Last year at this time I was mentally preparing to go back to work after spending a year at home with Junior. It was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made. For old time's sake, I took a stroll down memory lane. If you'd like to join me, I offer this.
Despite all the things that have changed in a year—Chuck getting laid off, Junior learning how to talk (incessantly)—there are things that haven't changed. I'm still pissed off most of the time (maybe it's time for a kickboxing class or yoga), and we still live in Mulletville.
Last night, though, as I was walking around the neighborhood with Junior, I decided to try to focus more on the positive. Even though I'm afraid to leave my downstairs windows open at night because we were robbed by a crackhead (minor detail) and every bump makes me jump, there's a historic green within walking distance, and a park nearby with a pond (everyone loves a good pond). We don't spend much on eating out because our only options are Wendy's, the 99 and Fred's Fry Shack. We rarely sit in traffic. We're far enough and close enough that in-laws can visit; they just need to make a phone call before hopping in the car.
We live by a beautiful stone church and hear church bells all day. All.Day. When there are weddings, I am reminded of all the ways friends and families celebrate their love for each other and hope for the future. I've been really successful at not yelling, "Don't do it! Run!" When there are funerals, I am reminded that we are here for such a short time. Seriously, a blip.
One night, a few weeks ago, I walked Junior up to the church door to admire the flowers. A priest appeared. Italian accent; like something out of the movies. He touched Junior's head and blessed him.
Now, I'm not an overly religious person. I believe what I believe and I'd prefer to keep that to myself, but I often look back at that moment. Blessed on a walk. Sure we had to step over some crack pipes to get there, but it was a touching moment. And remember, this post is a half-ode.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.