I have a confession to make.
I'm an avid reader of Jenig's blog. That part is not the confession. I really enjoy her blog and learn quite a lot from it. It often inspires me. She posts things of actual importance, unlike, uh, ME, who may periodically manage to post completely insignificant things like the odd price for a gallon of milk. No, this confession involves a sin so grievous that I cannot believe I am typing it out loud. I read this blog yesterday, which states among other things, that the Ig family van had died. While I had felt appropriately sympathetic when reading all the other not-so-pleasant items that had occurred, this one gave me quite a perverse reaction. I'm so sorry, Jen, because I realize the loss of this vehicle is causing your family great inconvenience. But as soon as I read that line, I felt a twinge of envy. Yes, I know -- completely inappropriate. I should have fallen to my knees in prayer that God would immediately provide you with more transportation. But I couldn't, because I felt jealous!
If my van were broken, I could cancel everything and just stay at home. No Enrichment Classes, Boy Scouts, Piano Lessons, Boot Camp, Cub Scouts, Doctor Appointments, etc. [Notice I left Book Club Meetings off the list.] I could just stay in my pajamas, and skip the eternal search through the piles of laundry on the floor for appropriate clothing that doesn't need ironed. No packing up baby, barking orders to little boys to carry this, that, and the other thing. No stress of being chronically 15 minutes late to raise my blood pressure, my voice, and my ridiculously unrealistic expectations of everyone else. No snarky comments from the husband on how many Starbuck's coffee cups are left in the car (okay, and cinnamon scone bags), or half-eaten burgers or chicken nuggets scattered across the floor. No having to remember what color the lid was on that recently refilled purple sippy cup (or was it green?) in order not to poison the child with the contents of a sippy -- or two -- of another color rolling perpetually back and forth under the driver's seat for the last week. No dragging that bohemoth of a stroller out of the trunk and then dragging the bohemoth of an infant seat out to stick in it in order not to have to wrestle the bohemoth of a baby in my arms up and down hallways and stairs with a diaper bag and a purse both filled beyond capacity with junk I just don't need for that particular outing.
Sometimes, a person can take a vacation and come back all refreshed and prepared to face their world. I think that's really the general goal of most vacations. But other times, a vacation points out all the things that are causing disharmony in your life and begs you to change it. I thought my recent visit to Utah was the former, but it really was the latter. Even on the return trip home, I found myself DREADING the restarting of this merry-go-round which has really begun to circle too quickly for me since the full mobility of Baby. My answer to most everyone's request for me to do something lately has been: "Um, NO, I won't agree to do that because my head is already about to blow off." And it really didn't feel as though I were exaggerating.
So I think, instead of pushing my van right off the hill and uttering the magic words "Calgon, take me away," that I really might consider cutting back on some things. Try to find a level of activity that I can be successful with. And who knows, maybe move the piles of laundry from the floor to the couch.
Oh, and to make reparations to JenIG, I should ask if any of you know of a reasonably priced car or van they might be able to purchase?