After years of sleeping on a mattress on the floor (we could no longer bear our violent Ikea frame), we finally bought a new bed. We also bought the matching bedside tables, and then we bought a bedspread to go with them, and then we bought some European pillows because the bedhead looked lonely without any, and then we bought some lamps, and, before you could say, “How much time can one possibly spend googling ‘colour schemes bedroom blue walls’?” we’d created a look we were happy with. It’s the first time in 9 years of marriage that we’ve consistently made the bed each morning. We’re growing up.
Ironically, our bedroom’s the only thing that’s orderly and calm right now; life in general feels chaotic and messy and overwhelming. Alan and I are back in counselling after months of distance and disconnection, Moses is bawling every morning at drop-off time again, and Hazel’s developed a passion for Dora the Explorer thanks to a “friend” sneaking her DVD into a pile of hand-me-downs for us. All of this means that at any given moment in our house you’ll probably hear either Alan and I yelling at each other over whether or not it’s appropriate to vacuum while someone’s sleeping, Moses yelling about how unfair it is that he has to go to school YET AGAIN, and/or Hazel yelling “ARRIBA!” at the television (Dora waits expectantly for 15 seconds, and then says, “Yeah!”).
And then Moses will say to Hazel, “You didn’t say that right!” and Hazel will say, “Yes I did,” and Moses will say, “No you didn’t,” and Hazel will say, “Yes I did,” and Moses will say, “No you didn’t,” and Hazel will say, “Yes I did,” and Moses will say, “Didn’t,” and Hazel will say, “Did,” and Moses will say, “Didn’t,” and Hazel will say, “Did,” and Moses will say, “Nope,” and Hazel will say “Yep,” and I’ll say, “That’s enough, guys,” and Mo will say (very quietly), “Nope,” and then Hazel will pinch his arm and then Moses will scream and hit her, and then both children will run through the house wailing. Everything feels completely out of control. “Completely-out-of-control” is not a feeling I enjoy.
Also ironically, my new medication seems to be working, so, for a change, it’s not my depression that’s making me want to run away and become a nun.