Suburban Snapshots

My Space

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

When Steve and I bought our Boston condo together, we went shopping for new furniture. We came home with a sectional sofa that seats 6 comfortably. You'd be amazed how fast that thing fills up now. It's like the last lifeboat on the Titanic come 7 p.m.

Personal space seems to be at a premium around here lately.

I totally cop to counting the minutes from the time the credits start rolling on Arthur to the first blast of hot water hitting me in the shower each morning, where I stand, alone. I admit to looking forward to leaving Anna in Steve's capable, patient hands and heading two rooms over into my office, where, for 8 or so hours I sit in a chair that holds only one. I will share with you how I get all kinds of twitchy when Steve leans over my left shoulder to do even the simplest, quickest thing on the desktop while I work inches away on my laptop, or when between conference calls, he'll let Anna wander in to climb my file cabinet or crawl under my desk and trigger the paper shredder ("Anna, FINGERS!").

When my day ends, I'm happy to rejoin my family. Anna and I might run an errand, we come home, I make dinner. Lately though, the act of dinner involves jockeying around 3 dogs who first trip me, then scamper into the exact spot my foot is about to land; explaining to an upset toddler who only wants my attention that she can't help stir the boiling macaroni or take the bread out of the oven, which then leads to repeated attempts to peel a now sobbing child off of my leg while handling hot utensils. When she's not asking to help, she's delivering a list of demands that would rival any stage diva's hospitality rider.

After we eat Steve will sit at the kitchen laptop (if you're playing along at home, that's 3 computers) while I fall into my couch dent, curl Anna up next to me, and read a few books (or one book over and over and over and over) while the TV flickers and blabs. This happy scene also involves the 3 dogs, 2 of whom get on the couch under their own power and the third, being in possession of the shortest of legs, first barks to be lifted, and then pokes and cold-noses his way under my shirt for warmth and cover. Anna scolds him for taking my attention as her feet finally annoy dog #2 enough that he leaves for the bedroom, and the girl dog climbs to her perch behind my head, stepping on my hair as she does.

I wouldn't trade these scenes or these people for a bright, one bedroom apartment, long, lazy baths, or even hours of time begging to be filled with, God, with anything. But man, it would be nice to stretch my legs out the length of this couch every once in a while.

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