This is quiet time

I just spent a good hour alone with my son putting him to sleep. I haven’t been alone with him since I began work last June. That’s a very long time; we were quite attached at the hip for six months since he was born.

My life’s routine seems so simple now. To wake up, spend a few moments with my boys, prepare to go to work, run out to catch a cab, go to work for about 9 hours or so, go home when I feel it’s getting too late to still be at the office, and spend what’s left of the day with my boys. On weekends, we’re a threesome, either out somewhere or just hanging around.

I try to squeeze in some chores when I can, but the idea seems to be so unexciting I easily forget about it. I remember to send out the laundry when we’re down to our last few pieces of clothing. We order drinking water when we’re too parched to ignore it. The kitchen gets cleaned not as often, especially now that we don’t cook as much.

Which is strange because I find it extremely difficult to think (and even just be) in a chaotic house. It must be a skill (or a blindness) I’ve developed, to not care sometimes. Until last week, that is, when we spent an evening scrubbing the floor after Matthew had gone to sleep, and used up a Sunday to clean the bedroom from top to bottom. I’m still not quite done with the entire house, but I’m getting there.

It hasn’t been easy (that’s putting it mildly), our working and living situation now. It is far from ideal, I must say, but it’s working out for the meantime, somehow. Next door, Armand’s brother and his family have moved in because of some logistical concerns, and it looks like we have gelled into one family come dinner time. Our nieces do their homework on our computer sometime, and we get to have some adult conversation with their parents.

Despite the thrill of doing work that it inspires me, I realize that it is the state of life at home that dictates my level of happiness. Yes, I look forward to spending some hard-earned money on nice shoes, maybe a foot spa or a massage, but I’m more excited to buy Matthew a high chair or the materials to build our new pantry. I feel a little uneasy now that we haven’t done the grocery in over a couple of weeks that I’ve run out not just of food, but of other things I consider essential, like trash bags. But then the weekend is near, and Shopwise can be another family excursion.

Perhaps if I am writing this at the end of a work day at the office, I would be reflecting on how lucky I feel to have found a job that challenges me and allows me to excel. But when I am home, especially like I am now, alone in a quiet room, I am able to see the hierarchy of significance in my life. The good thing is, I find that every moment of my days is so useful—not one second has gone to waste, quite a feat I’d never imagined I’d claim so confidently.

There are several things that will make our life easy and make me breathe better. But things had been and could be so much worse, I don’t find it difficult to be grateful for my days—mundane schedule and all. I’ve drawn my wish list, and matched it with some hard work. My only challenge now is the patience to wait for these desires to be realized. In the meantime, I can look forward to going home, and for more moments like this.