There are several simple signs that the crud has successfully knocked me on my ass, but the biggest sign of all is that I have been home since Friday night (and as of this writing it is now Tuesday afternoon) and though I have been on the couch most of that time, have I posted here? No. I’m just now feeling capable of stringing sentences together with some hope of achieving subject-verb agreement, and if I get wordy, even that’s gonna get a bit dicey.
I’ve been giving some thought to a piece of writing that works well this time of year, but I’m not sure I should / could do it. It’s December, which means cards and year-end letters from friends are arriving in our mailbox, and also means it’s my turn to wonder if I should do one for my friends as well.
I’d actually like to, but I recognize mine would be different as our lives are different. It makes me realize I’m still working my way out of the unspoken expectation that a life lived without children is somehow worth less than a life with them.
Every now and then, I want to elbow my friends and stage-whisper, so does this reproduction thing mean you’ve actually got this life thing figured out, and if so, can I have tips? I’m thirty-two, well into the age where I think even the late-bloomers are starting to settle in to the Rest Of Their Lives, and I swear I’ve just only figured out who the hell I am (the driver’s license, did, admittedly, help) much less where I’m going. (Does having a GPS count as cheating?)
I’ve always been hesitant to write such a year-end piece, because I’ve seen a few in my time that were utterly smug in their Perfect Year and Perfect Children and oh, look, our jobs are fabulous and aren’t we blessed and can we puff out our chests a little more while tooting our own horn in the key of C, babe?
I have this horrid feeling that any missive I wrote for 2008 would include the following:
“For our ten-year anniversary, Jeff and I rented a cabin in the Pacific Northwest with friends. I ended up buying an iPhone off of a friend. On the other hand, Jeff got a bruised tailbone. I suspect I got the better end of the deal.”
See? Irreverence. Mind you, also gratitude—I mean, c’mon, a ten-year anniversary implies someone actually put UP with me for ten years—but an acknowledgment that life is neither shiny nor perfect, but we’re still laughing about it and sticking together so we win, right?