Almost belatedly, I realized that it is Thursday, and that I gave myself a deadline to complete blogs weekly on this day. I’ve actually been a busy bee this week. Last week, I told you my schedule and honestly, I’ve been keeping up with it…kinda, sorta. My blueberry coffee routine has been going pretty well, except for the day I was running late, and the day they hadn’t brewed any. The daily chatter is as usual on point. I’ve been doing a work project almost every day this week. I’m up to Chapter 6 on my first text. My summer leisure reading is going at an excellent rate; I stand to finish one novel before I leave work today. I will admit to not being fully consistent to any of these activities, but more or less, I’m attempting to develop these habits. Of course, the easiest to accomplish are the leisure reading, the chatter and the coffee. I drink coffee almost every day, regardless of the flavor. I find it gives me a much-needed caffeine boost in the morning. I do limit myself to just one cup per day, even though I used to do two or more. After a while, I found that more than one cup will give me the jitters, so I generally don’t drink more than one unless I’m eating a nice breakfast.
Other than that, what have I been doing? House stuff mostly. Being a new home owner (gosh, I love the sound of that—the attainment of the American dream of land), I find that there is always some project to do, especially when you’re just moving in. This week, I decided to tackle the task of washing some clothes and getting my son’s room together. My plan in getting his room together is that at the end of this month, we’re going to start phasing him into his room, with the hope that at six months, he will be fully transitioned in his very own crib and I can take his cosleeper, soon to be just playpen, downstairs to the family room. Keep in mind, this is the adult vision; my son may have another plan in mind. Also, my plan in getting his room together is so that I can stop plucking his clothes out of the plastic storage bins that they were packed in when we moved. So needless to say, but just worth saying anyway, is that the first piece of furniture that will be in place is a chest of drawers. This chest of drawers has for the better part of five months been stored in its original box. This, along with his crib, is one of those pieces of furniture that must be assembled. I don’t know about you, but I actually relish the thought of putting furniture together. There is something so rustically charming about “building” your own furniture. Granted, I’m not doing anything like chopping, whittling, and sanding the wood, and the package contains the exact number and type of screws and bolts that you need, along with a detailed set of instructions, but there is a certain joy of at least pretending that you are a pioneer. I’ve actually “built” quite a bit of furniture in my day, and I can say that there are at least three pieces (including the chest) in the new home that I have—okay, okay I’ll use the proper term—assembled. I will, however, allow his dad to assemble the crib, not because I don’t want to do it, but because I don’t want him to feel left out of the whole experience of flexing his inner caveman and using tools. He’s already feeling sensitive about not being the first man of the house to light fire (another primitive caveman need carried over into the 21st century). I tried to console him by saying that lighting up a small travel hibachi is not the same as actual grilling, but he would not be moved and quite simply told me that I would not understand until I became a man. Little does he know that I believe I was one in my past life (that statement is not to be taken extremely literally because I am not at all certain I believe in karmic reincarnation).
So anyway, I’ve been putting together his chest, and clearing out a few boxes and bags at a time with the faint hope that most of the house will be in some kind of order by the time the Christmas holiday arrives. While I would like the other occupants to get on board and help me in my hope, part of me again wants that satisfaction of doing most of it myself, and “assigning” them tasks to accomplish. But men and women do not move at the same pace; women expect an assignment to be done when it’s assigned; men tend to take the assignment they receive from that woman and do it in some other time than the immediate. This is a communication that is as old as those cavemen I was talking about earlier, so I don’t have a clue as to when they will “get around to it.”
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