The Athlete traveled last week, which is not the norm, and it was timed perfectly with the kids all coming down with Influenza one, by precious one. We were all vaccinated and didn't get very sick, but because I know lots of people without healthcare and many vulnerable folks, we pretty much didn't leave the house for 10 days. We had some aches and low fevers, but for us it wasn't serious. I know that isn't always the case, more than 60 people have died in Minnesota this year of the flu.
One of the hardest parts of the flu running through the house, was that I didn't see my parents for almost two weeks. Unless they are traveling this is totally unheard of for me. Since they are both 80 (my mom is still a few month shy, but still pretty close), I didn't want to run the risk of passing it on. Really for the first time, I felt the complication of have older parents and young kids.
Having older parents has been nothing but a privilege my whole life. My parents were relaxed and settled in by the time I was born. They didn't sweat the small stuff. They took me out of school to do cool things, they didn't stress if they missed a meet or game I was participating in. I grew up with parents who knew how to focus on their marriage, who were grateful for their health, who enjoyed being with their kids, and who most importantly, I think, we're comfortable in their own skin.
The Brick told me once that the didn't really grow up until he was 43 and facing the birth of his seventh child (me). There he was with two kids in college, with four more following shortly on their heals. He owned his own small business, handed down from his father. He was starting to think about working less, traveling more, spending more time on the "fun" stuff. He liked nice cars. He liked sailboats. He was picturing a day when he could enjoy both. He was a competitive guy - and he saw the exciting lives that some of his college buddies were beginning to enjoy. And suddenly, he was starting all over again. It wasn't a happy realization at first.
Ouch.
I don't know what happened or what changed. But the father who raised me, drove economical cars, traveled sparingly, and the only sailboat he ever owned was a hand-me-down dingy from a friend on at our Northern Minnesota lake. He made a good living and it's been enough (even when sometimes it might not have felt that way to he and my mom) for a happy life.
He bet his whole life on his family. He let quietly go of the dreams of sports cars and scuba diving. He stopped worrying about the things the college buddies were doing and started seeing the richness of the teenagers he was raising. He realized that parenting in his case was going to be truly a lifelong career. Diapers and bottles were being re-bought and dreams of pilot licenses and airplanes were put away.
He told me, now several years ago, that my siblings should thank me for coming along, because he thought that my arrival in the family saved him from becoming a selfish man. I laughed at him. Literally out loud. I can't imagine anyone thinking that about him - but it was fascinating to me that in the middle of his life he saw himself teetering on self absorption. A new baby changed everything at that point in his life (as babies tend to do) and so he refocused. Instead of the Caribbean with his wife, he started dreaming about a run down resort, about fishing for walleyes instead of diving for lobsters. He found pleasure fixing plumbing, clearing paths through the woods with his sons, smoking a cigar and listening to the teenagers sing campfire songs. Maybe it was less glamorous, but no less rich.
If he was resentful at first that I was on my way, I never once saw it. He has spent his entire life telling me how lucky he is (frankly, telling ANYONE how lucky he is). I am 37 years old now. And I wonder what will be that midlife crisis for me? I tell my husband that maybe we should hope for a baby in our 40s. He reminds me most people don't plan for their change of life baby. I guess he's right, but I sure am glad my folks found space for theirs.
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