A thought on things, chickens, after a lovely weekend (heads up: any weekend is a good weekend, especially when it involves fish tacos + ribs + my adorable baby).
This came to me a couple of days ago, and I sort of threw it aside, but I think it’s worth sharing.
Once upon a time, when JW and I were 23 (well, I was 23- that rascal was probably only 22), he moved to my beloved Chicago from Grand Rapids.
Prior to this we had been dating long distance for six months or so, and prior to that, we’d been pretending we wouldn’t end up together for all time for the past four years or so.
When JW moved here, we were obviously both super excited and also terrified, because sure it was fun to get together and go out to dinner and hang out in bars for lovely, too-fast weekends, but what would it be like when we actually lived in the same place?
Gulp, we thought.
It turned out to still be great, after working out a few kinks (kinks are part of the whole thing, though), and as we relaxed our stringent rules about how often we could see each other and for how long (let’s be honest, he was basically my third roommate by the end of the summer), we started to talk about moving in together.
We were babies.
I don’t recommend this for everyone, but we lucked out, so basically, do what you think feels right, chickadees. The worst that can happen is that you’re wrong, and I’m wrong about something at least once a day. It’s not so bad.
Anyway, we started to talk about all of the weird, seemingly boring things that we could do when we lived together, like laundry and grocery shopping and laying on the floor doing nothing.
We should do laundry on Wednesdays, JW said seriously. It’ll be great.
I laughed, because that’s always what I do when JW gets serious.
I tucked that away, and we moved in together and did laundry basically never because we were still children who couldn’t manage to do more than make it to work on time and eat a lot of chicken wings at Mystic Celt.
Fast forward one hundred years until right now.
Or a few Wednesdays ago, anyway.
I got home from work, kissed my husband and my baby, and we ate dinner and hung out and then JW threw in some laundry.
And in that small, actually-sort-of-irritating move (because now there was laundry to fold), I couldn’t help but think about all those years ago and all those things that seemed not-too-exciting but actually help to make up the thread of a life that I love so very much.
And you know what, chicks?
He was right.
It is pretty great.