Lately, I've had a lot of opportunity to reflect on how life changes as we grow older. My fifth wedding anniversary has been and gone; and we went to a gathering of old friends of ours a couple of weeks ago. As a group, we're mostly married, now, and with kids or wanting them; we have houses and mortgages; we drink less hard and go to bed earlier. The consensus was that we're all getting old, and that it's really too bad.
I will be turning 30 in a few months. Many of my friends have already passed that milestone. But the idea just doesn't bother me. No, not one tiny bit. Yes, really.
I'm not even really sure why something as innately meaningless as a birthday upsets people. Sure, we're getting older. Sure, we've changed. But it's not like you wake up one day and suddenly you realize you're not a kid anymore. It happens every second of every day, to every one of us. Getting upset about it won't make it stop; it'll just make it unpleasant. And why, I ask, is it such a terrible thing in the first place?
Does it make me so unusual that I am overall content with my lot in life? That I feel I've made the right choices so far? That I am happy with where I am?
Now, that's not to say that I don't grapple with the same spectre of mortality as everyone else. I worry about how Matt and Sasha could get by without me. I terrorize myself with thoughts of all the awful and unanticipated things that can happen to Sasha and to Matt, to my brother and parents, to my best and closest friends.
But there comes a point where fear can't rule your life. I think I learned that lesson a lot earlier than many people do, and maybe this is why I'm such an odd duck. Life is a risky endeavor. But it's going to happen anyway, so you may as well make the best of it.
I mean, when you take it to the furthest extreme, the stars burn out and die, galaxies turn and turn and collapse in on themselves, and our entire civilization had the breadth and scope of a Mayfly's life. It's all a matter of your perspective. Does this mean that our lives are simply not worth living in the first place?
No, no, and no, again. A cosmic-level disaster could befall us at any point. So could any of a thousand more pedstrian disasters. It's enough to make one positively nihilistic and very, very dull. But our species has made the decision to run with this thing and see how far we get, and we've gotten really quite far. We're built to think that life and love and happiness are important things.
So...important, they are. There's not a lot of hope of escaping biology, just like there's no way of escaping time. So I try to be happy, to make other people happy, and in general leave civilization a better place than I found it. Seems to work out pretty well for me.
Besides, it sure beats feeling sorry for myself.
My kitchen is: Pretty and clean and well-stocked with frozen foods. And...best of all... ANT-FREE! The cold and rain are good for *something*!
Today, I am told, Sasha was given Play-Doh to play with. She did not try to eat it. She practiced cutting it with a little plastic knife. And out of all the children there, most of whom are older than her by varying amounts, she was unique in one respect.
When Roro said "OK, it's time to clean up!" ...Sasha did. She took the dough, balled it up, shoved it back into the little plastic cup, and handed it back.
This is only one instance of an increasing affinity toward tidiness that she displays. I ask you, gentle readers: how is it that a child of mine and Matt's should understand the first thing about cleaning up, much less so early in life? It can't be nature, because those genes missed both of US. And it can't be nurture, because WE sure aren't showing her how. There is cosmic irony in this, somewhere.
My kitchen is: Lo, a battlefield littered with the bodies of dead and dying ants. The ant traps don't interest them. I have resorted to Lysol spray on sight. They're coming in through what can only be a gap in the weatherstripping of the back door; I need to find a way to plug it, because I'm really very tired of killing ants. It just can't be good for my karmic destiny.
My mother-in-law called me at around 4pm today. She wanted to drop by and give me some clothes she had bought for Sasha. "All right," I said, "But Sasha's not here right now, she's still at daycare."
"Oh, how sad for her!" my mother-in-law said.
I was a little taken aback by this. True, I typically pick the little girl up between two and three. I didn't today, I explained, because Sasha fell asleep at daycare and I didn't want to wake her in the middle of her nap just to cart her home. But that comment has been bugging me ever since.
I think society as a whole has an idea that daycare is some sort of necessary evil, like visiting the dentist or paying taxes. Daycare breeds kids who are aggressive! Sick! Not securely attached to their parents! Babies belong with their mommies, right?
I say: Hell, no. Babies belong with people who love them, sure. Sasha's daycare provider really loves her, I mean really loves her, and not in the way I love a good movie, either. There are different daycare providers, and not all of them are very good, but Sasha's is probably one of the best -- for her, anyway.
Even aside from the matter of love and affection, there are other considerations. At daycare, Sasha has other children to play with, and toys that aren't hers. She's learning to share and play nice and being exposed to a variety of experiences she just wouldn't get if she were home with me, even if I were a stay-at-home mom, and even if I signed up for a dozen Gymboree and Mommy and Me classes and scheduled playdates like Casanova. Daycare is great for her, germs and all. Being in daycare a few extra hours a day, even if she weren't napping, is in no way "sad for her."
Picture her being cooped up at home with mommy, who is irritably trying to act as helpdesk for a customer in California. Picture mommy giving her an Oreo to keep her quiet long enough to get through the call. That's a lot more sad, if you ask me, and what's worse, sometimes that's exactly what happens.
Just had to get that off my chest.
In other news:
My kitchen is: Sticky and sparsely anted. I gave in to the urge to buy chemical ant bait, but you're supposed to give it a few days to take effect.