Time for a Change

I go through phases when I rearrange furniture.  It starts out innocently enough.  I get an itch for a change. 

However, if the mood is right, the innocuous itch abruptly turns into an infection, and I have to move furniture in the next thirty minutes or my life will be in turmoil.

When the infection strikes, I typically proceed to a kid’s bedroom.  I enter with a Swiffer and bulging eyeballs, and I proclaim in a riled, winded, caffeinated voice,   

I initiate the rearrangement project by venturing to clean out the large rodent-sized (like ferret-sized…are ferrets rodents?  They look like rodents…) balls of dust. 

The random kid – whose room I have occupied -  is usually adolescently-adrift ON the bed when I enter.  This means the kid doesn’t look up from their handheld device when I enter the room; they don’t make eye contact; they truly trust that they cannot be engaged if they stay still.  They will even start to mouth what they are reading…just to let you know that they are reading and cannot see you....therefore you cannot see them.

But, remember, I want to rearrange...more importantly...I want to change my life. 

No prisoners. 

I get going by moving the bed.  That creates the “point of no return.”  If you move the bed even one inch, you dislodge an apocalypse of dander that takes your lungs by storm, leaving you temporarily derailed.  

Once you find the will to go on, with a slight wheeze, you realize what you were determined to realize…that you HAVE to move everything IN this room…to clean this room.  You have unearthed the hidden disgustingness; you have held up a piece of it, in the air, as proof,

"LOOK at this!"  

Now, you will mumble-scold your child for a bit, muttering questions while your eyes are rolling in your head, as you clear dust-ferrets,

“Who lives like this?” 

and “What is all this crap?”

 In return, the kid, still trapped and invisible on the bed, mumbles mocking responses,

and you pretend not to hear any of it because then you would have to deal with that type of insubordination, which could totally throw you off your path…

of changing your life.

by moving all this here furniture around….

So, it is not enough to just take a broom and slap under the bed.  Any good mother knows…you have to move every single piece of furniture...which means you will have to then take everything off the walls and re-position posters and framed art...and then you have to go into their CLOSET.  I mean – this is basic math.

 

I usually have enough frenzied force to move the bed WITH the kid on it, and I roar the entire time...sometimes whole sermons, but, at the very least, short spurts of audacity conveyed through grunted words, “You think I won’t move this bed…I’ll just move this bed with you on it…I am stronger than you think....” 

The kid never even said he wouldn’t get off the bed.  You hadn’t asked.  You were fostering their invisibility.  You thought in your demon voice “Gettttttt offffffff,” but those words never made it out of your mouth.

Suddenly, the kid understands your purpose and remembers the last time this happened...and he dives from the bed, mid-bed-rearranging, and scurries for cover down the hallway, announcing frantically door-to-door, “Mom’s rearranging.” 

This alert causes extraordinary unrest.   Children scamper out of their holes, converging in the kitchen to drink contraband (cans of soda) as their leader (the oldest child) calms them and urges them to pay her in gum for their protection...quickly...before mom returns to the kitchen for fresh rags or duct tape or hostages.

The oldest is a con; she knows she too is without defense.

For, she who holds the Swiffer always wins.

And The Mama has the Swiffer.

And The Mama needs change.

The mama is going through some changes...

probably HORMONAL changes....

Act busy!

So, oldest siblings school younger siblings:  grab a broom and act involved and concerned and dedicated.  Sweep the same spot for thirty minutes – she’ll never ever notice...just move the dirt around.  She will whirl by and, without looking at you, say something like, “Oh…thank you for helping, sweetheart.” 

BUT, if you are not seemingly on board (warns oldest children, remembering those ill-fated days of lack of involvement)...she – the mother – will stop and squat in place and blubber to you about the dreams she had when she was 12.

Don’t be the cause of that.

Don’t all moms go through urgent times when we need swift change? 

Sometimes we plan.  But, sometimes, it has been subconsciously planned without our knowing it…building in the recesses of our mind for a while, and when it comes to the surface it is well-formed and commanding, and it motivates us instantly and in peculiar ways.

What did we see that triggered its surfacing?  

Hm.  Dunno.

May we never see it again.

Some people end up in the mall, buying new wardrobes...

my husband favors my interpretation.