I’m moving like sludge. I’m wondering if the ladder is still sitting in the middle of the room. My son’s room.
It’s later than usual and I need that first cup of coffee badly, and I step around the stacks of books to make my way to the kitchen. Good. The ladder is propped against the side of the fridge. Where it usually is. I spoon out Espresso Roast and pour the water into Mr. Coffee. I flick the little black switch, wait impatiently, and can’t help but be aware of the scampering and knocking about overhead. In the attic. Squirrels again, dammit.
I listen to the last spit and gurgle of the coffee, consciously breaking my own rule. It will be a three cup day and I know it, downing the first gulps and replaying the scene in my head: my son’s serious expression when he walked into the bedroom after a very long day.
My immediate response, seeing his face – relief mixed with concern – clearly he was alright, but something had happened.
“Just life”
Oh, as crises go it wasn’t much. But in the thick of it, in the hours of frustration and scrambling, even if you know it’s just one more thing in an onslaught of inconveniences to weather – you’re succumbing to fatigue and defeat. You’re worn out from having to sweat the small stuff along with the big stuff because there is no buffer, no reserve of resources, no support staff, and no end in sight to any of it.
“It’s a hole in the ceiling,” I tell myself, trying to stay calm.
A hole, with a heavy fixture dangling dangerously from gnarly looking wires. Bits of insulation floating around my teenager’s room. His worried expression and irritation, as he tries repeatedly to reattach the light, as we both take turns on the ladder and with the only screwdriver we can find after an absurd search through toolboxes, accompanied by a YouTube video running nearby, looping through Do-It-Yourself wiring, lest we inadvertently electrocute ourselves.
We realize it’s comical. And it’s not. It’s all too typical around here.
The tally (lately)
There was the total meltdown of all computers in the house six weeks ago. Countless hours, immeasurable stress, and $1200 on my credit card.
There was the car, two weeks ago. Three days of worry and inconvenience, and thanks to a warranty, that total was just under $100.
Yesterday there were the six stops and constant errands before my son’s summer program begins. We only purchased a handful of the supplies necessary, but I still ran up another $150 in credit, and there will be more expenses when we arrive on campus to get him what’s required. (We’ll just ignore the cost of getting there and back, for now.)
The money pit, and the money pit
We all know that children are expensive. We just don’t realize how expensive, though most of us will give the shirts off our backs to do right by them.
As for a house? The quintessential money pit. And here I must admit, during the years I was married, we followed traditional gender roles. I cooked and cared for the children. Of course, I also brought in a fat corporate income during those years. As for the father of my sons, he worked and traveled, played tennis with our little boys on the weekends, and fixed things in the house. He fixed everything.
And so, I never learned how. And I’m getting older. And I’m not strong. And this reality is one more reminder of being alone after all these years. Alone as an adult. Alone as a woman.
Now I sound whiney. Self-pitying. Could I be more ridiculous?
Hole in the ceiling, hole in my head?
Still, I needed that hole in the ceiling like a hole in the head. Which explains why I have this headache, why it was impossible to sleep, why the tools are tossed in a corner of the kitchen, why I finally slept but late, why my coffee is late, why my writing is late, why my everything-critical-to-get-done-today will be very, very late.
But the hole in the ceiling is fixed. It took hours, the kindness of a very tired neighboring physician and his ingenuity, and I once again found myself in that utterly frustrating place of gender-based helplessness, single-parent helplessness, and the all too familiar limbo between tears and laughter. Especially when I saw how difficult a repair task it turned out to be.
Why small stuff isn’t small. Pop psychology, take a hike!
I sweat the small stuff. Sort of.
The mess in my house? It drives me nuts – but I live with it. The other small stuff? I do indeed sweat it because it’s the unrelenting chain of little things that beats us up, wears us down, drains our bank accounts, and knocks us off our trajectories to wherever it was we thought we were going, once.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff” may offer sound advice in moderate circumstances; as we grow more capable and more mature in jobs and relationships, we gain perspective, letting little things go so we may focus on the bigger picture. To remain positive, and to accomplish more.
As parents, we learn that sweating the small stuff doesn’t work. We reach the point where a day without a trip to the emergency room can seem like a victory. Hell, it is a victory.
Real life
In real life, the small stuff is big stuff: the accumulation of broken fixtures, the costly car troubles, the sinkholes, the limbs on the roof, the flooding hot water heaters, the dead dishwashers, and all the time spent juggling chauffeuring kids, looking for work, and worrying about how you will accommodate braces that require another six months, $800 for wisdom teeth not covered by insurance, the mouse in the house, the zapped computers, the bills, the bills, the bills.
And if you’re single and beginning to feel a little older? Trying not to impose on the same few people in your life? Trying to hold it together when you’re at the end of your rope again? Trying to find the funny, even as you flail about with one more thing you don’t know how to do?
It’s the feeling of powerlessness that’s so demoralizing. The interminable tunnel with its light at the end that you’ve yet to sight. It’s wondering what’s coming next to knock you over just as you’re climbing back up.
You sweat. Believe me, you sweat.
Small stuff, great kindness
“It’s small stuff,” I tell myself. “Put it in perspective. You can deal. It’s fine.”
It’s just a ceiling, another item for the money pit, another chalk-it-up-to-character-building parental point in time.
Maybe I need to try on shoes. My fun shoes in pretty colors with pointy toes and satiny laces, trims, buttons, buckles.
Maybe I need to pretend I’m hanging in a café in France. Or I’m hanging in a café in France in my hottest heels. Or I’m hanging in a café in France in my flirty footwear with one of my cool-guy male French friends…
Okay. It’s not working.
I take a deep breath. I start the laundry. I pop a Motrin. I wonder how I’ll get through this day, and tomorrow, and the next.
I hope the ceiling light in my kid’s room will hold. I listen to the critters playing on the floorboards overhead. I put on another pot of coffee. I tell myself “don’t sweat the small stuff,” because somehow, I feel better saying the words, and I’m grateful that kindness is alive and well.
Even if I’m lying in a pool of my own perspiration.
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There are times in our life when the small stuff is the big stuff. It just is. It’s clear to me that you are struggling and I feel for you and wish that the tides would turn. That for once the small stuff would be positive small stuff. Anything to just keep you going, to keep you motivated. You deserve it my friend. Hugs. xo
Oh, BLW! I so understand. I need to get two light fixtures in my house fixed. I could call the landlord to do it but he rubs the kids the wrong way. He also doesn’t like doing repairs. I have almost always done them which has kept my rent lower than it should be. One of these days I am going to fix them. LOL!
The small stuff, even if it is truly small, adds up to medium and then big stuff.
My youngest is going on vacation Saturday – with his girlfriend’s family. I am still not sure how I was convinced this was a good idea. So, the g/f went shopping for new clothes for the trip. She and her mother bought youngest three new shirts and a new pillow and very nice, high thread count pillowcase. Then, I had to take him to get the things he truly needs for a week at the shore – a new bathing suit that fits (got 2 as they were on sale and when you are at the shore, 2 is best so you are not in soggy one), a new beach towel, new sneaks as his school ones were falling apart, new sandals as he had outgrown his old ones, two new pairs of shorts. Now, we are negotiating on the amount of spending money he gets to take with him. It’s just money, right? 🙂
I’ve had my share of these days too. Thankfully none very recently, but I know the sentiment. There are days when each small thing is but a drop in a larger tidal wave of crap crashing into your life. I hope for you that this tide recedes soon. Money may not buy happiness, but it buys school supplies and a handyman and computer repairs and dental work. If I had a winning lottery ticket, I’d send it your way.
You’re not sweating small stuff here, you are just sweating real life stuff. While of course, it’s all a matter of perspective, I think that sweating the small stuff is more like worrying if the curtains will clash with the tablecloth at a dinner party! If you’re wearing the same dress to a fundraiser you wore at one last week. That, to me, is sweating the small stuff. Trying not to get electrocuted while fixing a hole in the wall…you can laugh about it sure, but that means you make the best out of a situation. That’s not small stuff.
Tablecloth? Some people have tablecloths? 🙂
Thanks April, and Gale, and Nicki, and Christine. Some days/nights/weeks/months/years… it seems unending. And I’m convinced it’s making me shorter. Even my tallest stilettos won’t help then. 🙁
But seriously – do you guys all have someone who can help when these things happen? And why do they always happen at the worst possible moment? And honestly – this one individual and his wife have come through time and time again. They are absolute gems and remind me that one true friend (and tolerant hubby) is worth a hundred in name only. (Now if only he would let me bake for him to say thank you, but he’s on a diet. Maybe a big fruit salad?)
Oh, BLW, not again. So sorry you have to deal with another helping of crazy.
Two words in your post were a bit of a revelation to me: “support staff.” I like this 21st century take on the idea of the village community. Support staff. I’m lucky to have a pretty good one: Husband plus a great babysitter for pinch-hitting and a bunch of far-flung family members who can be called upon when the going gets tough (or a baby gets born). I know how lucky I am to have this. And I wonder if there’s some direct correlation between the size of one’s staff and how happy she is (ahem…now, now, BLW, you know what I mean…).
BTW, Tiny Baby is on his way to fight off the squirrels in your rafters. (His sharp little teeth should be enough to scare them away.) If you needed the light fixture down, I could have him chew right through the wires. He’s good at that, you know? 😉
OMG, Kristen. Laughter does help everything! As for the size of the support staff? That’s a related issue, is it not? As Sarah and Jen and CK might put it – definitely a !!! factor, on so many (ahem) levels.
Yes, do send Tiny Baby with those sharpened chompers to assist with our household dramas. You might also try a frozen bagel for him to teethe on. (Really, it works.)
i hear ya 🙂
Oh Jason – I know you know. We may need to have another “complaint department day” soon!
BLW,
I’ve been checking in from time to time via the Facebook updates. I have so been here done this. I’ve had to replace lighting fixtures (turn off the main at the fuse box not just the switch), toilet seats, screens, deal with backed up plumbing, rodents and more. While I’ve done a lot of it myself, I have to admit, I’ve had plenty of helpers along the way who stepped up to plate to assist when needed. I also have a single mom friend, who gave me the name of her handy man. He’s a gem, and, since I’m a cash only basis here, he has occasionally taken a post dated check which makes him priceless in my mind!
I’m thinking of you. It is indeed the “small stuff” adding up to bigger stuff that wears you down.
I love April’s point: small stuff is life. And some of the small stuff is still too important to ignore. I hope you can keep your head above the water just a little longer, until some of this subsides.
And don’t even get me started on squirrels!!!
BLW, sending you a hug. I am not in your shoes, but have been there in different ways. When you think you can’t handle one more big or little thing going wrong, it happens. I always say after a mini-crisis is over, that I will handle things better the next time, but I don’t. I still lament in angst over tiny things. My husband is better at letting the small things and big things pass over. I’m still learning.
Thinking of you and sending positive energy your way.
Rudri – thank you! The light fixture is holding, the laundry is still going, more errands got done without a hitch, I delivered fresh fruit to the immeasurably kind household that helped out last night, and for the moment – all is calm. I’ll take it! (Along with all virtual positive energy sent our way, happily. . .) 🙂
Eva – sounds like you might want my squirrels to visit your squirrels… Yes, it’s about keeping one’s head above water. Good thing I float.
Wild Mind!! Where the hell have you been!?! Up to some mischief, I hope. (Does your handyman make house calls on the other coast??)
Sending hugs and chocolate but wishing I could just send a handyman. But I don’t know one, either. Sigh. Sometimes a mountain of small stuff turns into big stuff real quick!
The small stuff isn’t so bad one-off, but when it piles up, it can easily drown you out. Sweat away!
Daintily dabbing the perspiration with a lacy hanky as we speak, Kelly… um, at 2 a.m. (Are we done yet?) What small stuff piles up at your house?
The small stuff can get to us. And it can become the big stuff. It’s all perspective. But perspective is life. So everything gets magnified.
It is perspective, DM. But I’m not sure it’s all perspective. Not when Murphy is very comfy hanging out in the vicinity. And some realities are just realities, and not changeable.
Some of that sounds biggish to me. Or at least not little. When you are hit with unexpected bills and money is tight, everything is a problem. I agree that holes in ceilings and broken down cars aren’t, um, brain tumors, but still, they’re not a stubbed toe either.
Here’s my only mantra, used for all life’s events, big and small: do the next right thing. Do just what’s right in front of you. Get past that and then do the next thing that’s in front of you.
And here it IS: “I do indeed sweat it, because it’s the unrelenting chain of little things that beats us up”
I am tired. No Sweetie here this early morning to bring me my coffee. Not enough sleep due to too much to do and too much worry.
Our circumstances are different, but I could have written a lot of this, BLW. Just not so beautifully.
Just keep pressing on.
One of your absolute best. I think because it is so full of detail. Real, raw detail. I feel you through every word, BLW.
And as far as sweating the small stuff…when I find myself doing it I get mad. Mad, mad, mad, that I’m wasting so much time on the little things when I should really be trying to figure out the big things. Or concentrating on the big, happy picture. But I’m a detail girl. And if I let go of all the details, I’m worried where the big picture will end up. Then again, I’m also someone who doesn’t like to control everything around me, so I DO let go a lot (mostly for sanity because, ahem, three boys can be toxic if you pay sweat to their small stuff).
Well today, Sarah, when things started out a bit rocky (and late, late, late on very little sleep)… everything went perfectly afterward. Lovely flight. Wonderful place. Total contentment wandering a new city with my kid. !!! and another !!! for good measure.
I’m constantly trying to sort out what is the small stuff and what isn’t. It’s not always easy to tell, particularly when there’s an endless pile of the so-called small stuff. If we can learn not to feel bad about feeling bad over the small stuff, perhaps that’s a start.
And yes, kindness from others. I hesitate to ask as much as the next person but when I go looking, there always is.