The last twenty-four hours have proven to me that we can only expect one thing in life: change. From a curt exchange with my boss to my babysitter almost quitting because of my daughter’s poor behavior, I have seen the depths of an awesome abyss. It became so absurd at one point that I was certain this wasn’t happening to me. I kept looking around for Ron Howard in his baseball cap.
Scene Fifty-Nine: Husband Comes Home at 10 p.m. to Witness the Aftermath -- Take Twelve, click!
It is on these days, in particular, that I am convinced my husband possesses a trouble radar. “Oooo! Looks like trouble in P-city (that’s short-hand for Paunzhausen, the cow town in which we live). Guess I’ll hang out in the lab until well after dark and lay low until the dust settles.” He gives me a call, knowing I am at my dance class, and leaves a hieroglyphic message on the machine.
“That’s the thing I love about you,” I gaze wearily into his eyes as he hangs up his coat in the foyer. The church bell strikes ten times before I can continue. “You’re always somewhere else when I need you. But at least I know where you are…” Always the optimist, I think to myself.
Today I received exactly one letter of interest for the foreign rights to my book from a Chinese publishing house in Beijing: Science & Culture Publishing House. I am seriously wondering what a Chinese translator would do to Diary of a Mother. The cultural gap seems too large to make much sense, but I am grateful. Just think of how many people there are in China! The optimist in me raises her head once more. “But how many of them can read?” I ask tentatively, scratching the optimist’s head in concern.
Denounement: It All Works Out in the End
My boss called me in between the babysitter argument and my husband coming home. I was in a dance hall sweating my hiney off, wishing I were in better shape to keep up with the other ladies in the class. Dialing his number this morning to return his phone call, I immediately addressed our heated discussion the day before. He admitted he had been in a bad mood and that his Northern German self can hardly be controlled.
“Alright,” I sighed. “But just know, I’ll call you on it every time.” He seemed nearly gleeful at the thought. I am a person who despises contention. I have had my share of it this week.
My daughter painted the babysitter a picture. We rang her doorbell before kindergarten to make a large apology. It was a huge lesson for my kid, learning to apologize and learning what risks she takes when she acts as wilfully as she pleases. It was a lesson of friendship and forgiveness, of loss and renewal.
It is 1 p.m., and I survived a cataclysm. Thanks, Ron. Cut!
