Day 49

My 11-year-old daughter has moved into the closet. First, she and her sister cleaned out the closet. This happened a few weeks ago. It is not a particularly large closet. It reminds me of the closets in the houses I grew up in. Double sliding doors. One rack for clothing. A shelf above.

The closet held bins of old toys, dolls, stuffies. Also Legos, books too precious to give away. The usual clothes, hats, shoes. And then it was cleared out. Dolls and stuffies bagged for giving away. Bins consolidated. Toys rediscovered and brought back into action. This left two-thirds of the floor space clear. Several days ago, that floor space became a fort. Lined with a yoga mat and cushioned with a sleeping bag and extra blankets. Lit with a flashlight and a book light, not to mention an iPad and a laptop. There is a life-size stuffed bear (CJ) and the beloved, tattered Piggie. It is a spot so cozy that my daughter has slept there. Twice.

I find it ironic, very close to laughable, that in our very small house, my child is seeking out an even smaller space for herself. Of course, she and her sister share a room, and so in appropriating the closet she is quite literally carving out space for herself. Were she a bit older, perhaps I’d subtly drop in a volume of Virginia Woolf for her to peruse.

We are all finding space, literally or figuratively. I, of course, have my walks, on days unlike today — a veritable saturation of torrential downpours and house-shaking thunder. My son has his own bedroom — the only family member with a closed-off space of his own. Sometimes the kitchen becomes my space. When I am cooking and listening to books. I cannot hear the kids or the TV in the other room. I can almost imagine I am alone, except for the massive amounts of food on the pans in front of me.

We are all doing a pretty good job of being understanding of each other’s moods and limits. The decibel level is often higher than I can tolerate without a pinched forehead, but I try not to react negatively too often. It’s the equivalent of picking a fight and often backlashes to everyone storming off into their own rooms. I don’t want to be without the children. I just want them to … not speak at such VOLUME.

I think maybe this site is my room. My space. I am beginning to be able to write longer pieces that are interconnected. A near narrative. More than just a list of facts and occurrences. I am beginning to feel more comfortable, a tiny bit at a time. I am even, today, venturing a post without tallies. No news today. Just a quiet update of life on day 49 of living at home together.

Stay safe, everyone.