So to clarify, we picked the RV on the 10th of May. So today, the 2nd of June, is actually our 3 week and 1 day anniversary. I believe this calls for a celebratory glass of wine. Or a hefty shot of moonshine my brother and sister-in-law gave us as a gag gift. It feels like we’ve been in it a lot longer than 3 weeks. That didn’t come out quite like I intended. We’re still RV babies. We are in the early bliss phase.
Little things are beginning to come together. I was nervous about our school stuff fitting in all the storage compartments on the inside. I have pieced together so many different curriculums and so many of them come with their own sets of manipulatives, which I actually use. I was crossing my fingers in hopes of fitting everything in.
I have seen Pinterest posts about people who use their ovens and microwaves as storage compartments for school books. I absolutely did not want that. I know these beasts offer very little in the way of storage but I took the ‘if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t come with us’ approach.
Besides, no-one wants me to repurpose kitchen appliances I actually intend on using. I would be the first person in history to set a motor home ablaze because I forgot to remove our IEW Grammer curriculum and our Handwriting W
ith Without Tears mini pencils from the oven. The mini-pencils, a gift from Cecilia’s OT, ultimately acting as kindling; encouraging the flames to go higher for longer.
Then there’s always the question of whether or not we kept too many clothes, or too little? We still have plenty of space above our bed and in our closet. I think we did a fine job of pairing down on our clothes. Maybe we did to good of a job. My sister-in-law, Cynthia, took one look at our closet and, with a glisten of a tear in her eye, she said, “Oh Angie! (except not in an excited way…but more of a sad pouty way…I think she may have even made the pout face), You poor thing!” I just laughed, awkwardly of course. I was trying to be all, “oh, it’s totally cool…I’m unequivocally ok with the minimal lifestyle.”
It was a joy for me to go through the girls toys. I had no problem tossing stuffed animals that looked brand new into bags for the Hibiscus House (home for children) in our area. Clothes with the tags still on them, brand new coloring pencils and coloring books which had never even been opened. With every toss into the “give away to appreciative children bag” I was thinking of all the different scenarios in which the girls left their toys laying in various areas all around the house. Using those instances, I guess you could say…in some ways, I felt vindicated. I imagined these little boys and girls getting toys and being over joyed and beholden to these toys…to play with them until their little clothes became tattered and maybe one or two lost an eye, a nose, a mouth, an arm or even a head because they were loved and played with so much.
The only time I felt remorse was when Phoebe threw up in the car and repeatedly yelled out for her purple monkey. For a good solid 10 or 15 minutes, I really let myself have it, “Why? Why didn’t I just keep that 6 inch little monkey? It’s not like it took up WAY TOO MUCH ROOM! It didn’t even looked like she played with it…at all. In fact I know she didn’t because he still had his clothes on…and they looked pristine. But DAMMIT, that’s not the point! Obviously she was ‘going’ to play with it. I took away her opportunity. What am I doing to these poor children? I am robbing them of their… ” and before I was even able to finish the though, a Barbie was catapulted into the front seat, hitting her head on the dash-board, her hip clipping my knee and finally she lay lifeless face down at my feet. Only to be followed by the ear-piercing laughter of 3 little girls in the back row.
I immediately took the liberty of granting myself a reprieve. Sayonara Purple Monkey!
Don’t even get me started on kitchen appliances…I had a very tearful goodbye moment with my Kitchen Aid mixer. If you’ve ever seen the movie Ransom with Mel Gibson, Gary Sinise, Lili Taylor and Liev Schreiber…think of the scene where the little boy is safe at home, after the whole kidnapping fiasco…everything is fine. And then the boy hears Gary Sinise’s voice and (sadly, heartbreakingly) he wets his pants. If you can picture that scene, replace my the little boy with me and Gary Sinise’s voice is my doorbell ringing. When the doorbell rings, I pee my pants and drop to my knees, writhing in pain eventually curling up into the fetal position because for me, the doorbell represents the person who came to retrieve the mixer.
The very mixer I have been with since Greg and I eloped 12 years ago. The very mixer which carried me through my first holiday meal with the in-laws: that famous Thanksgiving meal where we had mashed potatoes and I forgot to saute the onions before I put them into the mixture. I mashed those potatoes and raw onions in that wonderful mixer. And Dammit, everyone will remember that Thanksgiving.
The very mixer which aided the girls and I in burning our first batch of chocolate chip cookies. And subsequent batches of cookies. I suck at making cookies. They always end up looking like bloated flying saucers. And no-one will eat them, because they are ridiculously thick.
The very mixer which, with each use, replaced a visit to the gym, because lifting the 25 pound appliance from the bottom pull-out cabinet superseded my 3 sets (25 reps) of dead-lifts.
We had some good times that mixer and I.
It’s a process, learning to live without the conveniences we have become accustomed to. Actually, no I don’t agree with that last statement. Mainly because I think it really is just about the initial sting of letting go. Now that we are living without, I haven’t thought about them at all. Until now.
I think I need that drink now.
No dammit…We can do this!
It gets a little easier everyday and as I wrote before, things are beginning to come together.
Here’s to 3 weeks and 1 day!