The Space You Need Is The Space To Learn What You Need
by Susan J. Elliott, J.D., M.Ed.
Copyright 2017 – All Rights Reserved.
When I was convinced that my cheating husband had used a snowstorm to stay 45 miles away at his girlfriend’s house, I was on the phone with him. I had made dinner, a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings, even though it was only Wednesday. I was wearing a skirt and a silk blouse – yes I managed to make that dinner and get all the boys 8, 5 and 4 into their baths and into dress pants and shirts all by 6:00 when their father was supposed to be home. The house was sparkling clean.
Not just neat and put away but I had cleaned glass and brass and waxed furniture of the formal living room where we wouldn’t even be in that night…but we would be in the formal dining room, also primped and cleaned and our best china shining brightly on the table, which looked INTO the formal living room…so on the off chance he glanced into the other room which was ALWAYS clean, I cleaned it AGAIN anyway….polishing the brass…washing the enormous mirror over the fireplace. We had 10 foot high beamed ceilings and the mirror went from the mantle on the fireplace to the ceiling…and all 5 feet 1 of me climbed up on the HIGHEST ladder to clean the tippity top of the mirror on the off chance he sat somewhere in the dining room where he could see the top of the mirror which might have an errant piece of dust even though I washed the damned mirror every damn Saturday even though he accused me of not doing much of anything. Yes, the brass polished itself…the kids took themselves to the park…the house was immaculately clean because elves came over whilst I ate bon bons on the couch and watched soap operas….
But anyway…here I was on the millionth time of spritzing Windex all over the mirror that was SQUEAKY CLEAN to begin with …just in case….just in case…just in case…if I fell backwards from the top step of the ladder trying to get the top of a mirror that ended at a 10 foot ceiling…clean…I would surely die on the parquet floors that were sparkly clean – and that would be my fault…for getting my blood all over those nice, clean floors…just like the night I was in labor and he came in from his girlfriend’s … that was girlfriend number 1 – four years prior – and my blood splotches were all over the kitchen tiles only because after 7 hours of bleeding and in labor trying to calm a 16 month old and a 5 year old who were sure to watch their mother die in childbirth…I was TIRED of cleaning up the blood that went everywhere I walked…and he said, and I quote WHAT THE HELL IS THIS???
Oh yes…silly me…I had bled all over the kitchen floors while in labor when my husband was coo-cooing with his girlfriend after a long Thanksgiving weekend away from her…poor him…he had to be accosted by my blood all over the damn floor…poor poor him..
….but anyway…here we were 4 years and 2 girlfriends later…and I was convinced that should I topple and splat all over the floor…it would – again – be – poor poor him.