Dirty Dishes

Last week we embarked on the extremely daunting adventure that is a family vacation that involved airplane rides, hotels, restaurants, and other kid unfriendly activities. And the fun part was that it wasn’t just our little family, but Chris’ entire family which includes: four siblings and their spouses, 10 children under the age of 9, and two happily hands-off grandparents. I assumed, as anyone would, that this combination of events and family would leave me with a goldmine of funny quotes and stories, and there are a few. But what I was really left with was something very different, something I didn’t expect.

When Chris and I were first married we lived near the ocean, and really I couldn’t have cared less. We were working minimum wage jobs with no health insurance, living in what would be politely termed a shack, making barely enough money to cover our monthly expenses and budget that limited us to about one meal a day. I didn’t have the time or energy to enjoy the aesthetics of the ocean or the paradise that I kept hearing people talk about.

That is why I was shocked when I stood on the beach with my children and looked out at the beauty and vastness of the ocean and I was overcome with emotions. I was amazed at how small I felt. I was profoundly aware that the Earth was full of forces that were greater than mankind, because I was face to face with something that man didn’t create and couldn’t destroy. Something that gave life and also took it away. I felt the fingers of belief in God wrapping themselves around my heart. I felt that I was supposed to learn something from this, but hell if I knew what that was.

A few days later as we traveled down a highway, three little boys in the back of the car yelled out that they had to go to the bathroom. Because we desperately wanted to avoid incurring any more cleaning fees on the rental car than necessary, we pulled over to the side of the road for them to pee. Leo’s two cousins and I hopped out first, and I stood there and assured them that I was blocking them from the view of traffic. Leo stood in the doorway, looking at his cousins nervously beginning to take down their pants and yelled, “Come on boys, you’re not getting any younger!” And then I knew that was it, that was what I was supposed to learn.

Life is short, and we should live, love, and be happy because we are, in fact, not getting any younger. The world is big, and our spheres of influence are for the most part very small so we should make that sphere the best place place it can be. We should be understanding and tolerant. We should be at peace. It’s a simple and silly lesson, but it’s what I learned from my vacation, and you can take it or leave it.