So. People at work that are kind of trying to come across as well-meaning, after a somewhat chatty conversation will go, “So, how are things on the personal front,” for instance. And while they are hoping it comes across as, "I'm really interested in your happiness." I believe I know better, and that mostly they are hoping I will somehow vent about how miserable I am.
These are mostly people in somewhat miserable situations in their own homelives, best I can tell. And I think because they watched a rather sordid time in my life play out a few years ago as I got my divorce, and then watched as it all came back together for me with a new husband and an unexpected but adored child that maybe there is fodder there for them in their quest for mutual homelife unhappiness. And I mostly demure. And go, “Oh. Just fine.” Because I don't think it will satisfy them very much if I tell them how it really is.
But what it really is like is this. I get off work, or even sneak out early. And I call Michael and Sami and let them know I’m on my way home. And when I drive my car over the hill to see the house, they’re waiting out front waving frantically to greet me. And then I pull into the garage, and Sami runs out there screaming with delight and asks to ride in my car (a 2-seater BMW Roadster that is illegal for her to ride in) up the alley to check the mail. We do so.
Then I let her drive home on my lap, steering wildly side to side. We get out and go in the house. Michael has a cocktail waiting for me. We chat about our day. Then I go upstairs and put on my comfy clothes for the evening.
Tonight I steamed, then grilled artichokes. Sami tried them for the first time and loved them. Michael and I exchange glances that speak of the perils of having a daughter that is an adventurous eater, which means we give up a good portion of the foods we love most.
Then I head out to the patio to grill the steaks, and Michael puts on the 70s music station and they play so many of our fay-bits that we can’t stand it. At one point, he says, “I’ve half a mind to take you out on the patio and dance with you.” I say, “Do it.”
We do. Sami comes out and waves her arms and smiles and yells, “No dancing! No dancing!” Michael twirls me around. I say to Sami, “No dancing? NO DANCING? Listen little girl – you’re not the boss of us. We wanna dance… we’ll dance. Deal with it.” And we dance even more.
She steps down to the grass level which inspires us to part arms and do demented Irish-type jigs to the loud music. Sami is mesmerized with a smile on her face. She runs back up to the deck and says, “I dance wit you! I dancing too!!” And she runs in frantic circles around us. Then I show her how to stand on Daddy’s feet and dance and sway with him.
And we drink our wine, and eat our steaks, and watch Sami imitate our dancing. And we laugh.
And that’s what I mean when I say to people, “Oh, we’re just fine.”
