well alone. The first night I felt like I’d hardly slept. When Matt is gone, I can’t relax; I prowl around the house checking and re-checking the locks and making sure my children are breathing, and then I crawl into bed and lie there, hyper-sensitive to any sound. If the kids wake in the night (which is rare but still does sometimes happen, especially with Isaac, who is prone to hollering at random intervals that he is thirsty or heard a noise) I am usually the one that hears them first anyway, but when we’re both home I feel pretty easy about it all. When I know it’s all me, it’s harder to relax. It reminded me of those rare nights when I’ve slept in a different room in our house because one of us is sick. Sleeping in a different bedroom, closer to the street instead of the backyard, is rather disorienting; I hear different sounds -- cars driving by on the street instead of the wind in the backyard.

I’d adjusted by the last night and slept fairly well, but I’m glad he’s home just the same. I keep a cleaner house when I’m the one running the show, but I’ll trade that for having my partner to laugh with, to have him floss our daughter’s teeth while I rock with our son, and to be able to reach across the bed in the dark and find him solidly there.