Consider the Possibilities
We're on a family road trip, which means we all have a bit of extra time to think about life in general. And this is exactly what Adam and I were doing yesterday while Alice slept and Lucy listened to an audio book about a brave young princess who preferred armed combat to magic (obviously the princess had never tried to get stains out of the carpet).
Adam mentioned the he wished he had less responsibility in life. I felt momentarily guilty because lately, I have allowed him to fold and put away all of the laundry. It's meant that I find Lucy's panties in my drawer, but if he's doing laundry and under the illusion I could fit my caboose into those wee things, well, I have nothing to complain about.
Still, it made me feel a bit guilty that Adam is feeling a bit stressed. I am quite familiar with this unpleasant sensation, and if there's one thing I didn't want, it was for both of us to wake up in the middle of the night hyperventilating about things undone.
So I said, "Hey, at least we don't have a boat."
Adam understood immediately. A boat is an insane amount of responsibility. It's expensive, hard to park and potentially lethal.
"We also do not have a Winnebago," he said.
"Or a horse," I added.
After a moment's thought, Adam said, "I'd rather have a boat than a horse." (Perhaps I have not mentioned that Adam has a very wee caboose and finds horseback riding to be excruciating.)
On that point, we disagree. Which is fine. Because until we both agree that we want one or the other of those things, we're simply not getting one. (Even if we do agree, we're not getting one, but that is a source of stress for another day.)
The list went on.
"We also do not have a Vietnamese potbellied pig," I said.
"Or an insatiable need to jump out of airplanes or go hang-gliding," he said.
"Pregnant rabbits. Not a one at our house."
And on we went until we reached our destination. Sometimes, the way to feel better about everything you have to do is to think about what you don't have to do. Parallel parking a Winnebago at the boatyard while my pet rabbit is giving birth is a stressful event I will never, ever experience.
As it turns out, Lucy wasn't listening to her brave (but inexperienced) princess story as raptly as I thought. She'd taken in some scraps of Adam's and my conversation.
"Mom," she said, "nothing interesting ever happens to us."
"What do you mean?" I said. "We're on vacation. That's interesting."
She gave me a look that was one part pity, one part irritation, and one part a reminder that she has another appointment at the orthodontist coming up soon.
"Hopping vampires," she said. "We never see them."
She had a point. I should have added that to the list. I asked her what other things were missing in her life, things that would make things more interesting.
"Well," she said, "if your computer came to life, that would be interesting."
Indeed. And, at my urging, she drew a sketch of my computer with flapping bat wings and monstrous legs made out of letters. As usual, she was making excellent sense. My computer never does such things; in fact of late, it has been acting more like a creature that's about to die.
Lucy also drew a monster under the bed complete with angry eyebrows. We do not have such a creature in our house, but perhaps only because there are so many books, doll heads and shoes under the kids' bed, there is no room.
Her list lamented the sad fact that our lives are devoid of giant spiders; the one in her sketch was approximately the size of 10 Winnebagos, each stacked one on top of the other. Its curving fangs were huge. The pair of them could crush a full-grown man and his laundry basket.
"MONSTERS," she wrote, as if I had somehow missed the theme of her Things Missing from Lucy's Life List.
So here's to princesses who someday grow up and learn the value of magic over armed combat, and who also learn to appreciate the sweetness of life without monsters. And here's to all those years between now and then, complete with fearsome illustrations. As parents we do carry the weight of the world on top of our shoulders. It's nice every now and then to get a good laugh at the monster underneath the bed.
(Martha is on vacation this week, so this is an encore of a previously published post.)
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