My sleep schedule is messed up, so after I woke up around 6pm (from four hours of sleep), I knocked around the room, tiding up little things and trying to sort out what goes where. We're living in such a small space right now (too small for the things we had when moving in, way to small for even the small number of items we've gathered in the past year) that any attempt at massive reorganizing feels like a maximum difficulty game of RushHour
Get the red car OUT!
My mom was doing her annual birtday puzzle--
--for the THIRD time when I went downstairs to tell her I was wigging out and ask if she had any advice or ideas for dealing with the task.
We talked about my struggles in getting ready for boot camp, both needing to work around DH and without him as he finishes up freelance work. He can't help me right now, and he can't get out of the way. Frustrating!
Mom and I discussed it a little bit, as well as some of the unspoken expectations I have about living in her house, and not being as amazing a steward of the rooms I'm in as I could be. She offered to pick up some boxes for me, and to come help start the process after DH and I get back from our New Year's adventure.
Somewhere in there the topic of conversation turned to the puzzle and Mom's method and enjoyment of putting them together. She always does the border first. It's a respectable way to go about it, and probably the most popular one. Out of curiosity, I asked if she ever worked from the inside out. She hadn't, but after we finished the third assembly of the image, we broke it down, mixed up the pieces,, and started over. From the inside.
It was an unspoken thing. She didn't ask, "Shall we do it again?" or "Will you stay and help?" We just did it. The (61) border pieces were stacked to one side, and we began the sorting pieces and snapping the matching ones together all over again.
Looking back that was a great metaphor for our discussion, which went on for three hours. For the two of us together, three hours of serious conversation is epic. Normally when we're together alone that for long, we're running errands. The puzzle wasn't the only thing to be broken down, I did, too. My well-forged facade broke to pieces and I came apart at the seams.
The collapse wasn't absolute, nothing like hitting rock bottom or revealing anything devastating, but it was significant to show and tell about the family-related wounds I feel. Oddly enough, some of those wounds relate to the puzzle metaphor as a lack of clear and direct communication ("Shall we do it again?") contributed to those wounds.
Suffice to say that, yes, my mom does love me and wants to be supportive of me and my decisions and is happy that I'm going to Tennessee while DH is in boot camp. (And while she is concerned about my financial future, she is happy that I am an artist, too.)
Now it's past midnight, meaning today is December 31 and only 13 days remain until DH departs.
More importantly, today is December 31 and exactly 3 years ago DH and I had our first personal encounter. The last thing my best friend told be before I left was "Don't kiss him!" I didn't that time, but DH will be away for the anniversary of our first kiss, so I'm going to celebrate this one with all my might.
I love you, DH, and these words never do enough to express it. I'm looking forward to another fantastic year with you. I think it'll be the best yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment