PSERENDIPITY

When we were in Memphis, I said to Tim that me moving would mean giving up some things, which, to me, might feel like giving up everything.  When he asked “like what”, all I could think about was my house.  But I said “like…my freedom.”  By which I meant my independence.  I’m accustomed to doing what I want, when I want, spending how much money I want, making the decisions about Aidan how I want, and letting Tim know after I’ve done what I want.  For the most part, that’s been working out well for me. 

Then I looked around.  We were in the kitchen, and he was seasoning some ribs while I was making baked beans and my attempt at cleaning out the oven.  The kids were doing their thing, and it was Sunday afternoon.  All day long I was thinking how glad I was that I could stay.  And he was happy, too.  We don’t get too many Sundays.  Then I thought.  Independence gone is quite a fair exchange for this.  And him.  And us.  Okay, I give.

Let me tell you how much I give.  I was folding clothes that Sunday  Sidestory:  I’ve decided to make a concerted effort to contribute to Tim’s well-being at least half as much as he contributes to mine.  So, Sunday I decided to take on laundry at Tim’s.  This may seem like nothing to you, but it was huge, I tell you.  I.frickin.hate.laundry.  So, I was folding clothes.  And a tshirt had a hole in it.  I say, in amazement “Tim!  This tshirt has holes in it!?!  What in the world?”   He then made some comment about not having anybody to take care of him…cue violins…I stopped listening. 

Monday I was in WalMart, and out of the blue I remembered that this dood has a tshirt with a hole in it.  I found myself picking up the phone to find out what size tshirts and boxers he prefers.  After all, he needs someone to take care of him.  I give.