Wednesday, November 2, 2016

(Not) Just Another Dent in the Wall.



As mentioned earlier this week, we're undergoing a bit of a shakeup in the living space in our house.  The dining room furniture is officially sold, and will depart as soon as its new home is painted and ready for its arrival in a week or so.  Once it is gone, painting can happen in our space, without the need to climb over or cover the furniture, and then the installation of our new (to us) stuff can commence.

 As we were eating dinner this evening, Bruce pointed out that we need to make sure that the painter, whomever it is -- as we are considering hiring a professional -- makes NO changes to the dent pictured behind the ark in the picture.   

Despite what others may think, the very existence of that dent brings happiness to our family.

Yes, you heard me correctly.  One of my greatest sources of happiness is a dent in my living room wall.  It represents me as a person, me as a mother, and Bruce and I as parents.  And without waxing philosophical, it also serves as a reminder of one of the most classic US moments living as a family in this house. 


Happiness is picking your battles...

When I was a kid, there was a common theme on sitcoms that demonstrated what I can only refer to as the "wrath of mom."  (Sometimes seen in the "wrath of dad," but you get the idea.)  Peter Brady broke Carol's favorite vase, and the classic line, "Mom always says 'Don't play ball in the house,'" became an instant motto for many families of my childhood friends.  Somewhere along the line, fathers became the heavy, and kids on TV were warned, "Wait until your father gets home!"  Twenty years later, TV showed goofy fathers in all kinds of mischief conspiring with their kids to hide whatever indiscretion had happened that day from the mother of the house.

For me, and for Bruce, we've just laughed and let those things create memories that have continued to serve us well in the department of promoting happiness in our lives.
  • The time one brother pushed the other brother down the steps in a large brown box.  Only trouble?  No adults were home, the box caught a corner, and rolled, shaking the contents of the box pretty significantly.
  • The time that the little sister confiscated the videogames from her brother and hid them -- because they were swearing at each other and keeping her awake.  The brothers pointed fingers at each other, swearing that the other had obviously done something to tick off a parent.  Neither wanted to ask the parents, so they fought, incessantly, in their room until the confiscator returned the games, told them to stop swearing, and went back to sleep.
  • The time one jumped off the porch roof into a snowbank, or licked the street sign pole at the bus stop on a freezing day, or held a 9 volt battery to his tongue to break some sort of record.
I'm sure there are dozens of stories that you have in your life, and many more that I have chosen not to share.  Sometimes rolling with the punches, the world becomes a happier place.  I figure, these very individuals will be choosing my nursing home at some point, and I hope that they'll like me enough, and remember the good times, to find a nice place with a view and cable television.

Oh, and the dent?  It was an ice cube battle.  To be fair, I started it.  Fortunately for me, Ben ended it with a wicked overhand throw that was powerful enough to make me smile for many more decades with the imprint that it left in the wall.