Adaptations

It's been two months now since Rachel's passing, and a little over a month since I've been back at work. I'm taking care of the basics at home (food, clothing, and shelter) pretty well. Having dinner delivered every other night helps, as does the yardwork and dog-walking assistance. Meaghan's working out great for after-school care, and the every-other-week house cleaner does a good job.

I still think of some things as "Rachel's" (the Honda Pilot, the left-hand nightstand) and others as "ours" (the house, the place in Wisconsin). That's slowly changing -- I was bold enough to re-set the radio station buttons in the Pilot to my preferences, and to move my clothes into the bigger bedroom closet. Crazy, huh?

Making the kid's lunches in the morning is enjoyable, and not yet drudgery. I've made more sandwiches and used more Ziploc bags in the last month than I have in a long time. I also know who eats what, which I was oblivious to before.

I went to the parent-teacher conferences last week; in 8 years at St. A's I've only been once or twice before. I actually liked it, as the kids are all doing just fine in school (except for one bad math grade, from an unexpected source.)

One chore we used to fight about at home was laundry. Rachel was constantly doing laundry, and constantly complaining about constantly doing laundry, and mad at me for not pitching in. I would get mad at her when I did help, because we had no system, and I'd wind up folding a basket of dirty laundry, or re-washing a load that was already clean. As an engineer and naturally organized person it drove me nuts, and I can't count the number of times I offered to just take the whole thing over. She would never let me -- I'm not sure if she was afraid I'd screw it up, or that I wouldn't...

Now I make the kids bring their laundry baskets to the basement Monday and Thursday mornings before school, and sort their stuff into the white-dark-colors baskets. I start a load before leaving for work, and Meaghan keeps it moving when she comes in the afternoon. We fold on the counter downstairs and put everything back in the kids baskets, and make them take their own stuff back upstairs and put it away in their rooms. Was that really so hard?

There's often satisfaction in being an engineer, although I'm not sure I'd want my daughter to marry one...

Pat