grit and glory

I was about five years old.  A little girl with a blond bob.  Sitting on the floor in a yellow gingham room, sun streaming in. I was playing "grown up", my very favorite game.  My mom had given me a stack of unused check deposit slips and I was signing my name with a flourish and making check marks in various boxes.  I couldn't wait for the day when I would have a real job and do this all the time.

Today, forty-one years later, I'm sitting in my blue office, sun streaming in.  I have a stack of forms in front of me and I'm signing and checking boxes.  And that's when I had my little yellow flashback.  I'm still playing grown up, and I love this job more then that five year old could have imagined.  I like writing articles for the newsletter, filling in to teach classes, creating board agendas and art curriculums. But it's also harder than I would have dreamed.  Disciplining, hard conversations, budget struggles,  refereeing.  Somedays I don't feel like signing the slips.  There is so much more grit and glory than any five year old can imagine.

I was in 6th grade.  Several of my girlfriends and I made up a game where we wrote letters to each other from our future selves.  We imagined our lives as very mature twenty-three year olds.   Most of the scenarios involved our handsome, made-up husbands taking us to TCBY every evening.  What else would there be to do as grown ups?

Today, thirty-four years later, I can't remember the last time my husband and I went to TCBY.  My 6th grade self would be devastated.  She would also be horrified to know that handsome husbands often come with contrary opinions, and that so much of our evenings involve grocery shopping, playing with our boys and homework.  We have to make a real effort to get out on a date occasionally.  But it's all so much better than those letters ever hinted at.  I didn't know how nice it is to walk hand in hand through the neighborhood with an unmade up man.  Or how safe you feel, curled up watching TV with someone who loves you forever.  There is so much more grit and glory than any 6th grader can imagine.

I was living in the dorm in college when I visited a newly married friend.  She and her young husband had just moved into a brand new apartment that was very 1990's modern.  All grays and purples, sleek lines and minimalistic furnishings.  It was the most sophisticated place I had ever been.  And was immediately the epitome of all my "when I get my own house" fantasies.

Today, twenty-six years later, I see a lot of gray throughout my house.  Mostly in things that once were white and have been used and aged til they are dingy. My style is teenage-aged-boy-lived-in.  Not very popular in the house magazines I pour over.  The washing machine and dishwasher hum constantly.  From where I am sitting I can see a clump of cat hair and a streak of mud.  But it is my favorite place in the world.  The couch where the four of us flop on together at the end of the day.  The table we gather around for Steve's famous Saturday breakfasts.  The porch where we watch lightening storms.  It's where we pack friends from top to bottom for sleepovers, cook Thanksgiving dinner and toast our Christmas tree with egg nog.  There is so much more grit and glory than any college student can imagine.

I still like playing grown up.  Someday I may redo this post by adding to the paltry imaginations of my forties.  Until then I am grateful that life is so good.  And I will soak up all I can of this gritty and glorious life!