Why Arguing With the Kids in the Room is OKAY.

When I was younger, my parents fought like their lives depended upon it. An observing anthropologist might have written in a travel diary  "The adult natives appear to actually gain physical energy and sustenance  from battling both verbally and sometimes physically with one another."

I swore, when I grew up my children would never see me argue with my spouse. They would only see the good. The happy. The idyllic.  In short, I was full of shit.

Today, the world pissed in my cornflakes, took a dump in them for added protein and then force-fed them to me while I was being made to watch 'Perfect Cousins' reruns. It was...a challenging day. So, when K came home, I was already full-throttle bitch mode.

K: ...*walks indoors,sets briefcase down*

Me: Hi!

K: Hey, listen, when's dinner ready? Ten minutes, you say? Ok, I'm just going to cut the grass before dinner. 

Me:...(TILT. TILT. TILT! )...Why did you even ask about dinner, then? G'head, cut the damn lawn. I've only got dinner IN THE OVEN and almost ready, but suuuuuuure. 

Now, granted, I kept the curse words to a minimum when D could hear, but she did, in fact, hear us arguing. And you know what? That's ok. Because after a few minutes to cool down, and collect ourselves, she saw this scene, too:

K: Listen, I didn't realize how hard you'd worked to have everything ready when I got home. Let's sit down and have a nice meal. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention.  

Me: I'm sorry, too. It was a long day and I should have been more flexible. 

K: K. We're good? 

Me: We're good. 
K: Rays game after dinner? 
Me: Sure, but oh my God, have you seen their pitching staff lately? May as well watch the Walking Dead. Fewer zombies....

Sure, she does hear us occasionally lose our cool at one another, but she also sees forgiveness. Tenderness. Compassion. We talk to hear about the fact that sometimes grownups disagree and that yes, she's right, we really should use our indoor voices when we're disagreeing. We work hard at being good to each other, but sometimes marriage and proximity and challenges just push you past the point of sanity. 

The important thing is to forgive swiftly, wholly, and honestly. (And to check with each other about dinner first, because seriously, that damn roast took me an hour.) We are all continually learning more about the people we live with, be they old or young. I like to think that D is learning some pretty good things from us, even when we show her our imperfections. 

And The Thunder Rolled...

I'm sitting here, in my quiet little cozy corner of the house. (Cozy being a euphemism for hot and small, but whatever. Glass half full, and all that.)

As I write this, the RainPocalypse has descended upon my neighborhood. Thunder roars as it beckons the rain to slash mightily through the tree lines and across windshields...and here I sit. Safe. Warm. Excited.

I love storms. Always have. There's a cleansing quality about them that can't be replicated by any shower you can ever take. Perhaps it's the unpredictability or lack of control, but storms, they are magical. As the RainPocalypse continues, I can't help but think about what storms meant to me when I was younger. 

They were nights snuggled on the couch with my parents, who rarely even spoke to each other, let alone snuggle on a couch. They were candle-lit walks to the kitchen for snacks because our power always (ALWAYS) went out during a thunderstorm. They were boardgames played by lantern light because OH MY GOD, the Nintendo was out.

It was thrilling and bonding, at the same time. It was extraordinary to see the lightning spider like broken glass above the lake.

It was during a storm that I found my first true love. We sat on a dock in the rain for hours and talked of everything and nothing. We've since lost touch, but I will forever have the memory of that storm tattooed on my heart.

So, as this storm rolls over our house, I'm taken back to nights where life was simpler, safety was a given, and love was earnest and true.

It's amazing how a little water, noise and electricity can do that. 

Corner of Sunshine

We live in Florida- the land of eternal sunshine, as it were. People move here specifically for that reason, though, I confess: I miss the change of weather and the cold. This is  not a topic you speak of amongst true Floridians- when the thermometer reaches 50 degrees, people are scrambling for parkas and wool-lined this and that. True Floridians think you are crazy for wanting to go anywhere other than the Eternal Sunshine of the Sand-Filled Mind.

But me, I miss seasons. I miss cold weather and bundling up and the bedamned Sisyphean snowsuit;  because "I don't have to pee!" turns into "Mom...? I kinda hafta...".

That said, we're in the middle of a cold snap here in Florida. (Yes, I consider 40 degrees cold, and so do you. Stop being such a showoff.) Apparently, when constructing this house a century ago, no one had the foresight to think of modern inventions--like sub-flooring or double-paned windows.

My office sits in one of the rooms we've been meaning to renovate, but haven't gotten around to. All to say, it's drafty and cluttered and wonderful. Every wall, save one , is filled with single-paned windows that let the sunshine and the drafts pour in, in equal measure. I have my sweater on, a cup of steaming hot tea on the desk, and a beautiful vista of ridiculously dressed neighbors walking by to entertain me. I swear, one woman just walked by with fur lining around her head, and her dog(!) had on a full jacket.  

In the summer, I have to close the curtains, place the air conditioning on 70 and pray I don't die of heatstroke while working. It gets lonely working in here in the summer. My view of the neighborhood gets obscured in favor of not risking death via sun-stroke.

But now...in the winter, what we have of it down here, I get to enjoy the awesomeness of sunshine that doesn't blind and isn't suffocatingly humid, all from my little corner of the house. My escape that I've taken over, like kudzu over a building; slowly, almost imperceptibly, but always moving forward towards my goal of a sanctuary I could call my own.