Tuesday, February 17, 2015

It's Tough Staying Humble When Life is This Easy

Between the infinite trappings of fame and celebrity status yielded by this blog and the obvious benefits Mrs. Blackwell enjoys being PhD student, we struggle for ways to stay grounded.

After another long week of jet setting, or conducting field-shattering research in another outrageously exotic location, the Mrs. and I like to remind ourselves each Sunday of our humble roots by engaging in a full day of housekeeping. 

One's life can't be fabulous all the time, after all. 
Pictured: exotic.

Aside from keeping us firmly grounded and spiritually centered, this weekly ritual of manual labor has the additional benefit of ensuring that our home doesn’t slip into a state of degradation and decay that would cause authorities to remove the boy from our custody.


Our Sundays start off at a leisurely pace with any combination of breakfast, CBS Sunday Morning, or a trip grocery shopping. (When it’s football season, this routine suffers somewhat.)

But, the inevitable course of action always sees us beginning the laundry and housework around noon.

For our part, Mrs. Blackwell and I have organically delineated our duties. We’ve never really discussed it, rather our approach just sort of emerged. 

I attack the clutter, shuttling odds and ends back from whence they came, while she attacks the dust, dirt and grime which accumulate ceaselessly, especially so during the winter months.

Throughout this process, I adopt the demeanor of a man watching a YouTube file of his favorite sports team losing over and over and over; which is to say, I’m long on annoyed and short on patience.

Pictured: preferred viewing for young jet setters
like Mrs. Blackwell and I.
For her part, Mrs. Blackwell is all smiles and sunshine — mostly. 

She can get a little frustrated from time to time while dealing with the vacuum and, if she ever comes upon a spider in the midst of her work, the world comes to a halt.

While we soldier through our chores, trying our best to make it seem fun, life proceeds uninterrupted for the boy.

Such are the benefits of not being even three years old.

While we labor, he lounges, enjoying the benefits of our toil.

He’ll walk around, observe and occasionally take a moment or two to appear engaged.

Eventually boredom sets in and he demands attention from mom or dad. In search of any reason to not make my 100th trip up the stairs I’ll usually stop the moment he asks — ditto for Mrs. Blackwell.

We’re always thankful for the break that playtime with the boy provides. Though, it’s tough to match his energy level when we’ve been on the move for a couple hours.

It was a productive day of work — until he showed up.
And, at the end of the day, when the sun has retreated and we’re exhausted, we exhale and sit back to relax and contemplate all the extravagances and merriment we'll enjoy at our jobs in the next five days.

It’s as if sensing that his parents have it a little too good that the boy takes it upon himself to keep us grateful and humbled.

For it’s then that he decides that the folded laundry sitting in the basket looks much better unfolded on the floor and with a simple flip of the basket, and swipe of his hand, he makes it happen.

And it’s then too that he decides that the perfectly pristine white sheets are the perfect spot in which to place his grape lollipop.

I’m not sure where we’d be without the boy’s help, but I can only thank him for making sure we don’t have it too good.

No comments: