Don’t Mind the Mess
After pouring myself my first cup of coffee this morning, I wandered into our family room and stumbled into this scene. A sectional sofa with cushions barely smushed into their proper place, a hoard of blankets haphazardly strewn across them. My favorite throw pillows had landed wherever they had been tossed the night before. Next to the sofa, on the side table, was a dirty glass and a bowl with a spoon and a few ounces of milk sitting at the bottom. The beginning of a yellow crust had begun to form along the edge. On the floor, a pair of unwashed socks sat almost inside out next to a pair of slippers.
Still wrapped in my bathrobe and foggy brained, I took a sip of my coffee. My children were still asleep upstairs, my husband was catching up on the latest news from the comfort of his favorite chair in the next room. As I started to tidy up, my eyes wandered and took note of things they hadn’t noticed before COVID-19 had decided to take up residence in my country – in my town.
The pile of tan fleece blankets resembled the rolls on a chubby-faced puppy, soft and warm and inviting. As I picked up one of the pillows and returned it to the corner of the sofa, I traced the pineapple embellishment stitched on the front with my finger. I wondered who had left the bowl of milk, spoon and all, on the table and I returned them to the kitchen. Perhaps they didn’t get enough to eat at dinner last night, I wondered.
As I finished folding the blankets and returned everything to its proper place, I snuggled my feet within the fuzzy slippers. I was reminded of where I had kicked them off the night before – right there – huddled closely with my two teenager girls and my husband – watching the classic 80’s movie War Games with Matthew Brockerick. Do you want to place a game? My husband’s favorite line to imitate.
Six months ago, the state of this room might have sent me into an adult tantrum on a Sunday morning. How on Earth could anyone leave a room in this state? Is this a fraternity house? Do you have any idea how hard I work to keep this place looking half reasonable? That was before the novel coronavirus placed the world, including us, on high alert and sequestered us to a life of feeling separated, isolated, suspicious and nervous. That was before the four of us were forced to discover ways to overcome cabin fever, repressed anxiety, suffocation and the challenge of cooking and cleaning up…all.the.time.
This morning, the scene before me represented something radically different than it did just a few months before. It was a reminder of how far our family has come – together. We have individually moved through this experience with more than our fair share of disappointment, frustration and anger – at each other and the world around us. We have disagreed about the details of social distancing. We have argued over what each of us is or is not allowed to do when we are home, and on the rare occasion that we have to leave. We have pushed and plucked and stepped on the toes of those we love most. Of course, we have. We are only human.
But, we have also overcome so much of what we have faced. We have learned the vital importance of resiliency, patience and forgiveness. We have tried not to judge other people, and often we have failed. We have started to learn how to fight fair, to ask for help, to offer help and how to accept what we cannot change or agree upon. At least, we have started.
As I scanned the room this morning, half awake, I was smiling. This is our new normal. We are an imperfect family navigating a far from perfect situation. Our kitchen is a mess because we are always cooking. Our family room is a mess because we are watching movies, playing games and chatting late into the night about whatever it is that comes to mind. And, eventually, this new normal will come to an end. Someday soon, or maybe not, Mary Clare will head to college, Bridie will return to school, and my husband and I will return to the offices where we work. The thousands of hours, back to back, that we have spent together on Wadeward Road will be behind us, archived in our memories.
While I hope so much of my life returns to what it once was, I must admit that I prefer the view I have of my family room today to the one I had last year. The mess is beautiful. The mess is brought me joy. The mess is ours.
