Right before we went on our trip to LA, I bought a travel size lotion to carry in my purse, just in case the stuff at the hotel was scented and terrible. It turned out to be our favorite hand lotion ever and when I got back I went in search of the larger version. Now every time I get out of the shower and use that lotion on my arms or legs, I can’t help but think of our carefree days in LA.
Sometimes I feel really sorry for myself sitting here in suburbia, and not in LA. I think about how unfair it is that we can’t snap our fingers and have a nanny to watch all these kids so we can go out and do whatever we want. I wish I had fabulous clothes and a personal cook. I wish I was a best selling novelist and not just an anonymous fan-fiction writer. I wish I could paint the entire house and get all new furniture. Better yet, I wish we could just move to a house that sits right on the ocean.
But most of the time I think entirely different thoughts. Guilty ones.
Earlier today, when we got back from lounging at the pool for two hours, John said to me, “I want a beer but it’s only 2:30 in the afternoon.” I told him not to worry about it. It’s summer break. We can drink whenever we want; do whatever we want. I told him, “It’s completely justified! This is the life we chose!”
The thing is, it’s hard to justify a life that is so close to perfect, and yet at the same time, so far from it. I sit outside on our porch in the middle of day, when most people should be at work. The biggest crush of my life leans out the front door and asks me, “Do you want me to start the grill now?” I stay in my spot, reading or writing, sometimes working and sometimes not, and enjoying the fact that I have no where to be. Knowing that tonight he will take care of dinner, and probably bring me another beer.
When I head inside I see that my house is a mess, but that seems like a pretty fair trade for being with the 4 other people I love the most, all day long, every single day. I’m not walking a red carpet–in fact our carpet needs to be replaced–but there on the floor are 3 healthy kids who somehow ended up smarter than me.
It’s not what I pictured at all for my life, but it’s completely awesome all the same. But do I deserve this?
Is it really justified?