Right now I am sitting in my office, which is to say that I’m in the extra bedroom on the second floor of my home on the side facing the street. It is 4:46 and since my husband’s work day ends at 4:45 and he teleworked today, he is no longer sitting at the computer across from mine, the place where I leave him little notes like this when he’s on Very Important Calls about Very Important Subjects.
Instead of hearing the click-clacking of his keyboard, I hear his voice wafting in through the windows on a strangely-cool-for-June breeze, mixed with our son’s voice, a distant lawnmower, the occasional chirp from a bird, and the distinctive sound of a basketball hitting first the asphalt driveway and then the backboard. Our daughter has abandoned us all for a program on a favorite educational site that allows her to create animated stories using some of her favorite TV characters. The cat has passed out at the top of the stairs, oblivious to all of it. Another lawnmower joins the Friday afternoon chorus…
Right now in my inbox there is an invitation to attend an event tonight where I can meet two A-list actors, preview a movie that is sure to be a summer blockbuster, and spend time with local bloggers.
And I can’t even begin to muster one ounce of care about any of it.
So the truth is that the part about spending time with the local bloggers sounds nice. But tonight, it doesn’t sound nicer than hot dogs on the grill, eating on the deck, tucking the kids in a bit early, and watching House Hunters in bed with my husband, windows still open, strangely-cool-for-June breeze still rolling in.
It is an odd thing to be a confusing combination of thrill-seeker and homebody, the kind of person who will fly across the ocean to visit a foreign country for just 48 hours but who is exhausted by the idea of taking the Metro into the city for the night.
I think it must be cyclical, like my occasional months-long stints of eyeliner use that I suddenly abandon, my favorite charcoal gray pencil shoved to the back of the makeup drawer. May of this year held only 19 days when my husband and I were both in our home at the same time. That’s a lot of lonely nights of responding to every perspective homeowner who crosses the threshold and immediately exclaims, “It’s larger than I expected!” by saying, “That’s what she said,” only to look around and realize that the cat is not amused and is going to care less which home they eliminate first after the next commercial break.
We’re only three weeks into the month, yet June has already seen me on a train to and from NYC twice, once just for the day. And I’m tired. Tired.
The result is that I am nesting. I am having restless nights filled with crazy dreams of misplaced children and ordering wood samples from PotteryBarn.com thinking that I may finally order a much-needed buffet for my long ignored dining room. I’ve been waiting all week for Saturday so that I can clean my house from top to bottom. And I may even clean out the kids’ closets just for kicks.
So tonight I will stay home. The invitation was lovely. This life is amazing. But tonight, you can keep your shirtless actor. I
want need nothing more than my family.