The Meaning of What We Do
Our sweet pea has turned into an active mess maker after a year of ripening. Breadcrumbs and oat flakes smeared into the rug, storage bins pulled out of the credenza, and Lego blocks sprinkled everywhere. She leaves a trail marking her presence within minutes after getting up.
It's the morning of Halloween. Among cleanup, meal prep, and diaper change is the task of decorating the two pumpkins we picked up earlier in the week.
"Do we HAVE to do this?" I plead, "They look nice the way they are, and we can leave them out just like that."
"True, but the trick-or-treaters won't come and knock on our door if the pumpkins are not lit at night." Galen is serious about the once-a-year festivity as he piles candy into a bowl, and he starts gutting one of the pumpkins attentively as I bite off a large piece of cold croissant. Sweet pea ventures into the kitchen, yanks on the garbage bin, and giggles as it bangs on the wall making thunk noises.
Parenting means you are on when the baby is up, and sanity restores briefly when the baby finally goes down for a nap. That uninterrupted time is a rare commodity - in addition to all the house chores, planning a road trip, catching up on sleep, unwinding with Netflix, finishing the book that I have been at 53% forever, writing this blog... so many on the wish list and so little time.
As Galen lays our daughter down for a nap, my eyes set on the other pumpkin. The creamy smooth skin reflects the late October morning sun, and I smell the bright orange.
It reminds me that Halloween used to be one of my favorite holidays of the year (Christmas is the other, for all the carols, though humming Christmas carol is only permitted in December in this household;p).
It is the one day adults get to play without embarrassment. It is the one day that we can create without bound and imagine like a child.
In the first year of parenthood, Galen and I have barely kept our heads above water. I almost forget how to have fun. There would never be enough time for everything, and having a child only makes that more impossible.
What to do about that? I guess I also don't need to do everything to feel joyful and fulfilled.
So, with that thought, cleaning out the pumpkin wins over cleaning the pile of dirty dishes. And yes, getting the gunk out is still my least enjoyable part, but it is no longer a chore or something I HAVE to do.
It is an opportunity to play and to create something. My hands are itchy now.
Our mind affixes meaning to what we do, and it can work wonders. Today, I will feel okay with the pile of dirty dishes staying longer in the sink. And today, carving a pumpkin is no longer something I am dragging my feet on but what I am leaping toward.
