I keep forgetting that my boys don't like being managed.
I? Am a project manager.
I? Excel at making lists.
It's my spiritual gift.
At work? I do this all day long.
And in 6 months I haven't had a single person question the deadlines I've assigned. Every person who is part of the process trusts that I have determined who needs to get what done by which date. So when they receive notification that their part is due in the next 48 hours - they just go ahead and do it.
In order to maintain a level of sanity during this whole 'pack up the last ten years of life' project, I've made a list. And this weekend, the boys were to spend a few hours here and pack up their rooms. What did they want to take with them immediately? What should go to storage? What did they want thrown out? And what could I give away?
Plus, I was hoping Max, on his way back to New West, could take a load of my things over to my mom's and put them in the basement.
And, I was planning on them looking through the stuff I was giving away to see if they wanted any of it. Then pack those boxes into my truck so I could drop them off at Salvation Army on Monday during my lunch break.
Also, I needed to hear the plan that Drew had regarding all the car parts strewn everywhere in the garage. Those all have to be gone by next Saturday.
Oh. My. Goodness.
Oh. My. Goodness.
The first one who arrived told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to tell him what to do or when to do it. He was so angry he stormed out of the room minutes after he entered it.
The second one who arrived wasn't so much angry as tired. "I hope you have no plans for me to do anything today, because I'm not doing it."
Sigh.
This? Was not how I thought the afternoon would go.
I'll only live here for a couple more weeks, and I wasn't sure if the kids would be by again.
This was going to be our last memory here?
Anger?
Resentment?
Disappointment?
The kids went upstairs and I sat in the dining room fighting back tears of despair. (I didn't have to fight too hard because I don't cry much anymore. But in the olden days, I would've been sobbing.) Jus sayin.
I went about packing up crap from the pantry, when after half an hour I could hear music thumping upstairs. It's been years since I've heard music coming from Max's room. It sounded so good.
I took a roll of tape, scissors, a sharpie and some flattened boxes upstairs and saw this:
Two happy OBoys.
Max was opening his drawers and closet and found a few of his favorite things.
Drew was capturing Max's joy and dancing on instagram video...
And everyone was in good mood.
As is usual with Oboys, they were starving, and needed to eat.
And then I mistakenly referred to a toy gun as an air soft gun and:
Both boys thought this was the funniest/most ridiculous thing ever.
Drew fell over and split a gut, laughing on the floor.
Max couldn't stop either.
And then they were exhausted. All that laughing. And eating.
Drew found the Fast and Furious Five DVD in amongst the things I had on the kitchen table, so he put it in.
Everyone grabbed a couch, and before I knew it, we were watching a movie together.
I'm going to have to adjust the deadlines on my moving project. Nothing got done today, except we made a memory and it involved laughter, food and car chases.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. Roast chickens from IGA
2. I think that cute girl (pictured above) played a big role in getting the Obros back on track this afternoon.
3. Laughter in this house.
Shalom,
No comments:
Post a Comment