Starting Over

This evening I was totally engrossed in my own life when I suddenly realized Jace is rearranging his room! He had already pulled out so much stuff that one couldn't walk into his doorway without striking the pose of a professional hurdler. Sports equipment, a trashcan, his desk, a chair, and other bedroom paraphenelia blocked the hallway.

"Jace! What are you doing?" I cried, swallowing a surge of panic at the large amount of work he was creating for me in that sudden, spur of the moment decision.

"I'm rearranging my room!" he exclaimed happily. When I peeked around the corner, determined to keep my irritation at bay as It's already 8:00 and I am determined to be in bed by 9:00 and this is absolutely thwarting my plans screamed in my head, I noted that, in fact, his bed was already in its newly designated position. 

"Just help me put the comforter on, Mom, and I'll do the rest."

I looked at him skeptically. This job was clearly bigger than him.

"No! Really! Go!" he said, pushing me lightly out the door.

Flashbacks of myself as a child came to mind. I well-remember my friend Cindy and I hauling everything out of my bedroom one time and piling it in the hallway as we determined to re-decorate my bedroom as a very young child. I have no idea how that panned out as I simply can't remember. But what I do remember is my mom taking a picture of us two girls sitting at the end of the hallway near my bedroom door with heaps of stuff piled in front of us. 

Mom was a good mom. She didn't erupt like a volcano at the madness.

Many times, growing up, Mom rearranged our living room and den, calling us girls in to help her haul furniture from one spot to the next. She'd direct us to place the couch in a certain position, and then stand back and contemplate whether she liked it. If not, she'd come up with another idea, and away we'd go again--pushing and pulling and heaving--to the next ideal spot.

When Mom lived with us in California for two years, she often devised new arrangements. Roy would walk in from work and she'd greet him at the door: Look! We rearranged the living room! Do you like it?

And Roy, in typical Roy-fashion, would complain that he couldn't walk through the doorway for the chair--or he'd say Well, at least you didn't block the doorway this time.

I have no idea if Mom ever really blocked the doorway or if it's just Roy doing his thing. Most likely? It's just Roy doing his thing.

Savana came home from school a bit ago and saw Jace in the throes of his disaster, a satisfied look on his face. At this point in time, I was upstairs and she ran up to greet me after a long day of school and work. Hey--did you know that Jace is rearranging his room? she laughed. 

And then she began to reminisce about her own love affair with rearranging furniture as she was growing up. 

Except I can't remember if she ever piled stuff in the hallway. 

I'm not sure what it is about rearranging a room that brings such satisfaction. It's still the same furniture, same favorite chair, same decor. But somehow, placing everything in a different arrangement gives one a sense of new, fresh, starting over.

As I write this, Jace is banging on a nail with a hammer as one of his pictures fell down and he is determined to get it back up there. The nail is crooked, he explained.

He is making great progress actually. Only a few things are left in the hallway. He has run cords to plug in his lamp and hung up clothes and straightened his bookshelves. 

And so...who am I to crush his dreams? To stop him from a whole new bedroom?

I mean, granted it's almost 9:00 and he really should be in bed. And we won't talk about the fact that he still has a couple of math problems to fix. But for now? Well, Jace is chasing a dream. He's cleaning off windowsills with soaked towels. (Yeah--not a washcloth. A kitchen towel. But I'm going to keep quiet.)  He's envisioning and working away with determination.

He's starting over and I'm just sitting here writing about it.

I guess that beats a volcano.